Welcome to the Real World

*****Caution- this will likely be a very long, rambl-y, and disjointed post. Have a whole lot to say about a whole lot of things and, although I am hoping it all comes out more succinct and eloquent than the way it is screaming in my head, I make no promises. Reader Discretion Advised! Enter at Your Own Risk****

         Today, day 9, was really fucking hard. Not in a I really want to drink kind of way, more in a It's not fair that I cant drink  raw emotional roller coaster kind of way. I knew today would likely be the most unpleasant thus far. And because I knew this, I did a lot of prepping and praying (is talking aloud to an empty room considered praying?). Mondays are notoriously difficult for most people. But this Monday, my 9th sober day and the first day back to work and real life, was particularly gruesome.

          It started out quite beautifully and optimistic. Had I been a movie this morning, I would have been Cinderella or Snow White when the sun is out, they rise from bed, and the animals gather in joy as they sing their happy songs.And then, my life (no huge catastrophe or event, just my life) happened.

Pause, rewind, let's go back for a minute-

         Last night, I very intentionally attempted to set myself up for today's success. Although I went to bed much too late (still trying to balance out my new love affair with coffee), I engaged in a lot of self-nurturing. I watched Lipstick and Liquor while I feverishly cleaned and purged my closet and both dressers. I even found 7 random empty vodka shooters and had no reaction other than a gag reflux and a shake-my-head-at-myself. Once I finished, I turned the TV off; this is a big deal for me since I normally sleep with it on in lieu of cuddling with  my overnight-working Hubby. I read a couple blogs and a did a meditation.  I found a podcast on The Bubble Hour about sober firsts, turned off my light,  and listened while falling asleep. Surely this inundation of sobriety-ness, coupled with the introspection and reflection of trigger preparedness would make for a decent next day..................

        So, this morning, I slept a bit later than I had hoped; obviously directly correlated to my late night. But, I awoke hangover free, on time, and in a wonderful mood. Oldest had left for school already, which is normal. Middle, Little, and I headed downstairs for breakfast at a leisurely, not frantic and yell-y and miserable, pace. As they ate, I stepped outside with my coffee (mixed with protein powder) and a cigarette. Hubby arrived home from work, we affectionately greeted each other, chatted briefly, and I got the kiddos and I ready for our day. Sounds great so far, right? Yep, Sober Me was bouncing off clouds and with every jump, feeling more and more like I had Alcoholic Me backed into a losing corner. I glided into the car with two happy kids by my side and my packed and diet-abiding snacks and meals in tow.

         Mid-morning I was met with a work-related setback. Forced to leave one location and head home to look for something, I chuckled to msyelf that "in my drinking days" ( all of 9 days ago), this setback and this unexpected drive would have found me at the liquor store. Hahahahahahahah, not today, Alcoholic Me.  Small setback was resolved and I moved on to my next scheduled event. I had a whole hour and a half in between meetings today and I stopped for coffee, headed into my office, and chipped away at my to-do list. I am still on cloud nine for day nine at this point. Monday meetings are with my small department of therapists. We use the time to consult on cases as well as check in with each other. I cherish these meetings. It is crucial for our self-care.

       This is when I started getting signs that I was in trouble. We have a very young and very green intern working with us. She took up most of the meeting, we have all done that at one point, not a big deal. However, as she cried about so many cases and stuff in her personal life, I found myself completely ripping her apart in my head. I faked compassion with nods of my head, sad expressions, and feigned concern.

        Inside, I wanted to scream at her-Suck it up!  Set some boundaries! Cry me a fucking river! Stop being so intern-y and  young! Lay off the fucking wine you drink at night! Go take another fucking Xanax and go run to your toxic friend that you are enmeshed with and constantly talking about. SHUT THE FUCK UP AND STOP YOUR FUCKING CRYING!

        Wow. Here, finally, come the tears I have been on the verge of crying all day. What a bitch I was today, even if no one else knew it. I sincerely and really like this girl! She has a great heart, she is honest, and will make a great therapist one day. I am a compassionate person. Why, why, why, why was I so silently-in-my-head mean to her? Was I just yelling at myself? Was the threat of actually feeling alongside her, with no promise of liquid relief at the end of the day, really that powerful? 

