On serenity & permanent life changes

I officially dropped off the map. Dammit, normally I’m pretty good at follow through. Except for those years I knew I had a drinking problem and willfully ignored it

My last posting was in the spring – nearly 5 months ago (?) – and I would like to say, dear reader, that it’s all ok.

In these days of silence, I’ve done a lot of stuff I probably shouldn’t have: allowed myself to be sucked into family drama (oh my god, the blog posting I could write about THAT HOT MESS), I allowed myself to be a complete bitch negative for days on end, I’ve picked fights with my husband over really important shit like the proper way to hang a polo shirt, I’ve had too much coffee, I’ve snuck chocolate late at night when calories just don’t count. I’ve accidentally made my niece cry by being too pushy (god I feel like such an awful person), and I’ve made belittling comments about myself.

One think I haven’t done? Had a single drop of alcohol.

My commitment to sobriety is most certainly stronger than i was all those months ago, when I emerged from a horrible night, humbled & broken by my own addiction and the very dangerous place I chose to put myself & loved ones. 

I think some of this has to do with serenity; on fully accepting without a single doubt that I am an alcoholic and that I will never be able to handle alcohol in any form, in any situation, no matter what. I’ve surrendered to the fact that sometimes anxiety & sadness will rear its somber, tired ass; and I might have to have it sit on my shoulder for a little longer than I would like. (God, fuck you, anxiety, for the raw pangs of electicity that shoot down my chest and poke at the most vulnerable parts of me. For the haunting repition that occasionally beats like a drum: what if what if what it what if whatifwhatif. I’m coming for you, with my yoga and my gratitude and my self-care and my healthy eating.)

And you know, I don’t feel bad for myself. I feel empowered that I finally realized what path I was taking, and chose to turn around. I feel stronger for knowing my weaknesses and doing the daily work to remind myself why I’m here. I’m grateful.

I’m sober.

Can you relate?

Checking in from day 115 (!!) – and how are you all feeling today?! So glad you didn’t make an ass out of yourself on St. Patty’s Day? Or, perhaps you did, and today is your day one? Wherever you are – welcome! You’re not drinking TODAY which is what really counts.

Two things are just so true about getting sober:

1) the sugar cravings (and with all the gorgeosu pastel colored treats being rolled out at every shop and store…lord help me)

2) the irritation and frustration that can hit quickly, ferioucously & sometimes unexpectedly. holy shit, i will absolutely take this trade-off – nothing can make drinking look good to me, ever again – but LET IT BE KNOWN: sometimes, you might feel like the bitchiest, most annoyed, ready to throw a temper-tantrum version of your self. over something terribly important like, I don’t know, the amount of time the dick in front of you at the coffee shop takes to make his order. BUT YOU ARE NOT DRINKING. So! Overall a great success.

This is also why this e card made me laugh so much !

80 afternoons

Today is the 80th afternoon I’ve felt grateful that I am not drinking. The 80th time I have looked back on the night before and not winced. As well as the 80th day where I’ve wrestled with sobriety.

Wrestling meaning grappling, I suppose? It feels like I’m losing a layer that just doesn’t fit – maybe one of those boiled wool awful scratchy knit things your grandmother would tug down over your head as a child? it just doesn’t work, and it’s never going to, goddamnit! But then I see that sweater looking cute on other people, and I get a little pang sometimes.

“But why can’t it work on me?!” …”Because it doesn’t, and you know it.” …”But that looks like FUN!” …”With you it’s not fun and you know it.” these are real conversations I have with myself. There’s the key: I absolutely DO know it, and I’m living it. I’m happily working on it, day by day, and embracing this newer version of myself. Or: embracing myself without the interference of drink.

Don’t want to bring you down – guys – sobriety is WORTH EVERY SINGLE SECOND WHEN I FEEL LIKE I MIGHT BE MISSING OUT ON ANYTHING. I had to shout that via capslock, because it’s so true. I just don’t want to be dishonest and dismiss it, like I’ve checked sobriety off on a little list, and now I can just be here, sober, without working on it.

So let me end with: I am beyond thrilled that I haven’t had a hangover in 80 mornings. That my lack of focus at work occasionally is not due to bleary refills of my hungry wine glass. And that others, like you, can relate and share your experiences.

Hippos and unicorns

With talk of resolutions and change, of hitting the gym harder and longer, of juicing and cleansing dominating social media since NYE (now there’s a big shocker for you, eh?), I had to share this little picture.

And honestly, LOL!

