Everything is Going to Be Alright.


Yesterday was tough. The move hit me with a wave of emotion. Yet, I knew, deep down there in my soul, that it would be alright.

In 2012, I was in my first few months of recovery. I had quit my decent [paying] job, and took a few months out to invest in my recovery. That time was invaluable. But the time came where I needed to financially support myself, but I was caught between my ego-of having a similar job to the one I left-and my emotional capacity to take on anything too strenuous mentally and physically. After some long and painful discussions, I put my sobriety first, and I took the low-level job.

This job was at a university, a place I’d never worked. I’d worked in the public sector and the private sector, but this was a different beast all together. Here I was, answering the phone, working on a reception desk, delivering the mail, clearing out offices. And dealing with academic egos. Yes sir, no sir etc. It was a test of my humility and my core values. My ego took a bashing. Did they not know who I was, or what I was capable of? In many ways, it helped me focus on the task in front of me, and completing it to the best of my ability. It also gave me a voice, to express who I was in a non-egotistical way, and learn my value. I learned that this was all I was capable of at the time and it supported my recovery. I also learned that it had an expiration date, because, as my strength grew, I could see that I was not working within my ultimate capacity—and that can cause me to stagnate, become resentful and depressed.

Amid this experience, I had a moment of clarity: One day, in a not-so-positive state of mind, I was instructed to clear an office for its new occupant. Off I went, rolling my eyes, and muttering under my breath. It was a tough day. I couldn’t comprehend why I was doing this; why I was working in a menial, repetitive, low paying, mind-numbing job. I questioned if this is what sobriety had to offer. I asked the universe why. As I walked in, I discovered that the office had been cleared. All but one thing, a poem.



This was a profound moment. My eyes filled with tears and I cried. I knew in my heart that everything would be alright. But as I person who likes to see the bigger picture, it was frustrating not knowing where I was headed. This poem stopped me in my tracks and let me know that that too was alright. It was alright that I was doing this job and it seemed pointless, it was alright that I felt less than, it was alright to feel sad and depressed, and it was alright to just do the next right thing.

And so I did, I was promoted, and I moved several positions across the university. I made great friends and learned many lessons about myself and the world in which I live.

Then I took a step writing a blog. The next step was Liv’s Recovery Kitchen. Then I started to create my own career out of my passion, to write about the journey towards health and wellness in recovery.

These steps lead to a leap, my biggest yet. Less than two weeks ago I fulfilled a life’s dream of moving to the states. It has taken all my emotional and physical energy. Yes, I’m living my dream, and I am excited about the future. But to do it alone, without a relocation package, a source of income or anywhere to live, caused immense stress. It took a capacity for faith I didn’t even know I had. People called me crazy and the often questioned my judgement. Yet, I kept taking the next step.

Yesterday, I forgot that it will be alright. I was stuck in an ice storm in downtown Portland. It had descended into chaos; transport ground to a halt, people were panic buying food and the heavens opened. I felt so alone. And it hit me that I had moved to a city on the other side of the world, on my own. I am yet to make a full-time salary-despite working full-time- as I am building my business. I don’t know if I’ll make it.

I stepped out of faith and into fear.

I questioned the plan.

I cried. After several attempts, I got a cab. He shouted at me, telling me I should’ve waved at him. lovely man. It occurred to me that despite speaking the same language, there are huge cultural differences between the UK and US. I felt even more alone and I cried all the way home. Then I did what I have learned to do best – I reached out.  I had words of love and encouragement that I’ve got this, that I have made it this far, and that, most of all, it will be alright.

I got home and I looked at this poem on my notice board. And so I take the next step, back into faith, knowing everything is going to be alright.