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Last month I promised to share a piece I submitted to Chicken Soup for the Soul: Change Your Habits & Attitudes/Change Your Life. Well, here it is, for your reflection:
Bad Habits—Down for the Count!
How can one addictive behavior actually help to overcome other ones? Here’s my story:
I’ve struggled with addictive behaviors for many years. Some of these began as simple bad habits that over time became deep-seated addictions. I’ve tried various ways to beat them, including sheer willpower, prayer, accountability partners, rubber band reminders on my wrist, and even 12-step meetings—with little or no success. But I’ve discovered another addiction I have that seems common to virtually all addictive behaviors, whether they be alcohol, drugs, food, sex, anger, gambling, tobacco, exercise, work, shopping, and countless more. This one, though, is not explicitly coded as a separate disorder within current manuals of mental disorders. It is, however, recognized as a specific type of compulsion under Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (OCD). Here’s what’s amazing: addressing this one alone has proven most important in my healing journey away from other addictions.
What is this miracle addiction, you may ask? It’s countaholism (a term I invented), although it’s been labelled Counting OCD and Arithmomania, and it manifests as a seemingly insatiable need to count. I’m pretty sure all addicts have it, as many (with varied addictions) have told me so. It manifests in the form of keeping track of things, like: sobriety dates, number of meetings attended in a certain period of time, telephone calls made, steps worked, milestone coins earned, to mention just a few.
Allow me now to immerse you in an imaginary 12-step meeting of Countaholics Anonymous, in which I describe my problem and, more importantly, share how my countaholism is being used productively in my victory over other addictions:
My name is John, I’m a countaholic, and I’m gratefully sober today. My addiction began at an early age, long before countaholism was categorized as a medical diagnosis. As far back as I can remember, I’ve always loved counting. I’ve counted stairs going up, and then coming down, just to be sure the number was the same. I’ve even counted the very same stairs repeatedly, over months, to ensure nothing had changed. Whenever we marched in formation during my military career, we’d always start off on the left foot. It’s interesting that when I count stairs, should I discover my left foot stepping down on an even number, I feel compelled to switch feet and correct that error!
I first recognized I was dealing with addictive behavior when, as a boy on vacation to Washington, D.C., I counted the stairs in the Washington Monument. No, I don’t remember the number, but do recall it to be a big one.
Come to think of it, my countaholism has begun to invade other areas of my life. For example, I’m a list maker. I used to create a weekly to-do list to help me keep track of my daily activities. The problem with that is I’m also performance oriented, drawing great satisfaction at being able to cross an item off the list. In fact, I’ve been known to add something to the list that I’d already accomplished, then immediately cross it off, simply for the joy of doing so; “I’m getting credit for that one,” I’d tell myself. Each week I’d carry over a good number of unaccomplished items to the next week’s list, which made for lots of busy work.
I also weigh myself more frequently than recommended, and I check my blood glucose daily, though I’ve never been overweight and I’m not diabetic. The bills in my wallet are all upright, with the smaller ones in the front working their way to the larger ones in the back. If I find a bill that has been inserted upside down or out of place, you guessed it—I have to fix it.
I’m making progress, however. Counting steps has been vanishing from my vocabulary, so to speak, and I only count them on a particularly long staircase now—I don’t re-count them very often any more. In fact, I find myself counting stairs less, and stares more (by being better aware of my surroundings and making eye contact with others walking the same stairs). Incidentally, while I’m tempted at times to look up the number of steps in the Washington Monument, I’ve successfully refrained from doing so thus far.
Instead of a separate sheet of weekly activities, I now carry a small notebook calendar in which I easily add and cross off tasks—just once. I weigh myself less frequently (still too often, though) and continue to check my blood sugar daily (but am considering reducing the frequency). The money in my wallet looks pretty much the same as before. We must remember: in 12-step groups, it’s progress, not perfection that is sought.
My greatest improvement toward recovery from countaholism thus far was discovered while using the YMCA pool to strengthen my lower back, which was injured in college gymnastics. For years I’ve been swimming laps with a kickboard, doing the same number of laps each visit—24 to be precise. At two minutes a lap, it generally takes about 45 minutes to complete the regimen. During that time, I’m counting and watching the clock, thinking about—you guessed it (again)—counting and watching the clock. I’ve even gone so far as to count a fellow swimmer’s laps (secretly, of course), as I questioned the truth of his claim to do a certain number each day; crazy, huh? Recently I asked myself if it truly mattered how many laps I did; perhaps I should just swim for 45 minutes. What difference would it make if I were one or two laps off my expected number?
The first time I tried it, I inadvertently kept track of the lap numbers through 5 or 6. Surely that’s the power of addiction. But then I lost track, and something like a light switch suddenly flipped. I found myself lost in silence and solitude, able to hear God’s voice for the duration of my time in the pool, imagining I was being held in His arms. We spent time communicating with each other. Wow, was that ever special! I’ve been doing the same thing since that wondrous discovery; the next time there, I lost track of the lap number somewhere around 3 or 4, once I decided to focus on reciting the 66 books of the Bible in order from memory.
What’s beautiful is that this improvement in my countaholism is beginning to spill over into my other addictive behaviors, e.g., I no longer keep track of sobriety dates, and my behaviors have improved. It’s one day at a time now, which takes a whole lot of pressure off my shoulders, as it’s so much easier to deal with one day as opposed to a string of them. It’s kind of like the answer to the question: “How do you eat an elephant?” The answer: “One bite at a time.”
You know, I think I may be on to something, and wonder if this methodology can continue to be incorporated into my other addictive behaviors. Time will tell, of course, but you can bet—I’m counting on it!
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