Careful How You Help Others

The author on the need for boundaries when helping people in need.

Mood music for this post: “Ten Years Gone,” The Black Crows with Jimmy Page:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vWovzhNH4TQ&hl=en_US&fs=1&]

Being someone who has benefited greatly from the kindness of others, I’m forever trying to pay it forward. One way I do this is by sponsoring people in my 12-Step Program.

But if you don’t handle this blade carefully, it will cut you deep.

That’s what I’m learning, anyway.

I’m new at this sponsorship thing. I’m pretty sure I still suck at it.

Here’s how it works: In a 12-Step Program like AA or OA, the person in search of recovery from their addiction needs someone to coach them along. In the case of OA, you find a sponsor who has achieved recovery (long-term abstinence from compulsive overeating) and ask that person how they are achieving it.

For this to work, the sponsee has to be willing to toss aside all their stubborn thinking about what’s acceptable in recovery and essentially do what their sponsor tells them to do.

In this case, the sufferer checks in with his/her sponsor by phone just about every day for 10 or 20 minutes. You tell the sponsor what your food plan is for the day and what meetings you plan to attend. You also talk about any anxieties in your head that might cause you to go on a binge. When you reach a more advanced stage of recovery, the check-in calls can be more about discussing the 12 Steps and other things instead of running down the daily food plan. There’s no one-size-fits-all approach.

The sponsor typically has all their sponsee calls set up over an hour or two-hour period each day — time set aside just for this. If a sponsee calls even a few minutes early or late, the sponsor’s schedule can get screwed up.

A bad sponsor can be a nightmare for someone trying to find recovery. A sponsor who casually skips call-ins or refuses to adjust to any special food needs their sponsee has because it differs from their own food plan can do serious damage.

A common tactic for OA recovery is to nix all flour and sugar. It’s not a requirement. The only requirement in OA is to stop eating compulsively. But it’s something that’s necessary for a lot of people, including me.

Some sponsors have real trouble sponsoring someone who does not give up flour and sugar. The sponsor typically fears that they might slip in their own recovery by guiding someone whose food plan is different from theirs.

I have a problem with this, because if you have certain medical conditions, you need a specialized plan that’s inevitably going to differ from what the sponsor does. And I’ve met people struggling to find recovery who sink deeper into their addictive behavior because their sponsor was too stubborn to work with them.

This cuts both ways, of course. Sometimes it turns out the sponsee SHOULD ditch the flour and sugar, but they’re so desperate for those ingredients for their junk fix that they close themselves off to anything their sponsor is trying to tell them.

My first sponsor was brutally strict. But that’s what I needed — someone who would give me a deep kick in the ass.

But I was ready to do anything for recovery. Had I not been, I would have just lied to her on the phone every day about what I was doing. People like us tend to lie a lot, as I’ve mentioned before.

Right now I have two sponsees. One, in my opinion, should be off the flour and sugar, but he remains blind to that fact. I could be totally wrong about his needs, of course. But his behavior closely mirrors my own before recovery, and I’ve urged him to try ditching the flour and sugar to see how he feels for a bit. No dice.

My other sponsee is very responsive to my guidance. She has suffered enough that she is ready to do what she must. But boundaries are a problem. She sometimes misses the regular call-in time, then calls me several times later in the day. She’s the type that can suck the life out of you if you don’t set down some tough boundaries.

There are some people you try to help who will try to lean on you for things that are way outside your duty as a sponsor, like buying their groceries and running to their house at 2 in the morning because they’re having a bad night.

Am I screwing up as a sponsor somewhere along the way? Probably. I’m still pretty new at this.

My biggest fear is that instead of helping people, I’ll just make their damage worse. But I do warn those I take on that I’m not a doctor and any plan of recovery I suggest should be run by a real doctor and/or nutritionist.

So here’s why I’m bringing all this up:

Yesterday I went to pick up my sponsee to take her to an OA meeting. She has no car but lives only about 5 minutes from me so I was glad to do it.

