#118 When the Practice Gets Real

On Losing My Cat, Instagram Relapse, and Remembering why I'm in Recovery

Rory and I are down in Sanur this weekend for the AA Convention here in Bali - a gathering of the island’s recovery fellowships. Every group has organized talks, meetings, and events, and tomorrow there’s even a banquet.

If you’ve been reading my Substack the past six months, you’ll know that with almost six years of sobriety, I joined AA in January - not for alcohol, but for an addiction that had quietly crept into my life again and again: Instagram.

I’ve used Instagram in much the same way I used to use alcohol:

• Dveṣa (aversion) - to avoid difficult emotions

• Rāga (attachment) - to chase a hit of dopamine

Both are kleshas — the mental afflictions Patanjali outlines in the Yoga Sutras as the root of all suffering. These unconscious drives shape our actions and reactions, keeping us in a loop of pain.

Three weeks ago, I relapsed on Instagram. It started innocently - posting about Sober in the City, then the retreat with Rory, then about us dating. But then came the obsession: checking likes, refreshing, craving validation.

And then, yesterday, my cat Princess died.

She had been with me for five years - since March 2020, when my life fell apart and the world shut down. She arrived as a foster when I’d lost my yoga job, my boyfriend, and all sense of grounding. She became my anchor, my guardian, my companion in rebuilding.

Over the last few months, I sensed she was reaching the end. She was diagnosed with FIV and worms and couldn’t fight the viruses. She’d grown weaker. When I was in Toronto/Arizona she actually stayed at the Vets for three weeks. When I returned to Bali, she was ok for a little while, and looked to be improving - she jumped on my lap twice. But earlier this week, she suddenly stopped eating and drinking anything. I took her to the vet, and as soon as they offered her food, her head dropped into the bowl. I knew.

The vet told me she was suffering. We made the decision.

Rory was home when I returned, and I sobbed into his hug. I told him the story of how she came to be my cat and the story of what happened at the vet that day. We had dinner. Then when I got home I told him I was going to write. He went in the other room to play the guitar, and I wrote. But I didn’t write a Substack (which is what I find so therapeutic) - I did what my addiction-trained mind knew how to do: I spent two hours crafting the perfect Instagram caption about her. And then? I posted it, and obsessively checked for comments and likes. I numbed. Again.

I had a hard time falling asleep, and probably slept about four hours. And then, our morning meditation - usually so grounding - didn’t land. I told Rory later in the day, “I can feel I’m in active addiction again.”

We got on our bikes and headed for Sanur. It wasn’t until 30 minutes into the ride that I realized why the journey felt so strange: this was the first trip I’d taken without planning for Princess. Usually, I’d be arranging her transport (since she was a Princess she often got a private car to take her to wherever we were going - I didn’t like to take her on my motorbike for long journeys outside of Ubud!) But today, I was just responsible for me. I was just riding. And feeling.

With no phone in hand, my nervous system began to settle. Grief surfaced. I cried. I started to feel again.

At the convention, I sat through three sessions, and by the end, I remembered why I joined this fellowship to start: to heal from this digital addiction. I’d lost sight of it.

It’s no coincidence the Yoga Sutras emphasize tapas, or disciplined effort, as a path toward liberation. Sometimes, tapas isn’t fiery or performative - it’s as simple as putting the phone down, turning inward, and sitting in the grief that comes.

By the time we were in the third session of the convention, I realized I have to do another thirty day streak off Instagram.

I had gone back online in mid-May, and justified my continued posting right now to try to fill a final spot in my 200-Hour Yoga Teacher Training this July - but the truth is, the cost to my peace isn’t worth the outcome. The training is full enough. I need to let it go.

And not just personally - I think I’m stepping away from all social media content, even the curated posts I used to delegate to the team, for at least a month. Because even then, I’d be checking in, tweaking, overthinking. My brain would turn to mush.

But writing a Substack tonight feels like I am breathing and processing again.

Whilst lying here writing, I asked Rory to move my phone away from the bed. I don’t want it near me. And suddenly I have space to process what I hadn’t even let myself feel. What else happened in the last 24 hours? Oh yeah! I walked by a restaurant today where I once ate with my attacker (completely forgetting that me and him even came to Sanur). Oh, and a man on a bike grabbed my ass while I was driving down the highway on my bike and then pretended to jack off when I looked at him. (These types of things I honestly hadn’t even thought about yet - because of my mental fixation on Instagram. And this is how addiction works! It’s trying to numb out our brain from feeling these painful moments and memories each day. But if we don’t process them each day then they build up inside of us until we break.)

We are constantly accumulating samskāras - mental imprints from experiences - and unless we allow ourselves the time and space to digest them, they linger in our bodies, shaping our futures. I am privileged to get to see Rory teach his How to Meditate Course a lot on retreats - and he always reminds our guests that meditation isn’t just to process the past - it’s to metabolize the present.

So I’m learning, I’m reflecting, I’m writing. I’m showing up for the process. Some addictions are so strong that you have to relearn that they’re an issue - over and over again.

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Here’s what I shared yesterday about Princess (which would have been a full, complete Substack, if I took the time to truly write instead of working on an Instagram caption! I do like this little post, too.

I never planned on having a cat. I actually was a bit afraid of them. Then March 2020 happened. Covid hit, the school I worked at closed, and my boyfriend at the time (who was 20 years older than me and also my boss at a yoga studio 🤣) broke up with me and fired me all in one week. I must have given off *disaster* vibes to the people logging into my new online zoom yoga platform (which later became @themindfullifepractice ) as someone recommended I foster a cat. 🤣 I had a look at the foster page and saw P and it was love at first sight.

My mom wrote me a really beautiful text today about how fate brought me and P together, and she’s right. P arrived out of nowhere when I needed companionship. She witnessed my rebuilding and was a protector during a vulnerable period of my life.

P spent time at the vet in May whilst I was in North America & the vet reported she was doing well when she left. Two weeks ago, Rory got here before I did (he’d met Princess before but only briefly cuz he wasn’t yet my BF! 🤣) Rory spent 24 hours at my house with Princess before I arrived where she snuggled with him lots (he sent me pics!) But when I got back she stopped coming near us both.

Now I see her bonding with Rory 2 weeks ago when he arrived as the handover. He moved in, and it was like she was like “I can finally let go now. Alex is in good hands.”

When her soul left her body this afternoon it was as if she was saying that her work here is done.

Today at the vet in her last moments I told her the story of her life (as much of it that I know.) I don’t know about the days on the streets and I don’t know if she was ten or fifteen years old. But I know she became the star of a COVID Online Yoga Community, and then went to yoga retreats, stayed in five star hotels…. So many adventures that I even forgot parts of the story when I was telling them to her. “Oh ya! And then we lived on the beach for six weeks!”

Ram Dass wrote in Polishing the Mirror, “Death is not an error… it is like taking off a tight shoe.”

The last photo is the last one I took of her - with Rory last week.

You were so loved, P.