Recovery Go-Bag: J Wortham
“Lean into the pain. Don’t turn away. It is our greatest teacher.”
I kicked around an idea for “Desert Island Discs” for recovery for a couple of years, but instead of top-five favorite music albums you’d take with you to a desert island, it would be which recovery books you would bring.
I had this experience when, out of an abundance of precaution, we left our home and neighborhood semi-urgently during the recent LA fires. What did I throw in my bag? Well, two physical copies of my marked-up version of “When Things Fall Apart” by Pema Chödrön and “How to Do Nothing” by Jenny Odell. I took those two because I feel like I’ve studied them and used them enough during various crises, both existential and familial, that I know how beneficial they are and how essential they’d be had we been away from our home for an extended period or, God forbid, lost everything. We were fine. And I was fine, and I knew if I stuck to my books, I would be fine even if something terrible did happen.
It gave me the idea to ask other writers, artists, and musicians about what they’d bring with them if shit went down and they were forced to only bring a few items with them to help keep their recovery intact, well — what would those items be?
Today, our guest is writer J Wortham.
Recovery Go-Bag: J Wortham
Honestly, this is something that would change on a daily basis, but when I think about the things that are bringing me sanity just for today, the list gets very simple. JUST FYI: They aren’t all books! But I hope my entry still counts.
“The Language of Letting Go,” by Melody Beattie. Bangers. Truly! It’s a daily reader, which means that you open the book, flip to today’s date, and see what wisdom MB has for you. And it never disappoints! Today’s entry started out with “allowing ourselves to receive love is one of the greatest challenges we face in recovery.” Like, exsqueeeeze me, ma’m?! Who let you look at my 23andme report?! It always goes bone deep. Can’t do without it.
Items from my alter, including (but not limited to) a bottle of river water I collected during a really sacred and profound water ritual and a cowrie shell gifted to me by a performer.
My journal! Each morning, I try to write out my gratitudes/delights lists, along with a small little incantation/prayer to ask for patience, faith and trust, or whatever else is coming up. It’s so embarrassing that I couldn’t imagine someone accidentally finding it in my newly emptied home or leaving it behind.
As a bonus Jonas item, I’d probably include a copy of “When Things Fall Apart” which has resurfaced in my life in an interesting way (aka you and Holly keep talking about it!) and the idea at the core is so profound — Lean into the pain. Don’t turn away. It is our greatest teacher. And then to soothe the afterburn of THAT, I’d follow it up with a violet tincture I just made in North Carolina that is reminding me of a life bigger than I can even imagine for myself.
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Jenna (J) Wortham is a staff writer for the New York Times Magazine, host of the podcast “Still Processing” as well as the co-editor of the anthology Black Futures. They are currently working on a book about dissociation called Work of Body for Penguin Press. They can be found on Substack here.
Previously:
Recovery Go-Bag: Holly Whitaker
"It’s important for me to stress that I would definitely try to put five huge books in a go-bag — even though it’s completely fucking impractical — because I’m me and I always bring too many books instead of what I actually need and end up paying for it."
REMINDER: CHECK-INS ARE DUE!
May Check-Ins are due this week. We want to know how you’re living. Tell us what’s up with your recovery or anything else noteworthy. We want both the great and the gross.
The perfect length is 150-300 words. Here’s a great one from last month’s round-up to give you an idea of what we’re looking for:
When I quit doing coke at the beginning of the year I started exercising. I managed to knock out some two-mile runs before an old knee injury flared up. I saw an orthopedist who ruled out any serious problems and referred me to a physical therapist.
The PT facility is a few miles east of my house. I get excited about my appointments and a big part of that is getting to use my body again. My heart pumps hard because I’m crushing Bulgarian squats, not because I’m railing lines.
I used to buy cocaine from a guy who lived about 10 miles east of my house. I had no reason to drive in that direction except when I wanted to pick up, which was all the time. Going to my PT appointments takes me down the same roads, in the same direction, that I would drive when I was buying coke. This coincidence always makes me smile. Not all roads lead to coke.
Recovery has been hard and scary, but it also kicks ass because I feel like I’m becoming myself again.
EMAIL US HERE: tsbcheckins@thesmallbow.com SUBJECT: MAY CHECK-IN
It will be published on TUESDAY, May 6th.
This is The Small Bow newsletter. It is mainly written and edited by A.J. Daulerio. And Edith Zimmerman always illustrates it. We send it out every Tuesday and Friday.
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ZOOM MEETING SCHEDULE
Monday: 5:30 p.m. PT/ 8:30 p.m ET
Tuesday: 10 a.m. PT/1 p.m. ET
Wednesday: 10 a.m. PT/1 p.m. ET
Thursday: 10 a.m PT/1 p.m. ET (Women and non-binary meeting.)
Friday: 10 a.m. PT/1 p.m. ET
Saturday: Mental Health Focus (Peer support for bipolar/anxiety/depression) 9:30 a.m. PT/12:30 p.m. ET
Sunday: (Mental Health and Sobriety Support Group.) 1:00 p.m PT/4 p.m. ET
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If you don't feel comfortable calling yourself an "alcoholic," that's fine. If you have issues with sex, food, drugs, codependency, love, loneliness, depression —whatever-whatever–come on in. Newcomers are especially welcome. We’re here.
FORMAT: CROSSTALK, TOPIC MEETING
We're there for an hour, sometimes more. We'd love to have you.
Meeting ID: 874 2568 6609
PASSWORD TO ZOOM: nickfoles
A POEM ON THE WAY OUT:
Late Summer After a Panic Attack
by Ada Limon
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I can’t undress from the pressure of leaves,
the lobed edges leaning toward the window
like an unwanted male gaze on the backside,
(they wish to bless and bless and hush).
What if I want to go devil instead? Bow
down to the madness that makes me. Drone
of the neighbor’s mowing, a red mailbox flag
erected, a dog bark from three houses over,
and this is what a day is. Beetle on the wainscoting,
dead branch breaking, but not breaking, stones
from the sea next to stones from the river,
unanswered messages like ghosts in the throat,
a siren whining high toward town repeating
that the emergency is not here, repeating
that this loud silence is only where you live.
— From “The Carrying” Via Poetry Foundation
Oooooh!