But when I called her at the appointed time, she didn’t pick up the phone. I tried several times to no avail, then decided to just head to the meeting. I was almost there when she called. It turns out she fell asleep on the couch and didn’t hear the phone.

I wound up turning around and going to her apartment to talk over some boundaries I felt we needed to have. I was pissed about missing my meeting, but something still compelled me to change course.

I’m glad I did. Seeing this person’s environment was useful to me. And I turned the visit into a mini-OA meeting. During the course of the conversation, I set down some boundaries and she agreed to follow them. She is ready for the challenge.

Hopefully I am, too, because I’d much rather help this person get well than drive her further down the road to hell.

This business with helping others in recovery is tough stuff.

If I ever master it, I’ll let you know.

Turning the Tables on Those Who Whine

The author has a low tolerance for those who bitch. But he’s about to do it anyway.

Mood music for this post: “Thorn in My Pride” by The Black Crows:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5d-xq6q72cA&hl=en_US&fs=1&]

This post is about whining and hypocrisy.

For much of my adult life, I’ve had a low tolerance for people who whine about every little thing. I say adult life, because as a teenager all I did was whine.

Facebook has become a favorite hangout for people with lives packed with drama, and they whine on their profile pages with complete abandon.

I see those messages and I get all high and mighty, telling whoever will listen that these folks should keep their crying to themselves.

In the world outside of Facebook, not even my kids are safe from my low tolerance. Here’s an example:

Sean, 3 at the time, whines about something.

Me: “How about some cheese to go with that whine.”

Sean, being pretty sharp for a 3-year-old: “But it’s not lunchtime.”

The other night a friend from work marveled at how LITTLE I whine about things. He said something about how I’m one of the most optimistic people he’s ever met.

I am an optimist. After all I’ve been through, I’ve found the ability to see the silver lining around every cloud.

But I’ll be honest: Sometimes it’s all just an act.

I try to keep the optimistic face and only show people the confident, been-there-done-that-no-big-deal side of me. Sure, I spend a lot of time in this blog pointing out my weaknesses and failures, but I do it for the sake of testifying as to who I used to be and how I became the guy I am today. That requires taking a rigorous moral inventory of one’s self. Otherwise, I try to keep the happy face bolted on tight.

When I write about how life is so much better now that I’ve learned to (mostly) manage the OCD and related addictions, I mean every word. I’m one of the luckiest guys on Earth.

But that doesn’t mean things go smoothly every day.

Sometimes I still let the worries get the better of me. And when that happens, I whine. Just like all those Facebook friends I mocked earlier.

There’s a lot I want to whine about right now.

It pisses me off that in order to keep my most self-destructive addictions under control, I have to let myself be controlled by other addictions: Coffee. Cigars. Internet.

It makes me angry when I can’t spend money on unimportant things, which is another addiction. We’re so broke right now that I simply can’t afford to do that. I still have done it on a couple occasions, typically in the form of music downloads from the iTunes store. Fortunately, as readers here know from the mood music I put with most posts, all the music I could ever want is available for free on YouTube.

The lack of money is probably my biggest bitching point right now. We have never needed much, Erin and I. We don’t have expensive tastes, unless it’s the occasional splurge during a vacation trip.

Even then, we stay in the cheap hotels, and we’re fine with that.

But lately the basics are getting hard to cover. Bills are getting paid late. We’re not used to paying bills late. Erin has always been very much on top of that.

The cause is a deliberate choice we made over a year ago: That Erin would quit a full-time job and attempt to get a freelance copy editing business off the ground.

She’s handled it like a champ. She works her ass off every day, and her clients are always happy with what she delivers. The trick is finding enough of those clients to stay afloat.

We sometimes find ourselves in the position where bills come due before the money she’s owed arrives in the bank account. But we usually manage to muddle through.

I also take comfort in the fact that money is tight for everyone these days. Hell, even my father is broke. And he’s the best there is when it comes to money management.

I’m also a firm believer that if you hold onto your Faith, God will always provide. And He always has, even when we don’t realize we’re getting what we need and not what we want.

