#13 Weekly DBrief

Lazy, Lost or Low Energy?

If you've been following me here on Substack or any of my other platforms. You'll know I've been through a fair bit of recovery, both emotional, physical and from addiction. Recovery has especially shaped the last few years of my life to the point that it has been my entire focus.

But here's something we don't talk about enough: life after recovery.

Whether it's recovery from addiction or navigating my own mental health, it's felt like my life has been a broken record, stuck on getting better. When I've turned to the NHS in the past, I've been guided, monitored, medicated, and supported up to a point. But once I'd "recovered", in their eyes, I felt nudged (or shoved) out of the nest with the unspoken expectation that "you'll suddenly know how to fly".

And while I'm incredibly grateful for the therapy and community-based support I've found outside the NHS, services that have helped me keep moving forward, the truth is, there's still not a lot out there to help you figure out how to live once recovery ends. Nothing prepares you for the new, quieter struggle: recovering from the recovery itself.

For almost a decade, my version of "rest" looked like this: long naps on the sofa, staying in bed all day, eating whatever was easy, ignoring hygiene, watching TV, playing computer games (god bless the creators of Subnautica), getting drunk and/or high. That was comfort. That was my normal, and that was how I survived.

And now?

Now I don't drink. I don't use. I still play computer games, although I find myself riddled with guilt when playing them because I feel like I'm wasting time. I still nap, but not as often. But I'm struggling to find rest, real rest. I feel like rest should look and feel different now. But my relationship with rest hasn't quite shifted yet. I still find myself dozing off after shifts, zoning out in front of the telly, or procrastinating on the things I want to do. And I've started asking myself a question that nags at a lot of us:

Am I just lazy?

I've always considered myself a storyteller rather than a writer. I don't just tell stories to others; I tell them to myself. But the ones I tell myself are much more dangerous because they're often untrue. One of the stories I catch myself repeating is: "You're lazy."

But when I sit with that thought and start to unpick it. I come to the conclusion that I'm not lazy at all. I think what's actually going on is that I'm in limbo.

Post-recovery. Post-graduation. Pre-success.

Who am I now that I'm not an addict?

Who am I now that I've earned a degree?

Who am I now that I've left the old house behind, moved in with my partner, and started again?

Big questions. Big changes. And with all those changes, it's no surprise that I feel drained. That I retreat to what's familiar. Because I can't check out like I used to. Not with booze, not with drugs and not with shutting myself away in my little domestic prison for weeks on end. It feels like my only option now is sitting with uncomfortable feelings, processing completely unmedicated, and it is exhausting.

So maybe I'm not lazy. Maybe I'm lost. Or maybe… maybe I'm just low energy. Burnt out. Working a job that's non-creative and robotic. A job that cages me in, even though it pays the bills.

It's not that I don't have dreams. I do. Some would probably say that I have too many (I don't keep those people around). I have things I want to create, stories I want to tell, and a version of myself I'm building towards. But right now, I often don't have the fuel to get there. And I know I'm not alone in that.

There's a silent, monotonous struggle that hits after recovery. One that can quietly tempt you back toward old habits. Because at least the bad choices are familiar. At least my little lonely prison, with my bad thoughts, made sense.

So what's the answer? I don't know exactly. But here's where I've landed:

Recovery isn't just one step; it's a million tiny steps.

When you break a leg, you don't go to the gym as soon as the cast comes off and hit leg day five times a week to heal faster. You rest. You stretch. You do a bit of physio. You build up slowly. Recovery from addiction, depression, and anxiety is no different. The brain, like the body, needs time to limber up.

When one day at a time proves too much, I'm adopting a new approach: five minutes at a time.

Five minutes to write.

Five minutes to tidy the garden.

Five minutes to think of a title for a new Blog.

And more often than not, five minutes turns into an hour.

I'm also learning to lean on the tools around me, AI, friends, accountability buddies (Accountabilibuddy), social media, reminders on my phone, and lists. Whatever it takes. If I need someone to message me and say "Have you done your five minutes today?", I'll ask for that.

Because I'm not lazy.

I'm not lost.

And I'm not broken.

I just need a system that's a little gentler, kinder, and more sustainable.

I don't know exactly what I'll be doing in 10 years. But I know how I want it to feel. I know the kind of day I want to have. I know that I want it to be full of purpose and connection. That's what I'm moving toward.

I'm not aiming for a specific job title or a specific monetary goal. I'm reaching for a way of being that feels true to me. Something that's warm and mine. Home?

It feels uncomfortable to ask for so little in a success-obsessed culture, but I think that's enough for now.

If any of this resonates with any of you applause seekers out there. If you've ever wondered if you're lazy, or broken, or stuck. I want to say this to you:

If you're worried you're lazy, then you're not.

If you're questioning whether you're lost, then you're probably already on your way.

If you keep showing up for yourself, even in small, tired, half-hearted ways, that's enough. That's recovery.

So here's to five minutes.

Here's to showing up.

Here's to the small wins.

You might even see a little more consistency from me here on Substack in the coming weeks.

Time will tell.

Until next time

DB