Hahahajkajkaha. Aren’t we all that little hippo, looking for some inspiration and working hard to reach our goals. Go get ’em, tiger !

Something to inspire the New Year…

Loves, I have been ridiculously cranky this holiday season. At times, it’s to the point where I want to revert back to being five years old and slam a door, stomp my feet, and shout really loudly until everyone UNDERSTANDS JUST HOW FRUSTRATED I AM. Preferably also as miserable as I am. What kind of a shitty response is that, now, eh?

Some of it I am sure has to do with silly expectations I place on myself & loved ones on how things SHOULD be (note to self: must stop doing that so much), some of it has to do with riding out the waves of sobriety (day 37 today! fuck yes!), and some of it is just the fact that it’s the most wonderful time of the year (LOL to THAT one sometimes, amirite?) – chock full of some family members who seem to think it appropriate to expect that everyone ELSE will coordinate things and cook and clean while said family member sits on his ass, entitled as fuck. Not that I haven’t resolved that particular frustration…

In any event, I love this image, I love that it places the power of your own feelings back in your hands. In 2014, I want to cultivate more calm & less irritation, more peace and less annoyance. And a lot of that has to do with me.

I can’t change people when they’re acting like complete dickheads, I can’t stop my beautiful nieces from occasionally spilling an entire glass of juice all over the clean carpet, I can’t control the fact that my sister has the most fucked up in laws in the entire planet, I can’t stop the small part of me that feels sad that my parents are divorced – childhood nostalgia stuff. But what I can do is try to remove myself from the situation, or take a lot of big fucking breaths, and inhale some lavender essential oil and make myself tea and remind myself that to be human is to deal with this stuff. Not to numb it out or ignore it. Not to distract myself with drinking, or to become completely wrapped up in my own selfishness. To take it and let it go. ❤

Recommendations on how *you* calm yourself down/talk yourself off of that ledge would be most welcome! XO

Close that damn book already.

It’s a twisted tendency, to rake oneself over the coals of our past mistakes. To languish in yesterday’s transgressions and feel that weight pressing down. To ask these recurring questions: why me? why am I this way? how come? what is broken here?

…it can be a never ending loop of guilt, shame, remorse, and, honestly, self pity.

Well, fuck that. I’ve been there, I’ve done that, and it just starts to be self destructive at some point. Motivation for change? Good. Beating oneself up? Bad.

So here’s to the next book, my friends. You can revisit those old chapters from time to time. Just don’t get too lost there. You don’t belong there anymore.

Holy fucking shit

Faces of drunk driving

Have you seen this?

“Nice to meet you,” says my mind to my heart.

I like me a good yoga class or 4 per week. Not the kind where you essentially stretch out like a lazy cat, roll around a few times, and then call it a day with a spritz of lavender oil for good measure. I like the ass-kicking, sweat-inducing power vinyasa yoga that my mother lovingly refers to as “that scary class you like to torture yourself with.” I want it to burn, I want my muscles to shake, and yes, I want to keep coming back for more. You can armchair-analyze me all you want (what does this say about her? is it punishment she likes? is she searching for an outlet for her problems? …go fuck yourself and take care of your own issues)

I’ve always been a bit of an extreme person. When I love, I’m fully committed and supportive. When I’m mad, I tend to take that pretty far, as well (Why yes, there is a footprint sized dent in the bedroom door from one particularly awful drunken night out)…I guess I don’t believe in half-assing anything*. The good side of that coin? I am a very motivated, meticulous person who enjoys taking care of her loved ones, pushing myself to the next level of fitness, and hoping to be the best I can be. The downside of that coin? My meltdowns tend to be a bit more extreme than most.“Go big or go home,” was a favorite drinking phrase of mine in college. Now, isn’t that a telling little phrase?

* At times, these extremes can create a really big fucking headache. Sometimes I wish I didn’t have so many feelings. Or that I was a little emotionally dull. I feel like being dense, at times, might be a nice warm bath of mediocrity. Blissfully unaware…but who am I kidding, I don’t really want that.

In any event – being born this way makes drinking a fucking terrible choice. Not to mince words here. It is a disaster. 

It’s true what you hear – usually someone with a substance abuse problem will have inklings of it far, far before they will fully acknowledge it. It’s impressive how incommunicative the mind and heart can be, when you want them to. Denial is a powerful thing, my dears. I never had a healthy relationship with drinking; although, for nearly a decade, I tried to convince myself that I could. That the next time I drank, I would prove to myself that I really could drink like a “normal” person.