But lately, the money problem is becoming a mountain we’re not sure we can climb. I think we’re going to figure it out and I have no doubt all will be well.

I just hope reality matches my optimism.

How’s that for a bitch fest?

Putting the Fun in Dysfunction

Why the author needs dysfunctional people in his life.

Mood music for this post: “California Uber Alles” by The Dead Kennedys:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UW8UlY8eXCk&hl=en_US&fs=1&]

In one of our many discussions over what she doesn’t like about me and my way of life, my mother often lamented that whatever she didn’t like was “just not normal.”

Truth is, I don’t think I’ve ever met a normal person in my nearly 40 years on this planet.

I prefer it that way.

Normal means you get a long with everyone. You never make waves. You have a perfect family that never, ever fights.

In the parental world view described above, you do everything exactly the way your parents want you to. You always put them first — even before your own wife and kids.

You never piss off your work colleagues and you dive into new work initiatives with a big smile on your face, regardless of whether you believe it’ll work or not.

Have you ever met someone like this?

I’ve learned something valuable on my long journey of recovery from mental illness and addiction: There is no such thing as normal. We are all crazy — some a little bit, some a lot.

For me, the key has been to manage my own brand of dysfunction so that it doesn’t force all the big stuff in life to a grinding halt. If it messes with my work and my ability to be there for my wife and children, then that is NOT OK. That’s what happens when you’re tight in the grip of depression and addiction like I was.

I have my recovery, but I’m still dysfunctional in a lot of ways.

My life is a twisted wreckage of sarcasm, journalism, history fanatic, metal fanatic, devout Catholicism and family. [For more on this, see The Case for Multiple Personalities.] I don’t drink alcohol, smoke pot or eat anything with flour or sugar. I’m in bed early and wake up even earlier. Yet I’m still hopelessly addicted to coffee, Red Bull and I love an occasional cigar. [More on this in How to Play Addiction Like a Piano.]

But it’s a pile of wreckage that sails well enough through rough seas when all the pieces are fused together just right. Sometimes it’ll sway too hard from left to right and pieces will come loose. But it never sinks.

I also believe that no family or office is worth being in without an assortment of dysfunctional personalities.

During my daily newspaper days, one guy constantly picked fights with his editors, shouted F-bombs across the newsroom and always looked like he’d have a stroke at any second. Once, he nearly got fired for telling a reader who didn’t like something he wrote to fuck off by e-mail.

He also exposed a lot of evils in the communities he covered and in some cases it led to new anti-fraud laws being enacted. And if a co-worker was in a bind, he was always among the first to offer a helping hand. He might trash talk that person an hour or a day after helping them, but he’d come back a day later and help that same person if they needed it. If he were more normal, I’m not so sure he’d have the same impact he has had.

When I hang out in a cigar shop, I run into a lot of characters who would be considered dysfunctional. One guy sat down next to me and a friend one night and started describing the government and everything else as a “fuck show.” He slurred every word, though I’m pretty sure he was sober. We were certain his brain had burned to a cinder long ago and all that was left functioning was his mouth. Then he started to talk some more and we discovered he was a former teacher who really knew his history and social studies.

I also know a lot of recovering addicts who are able to help lead people to recovery even though they can’t string more than two words together or tie their shoes before leaving the house. No wonder lace-less footwear is so popular.

The point is that we’re all dysfunctional to some extent. We should be accepting of that — even a bit grateful.

Normal is a boring, stagnant concept that doesn’t really exist anyway. Remember the movie “Pleasantville,” where everyone had squeaky clean, conflict-free lives of black and white? The people in that world only started to live and experience color when the dysfunctional siblings entered the picture.

Next time someone complains that you’re not normal or that you are a source of dysfunction, just correct them and point out that you are merely interesting — after you tell ’em to go screw.

If it Breaks, Let Someone Else Fix It

Two incidents illustrate the fault lines that remain with my personal brand of OCD.

