How to Heal a Hangover
I used to drink and take drugs and smoke and yes, occasionally sleep with someone ill-advised. I don’t do any of those things now, but I do drink coffee, eat chocolate, needlepoint, color, over pat my cat until he bites. Last night I began to feel the familiar need to stop how I was feeling, scared, angry, sad, lost, and instead watched a show about sheep farming (who knew) and stopped checking the results.
photo by Gaelle Marcel
I am no stranger to grief. But for those who believe in democracy, rule of law, compassion, and the truth, knowing that this many people in our country don’t, is daunting. I understand better why our schools are failing, our roads are pot-holed, why we are sliding backwards into the post-war fifties mentality of pull up the ladder, not in my neighborhood, women should behave, Black people and immigrants should shut up or leave. My mission remains to teach, to love, to show compassion and empathy and hope.
Since we just moved, I am putting away various papers and found the book the students from a very wealthy and White school made for me after I covered a maternity leave. They said I had shown them how to be kind without condescension, how to laugh at and accept mistakes, how to ask yourself the hard questions about something you are reading or writing. I also found pictures from my first high school assignment, the gang bangers celebrating me on my birthday, presenting their teacher with a cake because she was brave and inspired enough to persist. They wanted a different life.
During the election results last night, I received a text from a former coaching client from unimaginable wealth who had been failing college and life, sweet and smart but stoned and way behind in his classes. We worked together for several years but I feared my guidance was wasted as he finally dropped out. He has a career he loves now. The text was accompanied by a photograph of a beautiful wedding couple with a little girl, “I’m a dad” he said, his happiness clear. I have a calling which is writing and a second calling which is teaching and no matter how desperate and lost I feel, I keep trying, keep writing, keep teaching, and keep caring and hoping. Nothing will change that.
I drank because it is a disease, because I was trapped in a cycle or remorse, guilt, anger, and self-pity, because I could not bear how I felt. I woke up this morning afraid but remembered I have a purpose and a plan and a calling and felt that no matter what, I want to live and help. My incredible father once said after reading a novel of mine, “Do better.” We can do better. We must do better.
—Molly Moynahan, author and writing coach