          Fast forward through the rest of my day so I can dissect and feel: I made it through the meeting, had a phone consult, saw two clients, met Hubby at Middle's practice to pick up Little, walked in the house exactly 11 hours after I'd left, fed myself dinner, chatted and caught up with Oldest, played with Little, bathed Little, hung out with Middle, kissed Hubby bye, straightened up, put all three kiddos to bed, and here I am. I am in the one place, in the safety of my bed with my feelings and catharsis, that I yearned for all day.

             After that meeting today, I knew I was in a rough spot. As I drove to my private office, I found myself pissed off that I want allowed to wash the day away with a bottle of red later. I thought things like, why me? It isn't fair. I cant drink for the rest of my life. I managed to shut those thoughts up for long enough to have two great sessions in which I was totally present for. The drive to pick up Little, though, picked up right where I left off: tired, pissed off, and self-pitying. Tears stung my eyes most of that drive. When Little was fussy in the car ride home, tears stung my eyes. When we got home and I discovered he had a terrible diaper rash, I almost lost it. I felt like running to my room and hiding under the covers when he smashed a boiled egg all over the kitchen floor just as Oldest was telling me that she changed her mind, again, and wanted to stay with her competitive sports team and I realized we had 2 weeks to pay the crazy costs. I didnt lose it once. Not once. I stayed calm and attentive and loving. I took deep breaths, drank my last cup of coffee, and told myself that this would pass. I rallied to stay in the moment, with all of the shit, and promised myself I would have my time to process soon.

               I learned so much today. I learned how much of a coward I have been, as a drinker. How easy a few shots and glasses would have made all those emotions and normal-life crises. Alcohol gave me permission to check out of my daily life. It allowed me to excuse myself from actually living. Lots of people have it way worse than me. I have sit-com typical daily events in my life. We are busy, we are full of mishaps and unplanned surprises. Life is a rollercoaster, it shouldnt be a carousel. I did not drink today. I started to feel things today, even shitty things. I rode the ride and I have not jumped off yet. My brain is mush, my heart is tenderized meat. I am raw and vulnerable and need a good cry. Not a pity cry, a grateful cry. I am so fucking proud of myself today. I am so damned grateful for my life and all of its highs and lows. I am  humbled by this process and the strength it takes to be vulnerable. I was initiated back to the real world today and I took a helluva beating. A beating that was much needed.

I'm off to smoke a cigarette, have a good cry, and get a good night's sleep. Round two tomorrow and I wanna be ready to win again. Thanks for hanging in there with me on this one, I know it was hard to follow.

          

Empathy for Mr. Hyde

        Poor Mr.Hyde. He and Dr. Jekyll do not have my sympathy. I do not feel badly for them in a way I cannot relate. Rather, they have my empathy. I know exactly how maddening being a walking, talking, living dichotomy can be. I would venture to say all of us alcoholics do. This contrast of self has consumed my thoughts today. Okay, maybe not consumed, per se. More like, "taken up a lot of thinking space". (see what I did there? Corrected my tendency to dramatize and speak in hyperbole- 2 pts for Jill). Either way, I am beginning to see the dichotomy that is my inner self. Perhaps this inner struggle has been what I have been trying to quiet with years of vodka and wine. Perhaps those were the only two constants I had; the only two tools that could, briefly, combine my inner selves into one.

         Clear mind. With an alcohol-free brain, I am beginning to pick away at all of my misconceptions of self. I am beginning to recognize all of my puzzling contradictions. I'm not sure I know how to reconcile them yet to become a peaceful and congruent self, but I think the first step is identification, anyway. For example, how is it that I can feel so incredibly happy with my career choice, so excited to make a difference in the lives of others and yet be such a bloody mess myself?  How can I often praise myself for a job well-done and in the very next moment downplay recognition and compliments offered by others? It's maddening to teach parents how to parent, look at my own children and feel proud of how beautifully they are turning out, and yet wallow in a deep and murky pool of mommy guilt and the blasted shoulda/woulda/couldas? Or, here is a new one: feel cathartic and calm after writing a new post, proud of myself for facing and documenting my journey and then feeling like a complete failure or an outcast because I have no followers or have yet to build any blogging/online sobriety relationships yet. Sigh, absolutely maddening.