Mood music for this post: “Coming Undone” by Korn:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ioJ9ZHqzMT0&hl=en_US&fs=1&]

“Fuck! Even in the future nothing works.” — Dark Helmet, on discovering that the cancel button for his ship’s self-destruct command was out of order.

Yesterday was a bad day for our Internet to crash. I was working from home and had a lot of stuff to do. Today is a bad day for my company content management system to fail, because I have a lot of stuff to do.

My reaction to both incidents shows how much better I am at managing my OCD — and how far I still have to go.

Yesterday wasn’t a bad day for the most part. I wrote the article and produced the podcast I wanted to do. But right as I was about to file my article, the Internet took a dive. Worse can happen. Much worse. But when OCD runs hot, little things become a big deal. And since I need the Internet to do my job, this wasn’t exactly a little thing.

So I let my mood swing deep into blackness. I couldn’t see or hear anyone around me. It became all about trying to regain control of the situation and get the Internet back. Since the problem was a cable outage in the neighborhood, there was no way I could do anything about it.

Erin handled it better. When she realized she wouldn’t be getting any work done, she shrugged and decided to break for lunch. I did too, but I carried my bad mood late into the afternoon — long AFTER the Internet was back up.

As I write this today I’m waiting for repairs to a critical function in our content management system that allows me to grab stories from other sites in the company and post them to our homepage.

These things happen. Nobody’s fault.

I put in the help desk ticket, shrugged my shoulder and decided to put the wait time to good use by writing this blog entry.

I’m going with the “Let Go and Let God” philosophy I’ve come to cherish over the years. Or, I guess more accurately, I’m subscribing to the belief that if something breaks, you let someone else fix it.

Yesterday that meant Comcast. Today it’s our online production team.

One could think of that as the selfish “Let George do it” approach. But really it’s about trying not to be a control freak and trusting the professionals to do their jobs.

That remains a hard concept for me. I crave order and control, even after all the progress I’ve made.

I’ll just have to keep working on that one.

Addicted to Relationships: A Cautionary Tale

The author on relationship dependency and the damage done.

Mood music:

http://youtu.be/2PD7K8Lmc_U

Calling relationships an addiction may sound ridiculous on the surface. We need relationships. This post is about people who need to have a mate for their lives to have meaning.

They’re so desperate to be part of a union that they get intense about it very quickly, squeeze too tight and become a dysfunctional mess when the inevitable implosion happens.

Oh, yes. I’ve been there.

When I was in my late teens/early 20s I was absolutely obsessed with finding a girlfriend. Coveted relationships failed to take for a variety of reasons, one being that I’d be way too intense about it.

I thought I would surely rope in one girl with all my dark, brooding poetry. I think I scared her off, instead.

My friend Aaron — God Bless him because he was always by my side despite my being an absolute prick — was always trying to find me a girlfriend. He thought one girl would surely take to me because she had made a passing comment about me being “cute” the night of our high school graduation. I hounded her from that point on. She’s the one I pushed my dark and not-all-that-great poetry on.

Funny how some people think they are master poets because they can write a lot about how much they hate their parents. That was me. Of course, I was a teenager and most teenagers hate their parents for a little while.

There was another girl I thought would surely take to me because we were both avid Def Leppard fans. She spurned me — likes to joke about how she broke my little heart — but never went away, either. She went on to marry the guy she constantly complained about and had four kids. To this day, they are close friends and we always laugh about the old days.

A couple of the girls Aaron introduced me to did take to me, but THEY were the ones who squeezed too tight and scared me away.

One was borderline crazy but she had red hair, so I gave it a shot. I fled from her as if she were the house from The Amityville Horror. Not sure whatever became of her.

Another was 10 years older than me. We had an intense relationship that lasted two weeks before I decided to run for my life. The day I broke up with her, she threatened suicide and threw things at me, including a bunch of small, thin light bulbs she kept unscrewing from this lamp I called the middle-finger lamp, because all the small bulbs attached looked like they were giving the finger to all who walked by.

The second I was done with that relationship, I went off in search of another one. Because I felt like I was somehow less of a human being unless I had a mate.

