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9:30 AM on a Monday. What the actual fuck?
I'm never up this late – 7 AM is my clockwork. But something's off. There's a presence in my bedroom. Not just one – they're everywhere. Sitting next to me, lurking behind, under the bed, in every corner of my apartment. This cold, heavy feeling crawling up my spine.
And then, as consciousness fully hits me, they start. The whispers. The voices. Getting louder, more familiar... Wait. I know this feeling. It's been a while, but my body remembers: the ghost of hangovers past, the shadow of party weekends fueled by booze and whatever else could numb the noise.
Panic rises. It's been my 38th birthday weekend. Did I...?
No. Ufff... But then what's happening?
"SURPRISE!"
Great. My demons decided to throw me a surprise birthday party.
The monsters under your bed don't disappear when you grow up – they just get better at disguising themselves as rational thoughts.
"You thought you could ignore us all weekend with your serotonin-filled nights? Pretending everything's perfect? Well, here we are. And we're not leaving until we talk."
Not today, Satan. I pull the covers over my head. Maybe if I just stay in bed, they'll get bored and leave. But the voices only get louder, each one hitting a different nerve:
"Come on, one little party won't kill you. Nobody has to know..."
"Zero excitement in your life now, huh? Remember the dark fun?"
"Almost 40, in the best shape of your life... so what?"
"Men your age go for younger women – you know that, right?"
"Look at those wrinkles... time for Botox?"
"You can't stop time... you can't stop time... YOU CAN'T STOP TIME..."
I'm realizing that time was never the enemy – our fear of it was. And that fear? That's just more noise.
What the actual fuck is happening? I'm supposed to be past this. The bravest thing you can do is to sit with your discomfort instead of trying to numb it, fix it, or run from it. I'm the one who preaches about letting go of things we can't control. I know all about brain sabotage and how to manage it. I'm exactly where I want to be. I know these thoughts aren't real, so why won't they shut up?
"You still don't get it, do you?" they whisper. "Go talk to people who'll give you a different perspective."
Fine. At least I know how to handle days like this – and it's definitely not by staying in a dark room having a pity party. I drag myself out of bed, determined to get some sun, take a walk, practice presence.
"Great plan! But we're coming with you. Clearly, you have no idea how to get rid of us."
Fuck.
Here's what addiction recovery taught me (and I'm still learning): vulnerability is power.
Growth isn't about becoming someone new – it's about finally meeting who you've always been beneath all the noise.
So I call my friend, spilling everything about these weird-ass struggles that make zero logical sense and feel so unlike me.
He listens, then drops this bomb: "Maybe, just maybe, Joanna, you're not made of steel and iron? Maybe you're not a robot, and you actually have emotions that need processing?"
Logic versus emotions – my eternal battle. I understand how it works (of course I do!), but when it hits me, I forget everything and start searching for scientific justification like it's a math problem to solve.
Logic is great for solving problems, but useless for processing emotions. That's like trying to eat soup with a fork – wrong tool, honey.
"Cut yourself some slack," he continues. "You've been riding serotonin highs all weekend, ignoring what's brewing. Monday's just balancing the chemical equation. But here's something else to consider: maybe this birthday's hitting different because you're actually present this time? Fully clean, more aware than you've been in years? Those demons were always there – they were just your roommates back then, hidden behind the chemical haze. Now you're actually listening instead of running."
The day you stop performing your life and start living it is the day everything shifts.
Damn. That hits different as I wander around Chania's small bays, heading to my next meeting.
My other friend doesn't sugarcoat it: "So let me get this straight – you're in the best shape of your life, addiction-free, know exactly who you are and where you're going, living your dream... and you're complaining? Shut the fuck up, go home, order food, watch something stupid, and don't think. Yes, your brain will still sometimes connect situations with old habits. But you've already overcome most of it. This is just another skill to master. Now stop whining."
I love her brutal honesty. So I did something completely out of character: ordered food, went to bed, and watched Gossip Girl. No jokes.
The next day was better – not exactly dopamine highs, but functioning. Bike ride, working from my favorite coffee shop, case closed. Or so I thought. But you know me – always jumping to conclusions too fast. Sound familiar?
By Wednesday, I caught myself spiraling into a different kind of escape: searching for Botox, new clothes, external fixes for internal noise.
We're all searching for answers in designer bags and botox needles, while the real answers are sitting in the silence we're so desperate to avoid.
Another friend came over, sat down, and dropped this truth bomb:
"Logic doesn't give a fuck about your emotions. You need to process them. These meltdowns? They're fuel. Life needs ups and downs to create energy. A flat line means we're losing power. Think of it as a system reboot – updating your values, checking your coordinates, preparing for change. But remember – this isn't a task to complete. These are emotions. Make friends with them."
And finally, after days of wrestling with my demons, I realized – they're not demons at all. They're more like those brutally honest friends who force you to question everything, who push you toward growth even when it hurts. The plot twist nobody tells you about growing up:
the more comfortable you get with your demons, the less power they have over you.
Thank you, unexpected party guests. Next time, I'll welcome you with curiosity instead of defense.
That evening, I got a message from a friend I met in Vietnam last year: "Happy Chinese New Year! I love being in my 40s. It's amazing to have the experience and knowledge of life while still being relatively young and healthy.
Carl Jung believed life doesn't truly begin until 40 – until then, we're just preparing, gathering data, learning about the world and figuring out exactly who we are."
I love this perspective. And I'm grateful for people like her in my life now – people I never had during my old habits. Yes, we're all on our own journey, but the right people make the path less lonely.
It's funny how
awareness doesn't make us immune to our brain's tricks. But the more we understand how our minds work, the better we navigate life. There's no such thing as absolute truth – only the stories we tell ourselves.
I'm still processing, still shifting perspectives, still learning.
There's power in sharing our struggles. I hope my weekend with the "demons" helps you process whatever you're facing. Consider this my way of passing forward all the good I've received.
Because sharing is caring. And I do care about you.
xoxo