The low rumblings of reality beat louder within the last two years; and boy, oh boy, did it ever burst into an epic ball of flames last month. Every day I am grateful that I didn’t kill someone or kill myself getting behind the wheel of that car. Every day I remember how close I came to plummeting off the edge. For 23 mornings, I have woken up grateful to be here in this way. 

And so…it’s ironic that yoga is one of my favorite ways to exercise. Often, our teachers talk about the mind-body-spirit connection; of looking inward and being aware. Because that’s precisely that I was not doing while drinking. I was choosing to ignore my heart.

And sobriety is the only thing that shows me how ignorant I was choosing to be.

A healthy place to start. And return to.

This little image has brought me great happiness in the last few days.

I’m working on my sobriety, and through the sludge of issues snared and coiled around drinking. But having love for myself – as well as for the struggle, and for the outcome I’m seeking – makes me feel free.

So love yourself. No matter how beaten up, fucked up, run down, or goddamned tired you feel. I know that exhaustion. And still have love for you in this. ❤

What’s really crippling me here? Anxiety/Alcohol/Abuse/AGH

When you first get sober, there is a lot of stuff you hear. I’ve read the word “serenity” more times in the last 12 days than, well, probably ever. I keep hearing about a “pink cloud,” about “powerlessness,” about “riding the wave,” and about “letting things go.” Well, what if you aren’t sure of what, exactly, you need to let go? What if the crux of your deepest vulnerability is the unknown twists of your own neural pathways?

I’ve struggled with anxiety since I was in fifth grade. I can remember the distinct moment I realized that my mind could operate in ways I might not understand. Many Mays ago, I sat in the backseat of my parent’s car, unable to breathe very well. I was struck with a searing, crippling fear of boredom. My little legs sat, dangling, and I recall looking down through hot tears, worrying that I just was not ok. I would worry that I would not be able to fall asleep that night, and that tomorrow, I wouldn’t have anything to do. My parents tried to help  – bless their hearts, they have never, ever once judged me for any mental or emotional struggle – suggesting various activities, and my first panicked response to each suggestion was, “Well…what will I do after THAT?! And after that?!” It was an escalating fear of listlessness, of needing to have a plan, to know what’s next, to have something to look forward to – and to stay in motion, I believe – that gave me my very first brush with unexplained panic. My mind was stuck on a hamster wheel and didn’t know how to make it stop. That’s a lot to handle in elementary school.

This disconnect between fear & anxiety, with my heart & soul, is what has caused great discontent in the nearly two decades since that vulnerable, life-changing scene in my beloved parent’s sedan. At times, I have a fear and sadness that I cannot quite put my finger on, and it, to put it bluntly, scares the fuck out of me. What am I, Sylvia Plath? There’s nothing wrong, externally – I have a wonderful family, my husband is absolutely supportive and loving, I have a great job, blah blah blah…and still, every once in awhile (though not when drinking! AHA) old staticky panic settles in like a too-tight boiled wool sweater. It feels like my mind is a blank TV, with the old-school black/gray/white noisy static flickering across the glass. Going. Going. Going. Going.

Oh yes, I have been in and out of therapy, I take a low-dosage antidepressant, I exercise and eat healthfully, and still. Without alcohol, which I now realize perfectly — blissfully? — blurred the line of sadness and worry, I that the ghosts of anxiety will come back with a vengeance. I was making a deal with the devil; trading one inherited mental/emotional issue for a deeply dark habit. I put down the goddamned cards and backed the fuck up from that table. But I’m walking away shaky; I’m walking away bruised; I’m walking away knowing that I need to change something deeper than just not drinking.

And yes, in the reading, I have heard about the drama that recovery can bring. So…am I making this a bigger deal that it really is? I am the Reigning Queen of Overanalyzation – dun, dun, dun dun! – I also wonder if I am spinning in circles because, quite frankly, that’s a thought pattern I have fallen into before, with gusto.

But I also need to get this down: Most of the time, I am happy and productive. My husband is incredibly supportive and loving, I adore my (dysfunctional, at times) family, my mother & sister are on this sobriety journey with me, I have great friends, I love my job, and we don’t struggle with health or financial issues. So what the fuck do I really have to complain about?  Nothing. I am so, so grateful for everything we have and all I have worked for.

And still. It’s the potent mix of anxiety & depression, the ghosts of my bloodline – the family tree is deeply carved with such issues, as well as alcoholism – that continue to knock around and bubble up.

Riddle me this: what the fuck is wrong with me?