Eventually I smartened up and realized this was a ridiculous hunt. I stopped looking and in the summer of 1993 was actually starting to enjoy being single.

That’s when I met Erin. The rest is history, and it just goes to show that you often find your soul-mate when you’re not looking for one.

I mention all this because I wanted to point out my own sordid history before turning to the real catalyst for this post.

I know someone who just experienced a break-up. I’ll keep the person’s name out of here to protect privacy. This person has NEEDED a relationship for as long as I can remember.

Without one this person starts to lose that sense of self worth you need to get out of bed every morning.

Past break-ups have coincided with massive episodes of depression.

Then a new relationship comes along and this person is the happiest soul on Earth. Then comes the split, followed by more depression.

It can be as vicious an addiction as drugs, alcohol and compulsive binge eating.

I really feel for those caught in its grip.

Relationships are like food. You can’t live without ’em. So when you start to approach them in an addictive fashion, it’s all the more difficult to kick.

I have no real point to make this morning. This is just something I was thinking about when I woke up.

I do pray for the person I just mentioned and hopes he/she can find some equilibrium soon. This person is pretty tough and has been though a lot of adversity, making it through stronger each time.

I’m hoping for a similar result here.

Flour and Sugar: A Tale of Slavery

The author has been asked how he gets by with no bread, pasta and all the other flour-sugar substances. Here’s his answer.

Update: A recent New York Times Magazine article on sugar as a toxin is worth reading as a companion to this post. Article summary: “That it makes us fat is something we take for granted. That it might also be making us sick is harder to accept.”

Mood music:

A reader of this blog wrote me over the weekend and asked how on Earth I’m able to exist without flour and sugar. No pasta? No bread? What else is there?

A woman in OA who I start sponsoring today asked the same question in a Saturday-night phone call. She said she’s hit rock bottom with the binge eating and is ready to do what she must to get better. But really, she asked. Does she HAVE TO give up flour and sugar?

The answer is no. Being in a 12-Step program for compulsive overeating is about one simple goal: To stop eating compulsively. There is no official OA diet.

I also tell people new to the program that sponsors are not doctors. We share the details of how we became abstinent and sober. But what works for us will probably not work for the next person.

No two addicts are the same. That goes for the substance we get addicted to, the manner in which we let it destroy our lives and how we come to the point where we realize it’s time to turn it all over to God or die by our own hands.

I know people in the program who are diabetics or who have intestinal problems that make them very sensitive to raw vegetables. Their food plans have to be different.

But it is true that most people in OA recovery abstain from all foods that have flour and sugar in the ingredients. Including me.

In my case, those ingredients were at the root of my addiction. Flour and sugar mixed together were for me what heroin was to Nikki Sixx or what vodka was to Ozzy Osbourne.

Not only did I put on an atrocious amount of weight binging on these things — I was 280 pounds at my worst — but I started running into some serious medical problems. I was waking up in the middle of the night throwing up stomach acid, for one thing. I was also experiencing an increased frequency of migraines, chest pains and deep fatigue.

I’m not a scientist or a nutritionist but I know this — days after I stopped eating flour and sugar all these things stopped happening to me.

That’s when I realized how enslaved I was to the stuff.

I also dropped more than 50 pounds on the spot. By four months in, the weight loss was 65 pounds, and I’ve maintained my current weight for nearly two years.

The wild thing is I lost the weight and have kept it off eating way more food than I ate before I got abstinent.

Almost everything I eat goes on a little scale. Four ounces of protein. Ten ounces of vegetable. Two ounces of brown rice or potato. Ten ounces of veggie is a lot.

My goal wasn’t really to lose weight. I didn’t mind being a big man. Hard to believe, perhaps. But it’s the truth.

I sought recovery for the sake of my sanity. My grip on reality was getting looser and looser, and without action I was going to fall into the abyss.

The weight loss was a bonus. And I won’t lie: I’m much more comfortable in this body than I was before.

Do I still wish I could eat a slice of pizza or have pasta once in awhile? Well, I thought I would have to fight back those urges. But I haven’t.

