“Successful in life” — wow, I’m flattered — who do you think I am, WordPress Daily Prompts? Do I look like Elon Musk, or Saint Carlo Acutis, or Kardea Brown (my hero!), or, I dunno, Barack Obama, or any other modern-day example of what anyone’s definition of “success in life” might possibly look like? Me? I’m literally just some wannabe writer blogging on WordPress on my phone while nursing my baby in a recliner.

Although I’m a pretty happy person — happier, I daresay, than many of my peers — I can’t claim to know much about any kind of “success in life,” as I’m not super great at any particular thing, and am very far from holy, wealthy, good, or “high-achieving” by any definition of that term.

I guess if there’s one area of life in which I can maybe say a thing or two about “success,” it is: recovery, as in: recovery from alcoholism and EDs.

First of all, before I share with you what I believe to be “the secret to success” in recovery, I’ll tell you my credentials: the reasons why you should, well, I won’t say “believe” or “trust” my advice, because my advice might not even work for you; different things work for different people, in recovery, contrary to what some folks in Recoveryland like to loudly assert; just in order that you might see that I have a legitimate reason to say anything on the topic at all. Or at least to believe that I may.

My credentials: completely sober from alcohol since March 2019 without the aid of any particular program or rehab or methodology; was in A.A. for four years before that (since January of 2015), but with only spotty bouts of sobriety there. Prior to that, I drank addictively, or at least problematically, since 2007/08. So, that’s approximately twelve years of active addiction, and seven years sober.

And also: virtually fully “recovered” from anorexia & bulimia since the same time, March 2019 (not counting a period of relapse in late 2021), also without the aid of therapy or inpatient treatment or any particular technique.

Prior to that, I lived with some iteration of an eating disorder since 2004, when I was fourteen and first diagnosed with anorexia. In roughly 2011, when I started drinking more heavily, the anorexia evolved into bulimia (alcohol will do that to ya!). I’ll spare you all the gory details. Long story short, the entirety of my teens and twenties were one long and depressing battle, and during this time I pretty much never got periods, because of being constantly in starvation mode, so I was pretty sure I’d never have kids naturally.

But since approximately 2019 (unlike sobriety, it’s harder to pinpoint the exact date of recovery from EDs, because it’s less black-and-white), I’ve been at a pretty stable and normal size. I’ve managed to attain, and even accept, my “normal” weight — i.e., the weight that I am at when I’m living a happy life and not thinking about food constantly. Feeling safe around food, and tbh even bored by it. And! Best of all, I’ve had four kids, naturally, without the aid of any kind of reproductive technology.

So, that’s fifteen-seventeen years of living with an active ED, approximately five-seven years “recovered.”

So that’s the abridged version of my little story. It’s pretty undramatic, I guess — no hospitalizations or brushes with death or whatever — certainly they won’t be making any movies about me, lol. But still, I think it’s evident that I’ve achieved what could be called “success,” in this area.

How? What is the secret?

“The secret to success,” in my opinion at least, is this: and I wish someone had told it to me this plainly at the outset of my recovery: the secret is getting used to being uncomfortable.

You’re not going to feel magically different. You’re never going to be able to eat unself-consciously, without worry, like you did when you were a kid. Let go of that dream. You’re never going to feel great about yourself; socializing will always be hard; you will never like the way you look. Yes, you could say some things about your life are “ruined” or “broken” — you just have a new normal now. You will get used to it — and life will be good anyway!

I wish it had been put to me so plainly — I wasted so much time and energy chasing after this mirage of “learning to love myself,” “finding myself,” “overcoming,” “gaining freedom,” being “happy,” etc. etc. etc., all of it useless lies.

But I guess those ideas are what sell. You’re not going to inspire someone to quit drinking or quit starving themselves if you tell them “it’s true, you’ll never feel good in your own skin, you’re always going to be uncomfortable! You’ll never have a “normal” relationship with food, and you’ll never like the way you look! You just get used to it!” If that’s how you try to sell recovery, sick people will just shake their head and say “I’ll pass” and keep right on choosing sickness — I know I would have!

Maybe that’s why it was never told to me plainly. I guess you have to rosy it up a bit, to inspire people to want to get better. “Learn the art of intuitive eating!” “Practice affirmations of self-love!” “You’ll experience a total personality change as a result of working the Twelve Steps!” Lies! All lies! None of that ever happened, for me, no matter how desperately I wanted them or how hard I worked to engineer them. — But guess what! Life is good anyway!

“You just get used to being uncomfortable,” a fellow alcoholic said to me in A.A. once, and that might have been the single most useful thing anyone ever said to me in my four years in the program, more useful than anything in the actual literature. It’s so true. It’s so unglamorous. There’s no Lisa Frank-looking utopia at the end of the dark tunnel. The dark tunnel is what it is. This is it, you’re already there. Your eyes just adapt to the darkness. And pretty soon you find it’s alright. You have a good life there. You actually have evolved — just not in the fairytale way that you’d hoped to.

Don’t give up! The discomfort gets less agonizing as you adapt. It becomes like the snores of an annoying roommate rather than the shrieks of some homicidal stranger who’s broken into your house, threatening you. Things even out. Things become undramatic. Things that used to bowl you over just make you chuckle and shrug your shoulders now.

My legs are massive — yeah, I hate them, I never want to wear shorts. So what. I’m 36. I literally have better things to worry about now. My life is good and I am happy even though I hate my legs and refuse to go out in shorts.

I don’t like to eat in social situations. So what. They’ll tell you you aren’t really enjoying life unless you can cut loose and eat a spontaneous indulgent lunch with your friends at a restaurant, and order dessert — that is blatantly false. I don’t do that kind of thing, but I love my life and am happy. Accepting my limitations and adapting to them — that was the secret to success.

I have intense social anxiety and can’t make friends — still true. So I just… don’t go out or make friends. So what. Life is still good. It’s quiet. It’s peaceful. I find other ways to scratch the social itch (hello, reader!). Am I lonely sometimes? In a way, sure, but it’s not world-ending. Life comes with little pains and sadnesses. It doesn’t mean it’s not a good life.

You get used to being uncomfortable. That’s the big secret. In a way, it’s actually a relief to know that. You don’t have to stress about attaining some mythical RECOVERED status. You don’t have to worry that you’re not recovered enough because you’re not happy enough, those layers of worry folding over and over on each other like puff pastry dough. When you accept that this is simply it, this is all there is, this darkness in the tunnel, then you can just… be, and accept that you are already doing it, you’re already there. You can start to get your footing there.

Now keep in mind I’m just one person and what works for me might not work for you. Or maybe you have actually attained some mythical Lisa Frank place of freedom and joy, in which case, wow! Congrats! I’m happy for you. But recovery is also available to those of us who for whatever reason can’t get there. Life is still good. You just have to really accept that it’s not going to be perfect. It’s actually so much better when you take it for what it is. Things are good now. I wish someone would have told me plainly.

Or maybe they tried. Maybe this is one that you really just have to figure out for yourself and put into your own words when you do.