Resolving to not let her get to me, I opened my eyes. I quickly scrawled a note to Hudson on the white envelope and put the card back inside. “Thank you, Trish. When Hudson is free, can you give this to him?”
I really wanted to burst through his doors and show him personally. Then convince him that both of us should leave it all behind and go to his spa.
But that would be running away. And running away never solves anything. Or so, that’s what everyone always says.
Chapter Nine
After I left Hudson’s office, I decided to try to forget my tension by wrapping myself in work. I was successful for most of the afternoon, but the anxiousness and stress of the day lingered just under the surface. I had to be at the club to meet Gwen by eight and imagined it would be a late night. I longed for a run, but decided instead on a group therapy session. Thursdays weren’t the day I usually went, but there was a session at six led by my favorite counselor. I could grab a bite to eat, hit the group, and be back in time to work that evening.
I shifted in my rusty folding chair in the Unity Church basement as I focused on listening to the others share. Most of the Thursday night regulars were strangers to me, and it seemed most of their addictions were hard to relate to mine. One person was a shopping addict. Another was addicted to social media. There was a gamer there too, a guy who was just as consumed with buying the latest system and game as he was with playing them. The only person that I felt even slightly connected to was the tattooed sex addict that I’d seen on other nights as well. I’d heard her speak before and recognized a lot of her same fears and frustrations as my own.
“Would you like to share anything, Laynie?”
I was more than a little surprised when the group leader called my name. Members weren’t required to speak at each meeting—or ever, if they didn’t feel comfortable—so it was odd for Lauren to call on me specifically. She knew me, though, having counseled me since the early days of my recovery. And if she couldn’t tell from my demeanor that I had something on my mind, the fact that I’d shown up twice in one week had to be an indicator.
I gave the customary history of my illness and then paused. Since I hadn’t planned on speaking, I wasn’t quite sure what I wanted to say. After a breath, I said, “I’ve had some extra stressors in my life recently, and I’m here because I feel like it’s causing me to backslide.”
Lauren nodded, her long braids clicking with the movement. “Very concise identification of emotion, Laynie. Let’s first talk about what kind of stressors you’re dealing with. Is there anything you can eliminate?”
“Not really.” I guess half of my stressors would be removed if I broke up with Hudson, but that wasn’t an option I was willing to consider.
“And that’s perfectly fine. Sometimes you can’t eliminate stressors.” Lauren turned her words to the whole group, using it as a teaching moment. “Most times you have to deal with them. Or we choose to deal with them because the reward is greater than the impact of the stress.”
Boy, had she nailed it. “Yes. That’s it.”
“So what are these stressors?”
“Um.” Now that I thought about it, I realized I’d had a lot in the last few weeks. “I recently moved in with my boyfriend.” I didn’t add that the relationship was still fairly new. At least not out loud. Internally, I marked it as another factor in my anxiety level.
“You have a new living situation.” It was customary for the leader to acknowledge the information shared. “That’s an adjustment.”
“Yes. And I just took a huge promotion at my job.”
The room buzzed as people shared congratulations. “Kudos to you,” Lauren said. “But yes, another stressor.”
“And my boyfriend...” How to bring up my current situation when I wasn’t quite sure why I was in it in the first place was tricky. “He has baggage that I’m having some trouble dealing with.”
Here Lauren took notice. “What kind of baggage?”
“Well, his ex—” Celia wasn’t really his ex, but it was easier to call her that. “She’s decided for whatever reason that it’s her mission to destroy our relationship. She’s been terrorizing us. Me, really. First, she accused me of harassing her—which I didn’t do.” I looked around at the other group members. “Honestly.”
“Hey, no one’s judging you here,” Lauren reminded.
Which wasn’t exactly true, because I was certainly judging myself. Admitting the next part was especially hard. I was about to complain about the thing people usually complained about me for. “And now she’s harassing me. Following me places. Leaving me notes and things.”
“Oh my god,” the shopping addict exclaimed. “Have you been to the police?”
A few other people mumbled the same concern.
I shook my head, halting the talk. “She hasn’t done anything worthy of reporting.” I could go on about what was and wasn’t worthy of reporting, but it wasn’t relevant.
“That kind of harassment would be stressful to anyone.” Lauren leaned toward me, her forearms braced on her thighs. “But I’m going to take a guess that it’s been harder on you. Does it bring back emotions from your past?”
“Of course it does. I used to do these same things to other people. It’s awful. It makes me feel awful.” I’d been afraid I might cry, but surprisingly, the tears were absent. Perhaps, I was growing stronger or had become more reconciled with the situation.
With my emotions in control, I was able to delve further into analysis. “Also…I kind of feel like I deserve it now. Like it’s my karma for the shit I pulled.”
The red-haired sex addict piped up, “You know that’s not how life works, right?”
“I guess.” But hell, I didn’t really know anything.
Lauren let us sit silently for a moment. She believed in a lot of quiet moments of reflection. They were often the worst and the best parts of the session.
I chewed on my lip as I processed. “Honestly, I know there are things that I need to work through in the area of self-worth. I’m journaling. I’m doing some meditation—yes, I need to do more. But really, those aren’t the emotions that I’m concerned with.”
“Okay,” Lauren conceded, “as long as you recognize that you have some work to do there, we can move on. So you have these stressors—some of them good—that can’t be eliminated. And you say they’re causing you to backslide. How so?”
I ticked the list off on my fingers. “I’m agitated. I’m anxious. I’m paranoid. I’m accusatory.”
“That sounds like me on my period.” Again from the sex addict.
“Yeah, I call that being a woman.” This came from the compulsive shopper.
I couldn’t decide if they were attempting to relate or invalidating my feelings. Paranoid that I was, I assumed the latter. “You’re saying these are normal emotions, and I need to just chill the fuck out.”
“Maybe,” sex addict said.
“Not necessarily.” Lauren tapped her index fingers together. “They are normal emotions. But if they are impacting your daily life and relationships, then you need to deal with them.”
“They aren’t…yet. But only because I’m fighting them.” At least I was trying. “The paranoia is the worst and it’s unfounded. I’m suspicious of a woman my boyfriend works with. And I have no reason to be. Fortunately, he likes it when I’m jealous.” I delivered the last part for the sex addict who winked in appreciation.
“Do you think you’d like to try medication?” Lauren preferred to stay away from drugs, but she always offered it as a solution.