In fact, the sight and smell of McDonald’s or Papa Gino’s now makes me want to puke.

I never expected that. But I’ll take it.

Notes on Being a Dad, a Son and Grandson

The author shares some writings on his father, grandfather and kids for Father’s Day.

Mood music for this post: “Holiday in the Sun” by the Sex Pistols. Has nothing to do with the topic, but tomorrow is Father’s Day and I felt like hearing some Sex Pistols.

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XWF9MMxnekQ&hl=en_US&fs=1&]

Since it’s Father’s Day weekend, I thought the appropriate thing to post would be these items on my father, grandfather and my children…

Snowpocalypse and the Fear of Loss. The author remembers a time when fear of loss would cripple his mental capacities, and explains how he got over it — mostly. This is where the author introduces his kids.

Lessons From Dad. The author has learned some surprising lessons from Dad on how to control one’s mental demons.

Courage in the Crosshairs. The author has been thinking a lot about his grandfather and the meaning of courage lately. Some have told him it takes courage to write about his OCD battles. He thinks it’s more about being tired of running.

Like Father, Like Son. The author finds that OCD behavior runs strong among the men in his family.

Peace at the Scene of the Crime. The author, his dad and children visit the Point of Pines and find something that had been lost.

Too Young for the Truth? Sean learns more about the man he’s named for than the author intended at this young age. All things considered, he took it well.

Parental Overload: No Big Deal. Nothing like a week of screaming kids to realize OCD aint what it used to be.

Happy Birthday, My Sweet Boy. Sean turns 9.

Everybody Wants Some

Having had more than my fair share of insanity in life, I have a special appreciation for film clips that make fun of the crazies.

Nobody nails it like the folks behind the movie “Better Off Dead.” How can you go wrong when David Lee Roth is reduced to hamburger meat?

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kz6Kcz62onA&hl=en_US&fs=1&]

Others Who Fight the Stigma

This isn’t the only blog trying to poke the stigma of mental illness and addiction in the eye. Check these out:

Mood music for this post: “Head Full of Doubt/Road Full of Promise” by The Avett Brothers:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E22HprMQN8M&hl=en_US&fs=1&]

I’ve been lucky to run across a couple other blogs this week where others are doing their part to break the stigma of OCD and binge eating. These finds make me happy because I’d hate to be the only one out here trying to fight the good fight. This is a stigma that’s hard to kill, after all.

So let me show you three blogs. Two are stigma-fighting blogs and the third actually glorifies all the stuff food addicts can’t touch.

I include the latter because the gals who write it always give me a chuckle, and laughter is an important tool of recovery, too.

EXPOSING OCD

What’s great about this blog is the level of detail the author gets into about every aspect of her OCD. While my blog casts a wide net on OCD, addiction and all the things that go with it, the author of “Exposing OCD” focuses like a laser beam on the compulsive behavior itself. it’s also chock full of information about the coping tools and organizations that have been a valuable resource for people like us.

The author says the following about herself:

I am a 40 something woman living in the Northeastern US, who took the average 17 years to find out I have OCD and even longer to actually find someone who knows how to treat it. I am sharing what has worked for me, as well as my current challenges with Exposure and Response Prevention Therapy. I hope you find this blog helpful!

I do find it helpful, and I thank you.

PEBBLES IN THE ROAD

This one focuses specifically on the challenges of compulsive overeating. The author takes a real diary approach in this one, while my blog — though the word “diary” is in the title — usually strays from the format.

Her writing is really about taking things one day at a time, focusing on each OA meeting, each day of abstinence from compulsive overeating and how she gets through things like traveling without losing her head. She stumbles, of course, and she doesn’t shy away from that. Here’s what she says about herself:

The is the journal of my road to recovery through Overeaters Anonymous. I have been an obsessive-compulsive personality for most of my 40 years. I had lived most of that time working to cure my disease. Through the years, I have practiced and changed almost all of my OCD behaviors to a livable standard, except compulsive binging. Food was my most powerful compulsion and when I hit bottom on May 13th, 2010, I finally I decided to join Overeaters Anonymous. Little did I know then that this was the answer I had been looking for all along. I have been abstinent from my compulsions since May 15th, 2010 and I have never felt so free.

