low tide.

Back and forth.

Up and down.

Highs and lows.

These are my answers to how I’m doing. Vulnerability is my superpower (what’s yours?), so I try to be honest in my answer. I am so glad I survived my accident. And I’m so amazed at the love that has shown up in my life to help in my recovery. And I’m grateful and and and and and… I’m so low.

Once, a boss who regularly read my extracurricular writing, said to me, “You’re either up or down, huh? No in between?”

I could never tell if they said these things to try and hurt me, which was just part of their unpleasantness. But this comment did hurt me, because it felt true. (the realness always hurts the worst.) Evan calls me many nicknames—one of which is “Hot/Cold Stevens.” I’m either hot or cold—no in between.

And therein lies the truth.

So when I say, “I’m back and forth,” it’s usually back.

When I say, “I’m up and down,” I’m usually down.

When I say, “There are highs and lows,” I’m usually low.

Yesterday, I went to my orthopedic doctor to get updated x-rays to check on the healing process of my bones. I’m a month in to this recovery, trying to heal the following: three skin graft wounds, a partially collapsed lung, sutures in my head that required seven staples, a concussed brain, a broken tailbone, five broken transverse processes, six broken ribs, and one shattered scapula. It’s like the Shitty 12 Days of Christmas up in my body. The scapula (shoulder blade) is the most problematic part. It hurts the worst and is the most debilitating.

In the hospital, a couple days after my accident, a doctor told me that it would be two months before I started feeling like myself again. Stupid me thought that meant that I would be HEALED in two months. So imagine my surprise when my doctor brought up my x-ray yesterday and my scapula looked nowhere near half-way healed.

The doctor explained to me that parts of my scapula are still a whole centimeter away from other parts of my scapula—the same bone… they’re supposed to be together.

I felt like I sank lower beneath the lowest part of my spirits when he told me that fully healing and full functionality will maybe come at six months. I stopped tears by cracking jokes about doing pull-ups and thanked him and wept as soon as I left the office doors.

Today, August 13th, I celebrate one year sober. (!!!!!!!) One year without a drop of alcohol.

A year ago today, right now, I was in one of my lowest places. I knew I had to stop drinking, but I really didn’t want to. I knew life was asking for more of me and I was truly sick and tired of being sick and tired. I wept in my lowness, having my planned last drink—a bottle of wine Evan and I brought back from France and were saving for when I got an agent. I figured, I wasn’t getting an agent any time soon, so might as well go out with a bang. And while I was miserable, the wine was delicious.

I’m supposed to be celebrating tonight in Missoula, with all my friends (Allison) and LCD Soundsystem. I sold my ticket, because I can’t do that drive with a broken tailbone. Instead, I went to two different brain doctor appointments and then had a therapy appointment today. There was a lot of crying. And a lot of wishing I was in a different place—mentally and physically. But I’m in this low place. And yet, I am proud of myself.

I talked with an editor a couple weeks ago and she commented on my Modern Love pieces and also my sobriety.

Her: What was harder: Getting three Modern Love pieces published or getting sober?

Me: (without hesitation) Getting sober. 100%.

I feel like I’ve got writing about love and loss and life down. I do not feel like I’ve got experiencing love and loss and life without booze down. Not yet, at least. But I’m going to keep trying to figure it out.

Happy ONE YEAR to me! It feels unreal and it also feels real good.

We went to Seattle last week for a wedding. It was so glorious and so fun. (thank you for all the help with a green dress!)

(though the real champ is The Cowgirl Mermaid who made me my custom bling sling.)

Being back in Seattle was also just the best. I kept feeling like the ocean wanted to tell me something. We went at high tide once.

We watched the seals go wild, slapping their tails at one another, which apparently is their sexiest move. Evan and I slowly, but surely, let Marcie go swimming in the ocean, while we sat on logs and talked. I can’t go in the water right now, because of my skin graft wounds, otherwise I’m sure this would’ve been me.

I couldn’t hear the ocean trying to tell me anything, so I had Marcie ask, since the ocean seemed to like her more. We hollered back and forth to each other.

Me: Marcie! Ask the ocean what Papa needs!

Marcie: (pauses with her ear toward the sea) It says, “LOVE!”

Me: Ask the ocean what I need!

Marcie: (pauses with her ear toward the sea) It says, “Whatever you want!”

Me: Ask the ocean what you need!

Marcie: (pauses with her ear toward the sea) It says, “Whatever I want to get!”

We went once again, early one morning at low tide, so that we could all go tide-pooling. God, I love tide-pooling. Immediately upon arriving at the beach, a Great Blue Heron greeted Marcie and me. We walked along the shore as Evan caught up, bringing us the jackets we requested from the car, because it was colder than we all realized.

It’s so cool seeing the depths of a place so exposed. We turned over rocks and Marcie tried to count the crabs. Clams squirted water at us and Marcie asked if she should be scared. (no, no, babe.) Evan marveled at the largest barnacles he could find and we both taught Marcie how to gently (gentle!) touch sea anemones (she calls them “sea enemies”) and watch them close up. I giggled in delight when we found purple sea stars clung to the underside of big rocks. I love love finding sea stars.

We had to wander farther than we thought to find all the goodness. This meant that a six-year-old who shall remain unnamed begged to be carried for much of the walk. Since I’m injured, Evan hauled around aforementioned six—year-old.

Evan found these terrifying clams that looked exactly like the plant from Little Shop of Horrors to me.

There was also kelp strung all about the beach, looking a mess. So we had to move it about to do some treasure hunting. Any one of us would find a huge anemone or a pretty shell or a treasured sea star and yell to the others to come look at the beauty! It was hidden, even if it was so exposed during this low time.

Soon it wasn’t lost on me how I’ve been at a low tide since my accident. And if we’re being honest, for a bit even before my accident. Instead of it either being one of the other, highs or lows, the ocean was telling me that it’s gonna be low for a while… you’re going to get cuts on your knees from trying to find goodness during this time… you will have to search for the gems… but they’re there. There is so much beauty to be found during low tide. It just might take a little more searching and a little farther wandering than you expected.

• Jam Of The Week: Shabazz Palaces – Ahh World (I Won The Alpha Bet).
  (speaking of Seattle… I could not be more excited that Shabazz Palaces is back. their new album “It’s a Style Sport” is out on Sub Pop on October 23rd. pre-order here.)

• Being A Personal Essayist And A Human Is Weird.
  (I really enjoyed this perspective on personas.)

• Please Say These.
  (hilariously accurate.)

• A Fave Music Writer On Some Fave Music.
  (I miss my KEXP editorial team.)

• Dear Lordt It’s Too True.

• UM, SIR.

An actual conversation that happened today at a doctor’s office…

Dr: How does it feel when you grocery shop?

Me: I don’t grocery shop.

Dr: Maybe you can do the dishes as part of your recovery?

Me: I don’t do the dishes.

Dr: What do you do to help out your family?

Me: Great question.

This is me. It’s low tide, y’all. But there’s some pretty stuff down here!

xxo,
Rachel.