        I think this all has much to do with acceptance, patience, forgiveness, and love. Acceptance of self. The conscious effort of taking myself as I am. Accepting what is inherent and part of who I am, and resolving to change and improve those pieces of me I simply cannot tolerate any longer. Patience to understand that this is a process. It will not happen because 8 days (Yay, EIGHT!) ago I decided to make perhaps the biggest change of my life. Patience with the path to Forgiveness is key here, too. I find myself dwelling on all of the mistakes, all of the poor decisions, especially all of the missed memories that were a result of my drinking. Although I cannot stay in that place of pity, I certainly can't expect myself, nor those around me, to forgive them all so quickly. I will get there, to that place of forgiveness, eventually. I hope I never forget- I think we need those regrets to keep us hungry for more sobriety, but I know, with patience, I will forgive.

           Love. Ah, perhaps the most elusive. Because, how can one truly love oneself without first accepting and forgiving? I know what it feels like to love my children. I thank God everyday that even through my endless acts of selfish alcohol indulging, my love for my children always remained strong and unfaltering. I can say, also, that I love Hubby, and friends, and coworkers, and clients. The dichotomous part of me would also venture to say that I love myself. If love were a noun, then I have this shit covered. I feel love all the time. I am good at feeling warm regard for others and, even, sometimes, myself. Its the verb that I have yet to master. Master? Hell, I have yet to even truly, honestly, and bravely attempt. And I know that I cannot truly engage in the act of loving another until I first enter an active state of loving myself. If that's not a daunting task, I don't know what the hell is.

            Even as I typed that last bit out, one of my inner selves ( I wonder how many there really are), cried out, "Stop! Erase that! That makes you sound so incredibly selfish. How can you be so selfish?!"  I KNOW better though. I KNOW that the act of loving myself will strengthen, enrich, and nurture my love for others. I know that I can give my Oldest, especially as a woman, no greater gift than a model of how to accept and love oneself. I know that loving myself, truly and raw-ly, will allow me to stop projecting my own fears and resentments and irritations onto Hubby. Being at peace with me means I can truly be available and present and whole for Middle and Little. It will make me a better daughter, sister, friend, therapist, person.

           How do I get there? I have no fucking idea. But I know I am on the right track. I know I am being kind and gentle with me for awhile. I know I will need to tough love myself at times. I know I am setting daily goals, in addition to not drinking, and am celebrating when I reach them. I know that I am loving myself right at this moment, as I sit out on my sunny deck, in a process of catharsis, while Oldest showers, Middle plays outside with his mates, and Little naps. I know that a week ago, I would be out here with a glass of wine, wasting time on Facebook while half-invested in the goings-on around me. So, just as I am vowing to not drink, one day at a time, I am also vowing to recommit to myself and those in my world, by learning how to accept with patience, forgive, and love myself. Dichotomy be damned. I wonder if Mr.Hyde would have had more success had he learned to do the same?

H.A.L.T

           One week. When I wake up tomorrow morning, not hung-over, I will have one week of sobriety behind me. The confident and let's face it, still proud and egotistical, me wants to shout it to the world. That world, which, by the way, largely doesn't even know I have a problem to begin with. The Oldest came home tonight from a week out of state for Spring Break and as I welcomed her home with a hug, a really loud and proud part of me wanted to ask her if she noticed anything different. I wanted confetti to fall from the sky and a crowd to gather in applause as I told her that I finally am quitting drinking. I didn't, of course. That moment wasn't about me (what? not everything is about me?) and, she has seen enough and dealt with enough of her boozy mama than for me to unload my need for validation on her. She will notice in time. She may even comment on it. If she does, then we will have a chat. In that moment of reunification, I hugged her and listened to every detail of her fun trip.

          So, back to this one week thing. Part of me wants to overpraise and congratulate myself and the other part is telling me to slow down, take it easy, you haven't even really fought for this yet. I figure, the right amount of pride fits somewhere in between. I have had a week before. This week, in fact, hasn't even been "real life". I have not been at my full-time agency this week due to Spring Break. I haven't juggled school mornings, babysitter drop off, and grueling schedules of 10 hour days, sports practices, crockpot meals, never ending housework blah blah blah. I am bracing myself for reality to hit next week. This week has been, dare I even say it.....easy. And, with ease, and ego, and pride, comes a false confidence. A flimsy aluminum foil vest in lieu of a full suit of armor, sword, and shield. How is it possible to feel so confident and so scared shitless all at once?