KTEBCDOG’S BLOG

The ladies who write this one are friends of mine from the IT security industry: Christen Rice Gentile and Katie Boucher. Both work for Kaspersky Lab and Threat Post. Theirs is an unlikely blog to be included here.

I can’t eat a thing that they write about. They write about wanting to eat entire rooms full of kettle corn. They have more to say about beer than I ever thought possible.

But I’m at a stage of recovery where I can read about stuff I can’t have, be OK with it and even enjoy it. Besides, I’m a sucker for this comic direction they take.

Their colleague and my former boss, Dennis Fisher — an avid runner who can eat all this shit and stay thin — is quoted in the tagline as saying “serious food blogs suck out loud.”

Funny… I always felt that way about serious runner blogs. Except for this one. 😉

Go figure.

An OCD Incident

As good as the author has gotten at managing OCD, some days it still comes crashing down.

Mood music for this post: “You’re Crazy” by Guns ‘N Roses:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d1wmwud1DXQ&hl=en_US&fs=1&]

Today was not one of my better days, folks. I had an OCD moment at work. My boss was pretty forgiving about the whole thing, but I’m still pissed with myself.

Before I go any further, this is not a bitch-about-work post. For starters, I have nothing to complain about. I have a great job and work with some of the best people I’ve ever worked with. Every morning I wake up excited about getting to work. Call me crazy, but it’s the truth. And if I did have a problem with someone in the office, it would be between me and them.

No, this is a post about me being an idiot. Pure and simple.

I came into work itching to post two articles I wrote yesterday and did so even though my editor hadn’t had a chance to read them yet. In my head, it was safe to post them because I hadn’t heard back about any changes being necessary. Which meant I had the green light to push them live.

So I did. Now, the editor was very cool-headed about it. He’s one of the nicest guys on the planet and doesn’t yell. But I could tell he wasn’t happy. Not realizing what I had done, he had started doing his own edits.

I went back to my desk, feeling like a first-class asshole. I immediately sent him an e-mail apologizing profusely. He told me not to worry about it. But I worried about it anyway.

Because from the moment I saw the frustration in his face, I knew I had just allowed the OCD to run wild.

These weren’t time-sensitive articles. It really didn’t matter if they ran today or next week. But somewhere in the dark corners of my brain, the urge to control overruled my better judgement.

So here I am, making a much bigger deal of it than it probably deserves.

I’m doing so because there’s a lesson to share.

No matter how good a person with OCD gets at managing the disorder, once in awhile things still go haywire.

For me, this was a minor incident. But it was a sobering reminder that I must take care.

The good news is that I handle these things much better than I did a decade ago, when the very same incident would have caused me to do the following:

— Blame everyone but myself

— Brood for days, possibly weeks

— Let the brooding paralyze everything else, which meant all real productivity ceased and I’d spend time complaining to co-workers instead.

— Allow the stress of the situation to drive me into another episode of binge eating.

This time, the aftermath was happily different. I made my apology, accepted the forgiveness that came my way, and I moved on. I had a pretty productive afternoon of editing to boot.

I had the abstinent lunch I had packed for myself instead of running to the nearest junk-food joint for a binge.

After work was done for the day, I came home, did some chores and enjoyed a nice evening with Sean and Duncan.

And I still find myself looking forward to the work that awaits me tomorrow. And it’ll be a busy one crammed with editing, interviews, more writing and an evening meeting of the National Information Security Group, of which I am a board member.

These things may seem small, but for someone who used to come unhinged over his mistakes — especially the work mistakes — the progress is huge.

So instead of brooding, I’m making a simple course correction: From now on, I don’t publish anything until someone above me signs off on it.

Lesson learned. On with life. And grateful for th ability to put things in the proper perspective.

Some crazy stuff, eh?