I’ve been called Adam, Aaron even Nick. It’s part of life, I know what it’s like remembering people’s names. It takes a while to etch them to memory and it isn’t personal.

It’s perfectly reasonable to correct people on something like this. But I haven’t, I wonder why that is.

Honestly, I think being the grey man is a survival instinct these days.

It’s been niggling me for weeks, I can’t shake this feeling of toxic regret and shame and my name seems to be a trigger. Every letter and phone call seems to make me wince a little.

I’m still angry at myself. I know the me of now is far different to the “few me’s ago”. Life evolves, we change and to define myself by the past is to willingly and knowingly place myself under shame.

I recently heard one of these online self-help soundbite gurus on a reel clip talk about how not correcting people when they get your name wrong means you don’t value yourself. Perhaps there’s some truth to this.

My thoughts are drawn to biblical figures who are renamed by God, Saul the persecutor became Paul the leader, and Simon the fisherman became Peter the rock.

The lesson here is not so much in the names and the meanings but more that they represent the death of the former and the life and new birth that follows. Out with the old and in with the new.

The phrase dying to self is a religious one but in my recovery its an important priority in my life, my own way leads to destruction and oblivion. By putting my ways to death it creates space, time and opportunity to be present and show up in my life.

The process of that death that gives life is what my self-care looks like. I guess what I wrestle with is that my name represents a stunted, flawed and broken individual and I am still trying to make peace with that past without avoiding ownership and accountability.

While walking with my partner today she jokingly said I’m tired so I’m going to sleep, we happened to be on a hike with a little bit further to go, she closed her eyes as I held her hand and carried on walking and thought I was going to lead her in a ditch so she opened her eyes. I laughed and said, the problem isn’t where I will lead you, it’s that you don’t trust me.

This was a bolt of lightning moment for me. It’s exactly what my relationship is with my higher power, letting go of the steering wheel is so hard to do. Coping with life’s stresses with my addictive behaviour was like my vehicle suspension, I thought it was giving me a smooth ride.

I recently met with a fellow addict and we discussed what things were like for us in “the bubble” I used this week’s language of experience, I’ve been playing a video game with my partner, and we each take turns to make our way through the story of the game.

We observed how we both approach the game from a different angle, she explores, solves problems and builds up her inventory and equipment so that she can take on the bosses at various stages. A wise methodology that mirrors her pragmatic and patient approach to life.

On the other hand, I try to go straight to the monsters and try to beat them too soon. The trouble is I roam from one side quest to another and don’t stick to one thing.

I get distracted and take ages to make progress because I am ill-equipped, and not ready for the foes I face. I have the capacity for so many tools to defeat enemies but wonder in with one potion and expect to progress to victory but fail miserably. (Sounds a lot like basic me)

All of a sudden life sounds like a video game, I work on my inventory, and I know that there are many solutions to life’s puzzles, stresses and monsters.

I guess the lesson I take from the shame of one’s name, is a simple one, it’s all about the repetitive act of self-forgiveness.