          At some point in grad school, I took an addictions class or two. The thing is, as a therapist, I am fully educated and equipped to counsel and educate an addict. Ethically, I refer those clients out, but  I understand the cycle of addiction, the theories of causes, the need to replace fallacies of thought, and trigger identification. I can recite the textbook lingo about relapse and relapse prevention. Why, then, is it so incredibly difficult to treat myself?

           A simple acronym has been singing its way back and forth in my cluttered head all week as I think about getting back into real life on Monday. H.A.L.T.- Hungry, Angry, Lonely, Tired. I wish there were a cute acronym to make by adding a B for Boredom and an F for Freedom. These are my triggers and if I do not prepare to battle them now, if I do not strategize and come up with a plan of attack, they are likely going to strike with little warning and my aluminum confidence will be no match.

       I don't know that I have a winning warfare strategy for each of these. I'm not sure you (actually, no followers means that "you" is really just "me") are even interested. But I think I have to try. I have to try to identify how feeling one of these above feelings has translated to buying liquor in the past and how I intend to fight those inevitable urges/habits/cravings, whatever the hell they are called, off to protect my alcohol-liberation.

1) Hungry. This is the easiest to combat as it tends to pose the least threat. I have to be kind to my body. I have to return to taking my PCOS and IR medicine and eating my 5 small low-carb high protein meals a day. I am food prepping tomorrow, I am placing my pills in a pill box. Check. ( that was quite cocky and over-confident, eh?)

2) Angry. This is a tricky one. I'm not sure I have ever drank because I was angry. Anger is a secondary emotion anyway, so perhaps I need to be on the lookout for hurt or scared. And, just as I typed that out, I have, for the first time this week, felt that salivation in my cheeks, the tightening in my chest, the flutters in my stomach. Sigh, this feeling things while sober thing is going to be a bitch. So, when I have a sad day at work (occupational hazard), or feelings of self-doubt and fears of failure I need to know that alcohol will make those feelings angry. Alcohol will thrust my armor off and catapult me into the cycle of self-hatred that drinking will cause. When I come home and the house is trashed and I feel hurt that no one seems to help out around here nor care, I must be able to identify that its ok to sit in my hurt for a minute. Identify, rationalize, address, let go. Rinse and repeat. IRAL. Angry me is much harder to deal with than scared or hurt me. Angry me is much more prone to destroy self and those around than scared or hurt me. I can nurture hurt and scared me. I cannot control angry me. If all else fails, I can white-knuckle my way through an hour at a time, repeating to myself, "maybe in an hour". Phew, scared me is in full effect now; scared to death that feeling scared will equal a shooter or two, or eight. Not on my fucking watch. Not this time.

3) Lonely. I'm going to stick bored in here too. But, here's the deal on these two: alcohol perpetuates them both. Clear minds and full hearts are pretty powerful antidotes to loneliness and boredom. My solitary drinking, my deception, my inner battle of not pouring another glass and then finishing the bottle, these are the acts that created my own loneliness. I am not lonely. I have a beautifully supportive and busy family. I have a wonderful network of friends. I hope beyond hope to build a network of fellow readers and bloggers here. My isolation creates my loneliness. Drinking created isolation.
      Boredom is a little trickier. I am picturing myself during my work day. I am putting myself back in those days ( not all the time, but enough times) that I justified why drinking in the middle of my day was a good idea. Now that I am truly dissecting that, it was never about boredom. It was about fear or being overwhelmed or being not good enough. It was feeling guilty that I hadn't followed through on a task because I was hung-over, so I needed liquid courage to face the late task. It was feeling like I couldn't handle a new case on my own merit, but with just a shot or two, I would magically have all the answers. I think it felt like boredom because on those days, I was half-committed, just going through the motions. I don't work well without passion. The hangovers or the shots, depending on the day, were sucking my confidence, ability, and passion right out of me. Mind, blown. Sneaky little fucker alcohol is. Small successes. My battle plan must include celebrating small successes. It must include gratitude and honesty. It must allow for me to give me permission to love me.

4) Tired. Yep. Yep, yep, yep. Funny how much more awake I feel after 2-4 shots. I can conquer the world. Until I can't. Until four shots turns into eight or is followed by a glass or four of wine and all motivation is lost. Until I continue drinking hoping to find a second wind and find myself waking up in my bed, fully clothed the next morning and not a damn thing on the night before's to-do list accomplished. This one is just stupid. It is sheer stupidity. Why the hell would I ever believe that a depressant would give me the energy I need to combat my life and all the tasks at hand? Holy sick. I have been so sick. I am so grateful for the clarity to truly begin seeing this fact. So, my plan? A real night's sleep. Exercise in the morning or at night or wherever I can get it. This one is always on my list, but Hubby schedule makes me a pseudo single-mom and Little seems hell-bent on making sure Mommy can never get to the gym or to the living room or garage or for a walk. Not making excuses (as far as I know in my present state of mind), this is fact, but I will continue trying. So, a solid attempt at exercise, eating better ( see Hungry), and COFFEE. Lots and lots and lots of motherfucking coffee. I'll throw some green tea in there too. Also, maybe its okay sometimes to accept the fact that I am tired and some nights, maybe the dishes and laundry truly can wait. Wow, letting go........check me out!

5) Freedom. I added this one because it feels like any time I have to myself is freedom and my first natural instinct is to hang out with myself and my friends, Vodka and Vino. Until they come on too strong and then I feel trapped and really don't want to spend anymore time with myself. This one too is part of a nasty cycle. A few weeks ago, I had the morning off work in order to take Little to an appointment. This appointment, by the way, was a reschedule from the week before when my hangover demanded I call and cancel the original due to "car issues", sigh. Anyway, I took him, the appointment didn't last nearly as long as I anticipated. The sun was shining, he and I had a great morning together and so naturally, in my happy mood, I dropped him off at the sitter and determined that instead of getting caught up at work, I had nothing to do until my afternoon appointments. I landed at the bar. Two bloody Mary's later and just a slight buzz, I figured I'd head on in to the office and do some deskwork. But then I found myself at another bar. And then I found myself too shitfaced to drive any distance. I cancelled my afternoon, went to my private office, slept on my couch, and headed home that evening hiding my terrible secret. Freedom? Seriously, Jill? I have never felt more trapped and scared and chained in my life. Here's a thought- when I have "extra time" or time for myself, how about a walk, or a meditation, or a headphones blaring at my desk catch up? How about I DECIDE to remain free by remaining clear headed.

            I can hear some recovering drunks I know tsking and shaking their heads at these grand plans. I'm not naive. I know these words and plans are flowing easily onto this page. I know drafting an attack of war is much easier than executing it. I know what lies ahead will be hard, and bloody, and emotionally taxing. I know the payoff is worth it. But I also know that losing this battle is not an option anymore. If I lose this battle, I lose the war. Losing the war will ultimately mean paying with my life or damn near it. I have been lucky. I cant keep trying my luck. I may need to adjust my strategy in the next coming weeks, but I will not surrender. I have never worked so hard or wanted something more, despite how scared and vulnerable I feel. Plus, that egotistical and arrogant part of me? Well, she is a sore loser!

I'd be interested in hearing about your own battle plans and victories. Looking forward to 'meeting' some of you ( ANY OF YOU!!!!) soon :)

Lost in My Own Bathroom

           I am notorious for getting lost, misreading maps, asking for directions in terms of left and right vs. east and west. It's a long standing joke with both myself and all those who know me that I can get lost in my bathroom. Thank goodness for smart phones, GPS, and navigation systems which have made my directionally-challenged self much less anxious when driving in unfamiliar territory. This whole sobriety thing reminds me of the good ol' days when I couldn't rely on nifty technology to find my way around. I would learn one way to get somewhere, make note of landmarks, and go the same way every time.

           I am learning my way through a life without drinking. Turning left and finding AA, but questioning if that's the direction in which I am supposed to go. Turning right and wondering if I'm really an alcoholic and maybe just fell into a nasty habit (wow, the bullshit we tell ourselves!). I've decided to stay straight ahead and not worry about the destination as much as the journey. Holy cliché. Holy truth.

          Today, I was tasked with picking Middle up from practice while Hubby and Little ran errands. I knew exactly where he was and exactly how to get there from our house. The problem was I was coming from my office, after 2 morning clients. I popped in the address of the park and headed on my way. Somewhere along my drive, I got lost in my head (see? always lost!) and despite the navigation blaring through my Bluetooth, I missed my exit. I took the next one and turned off the navigation, determined to find my way. After all, I have lived here almost 12 years, surely I can figure this out. That sober tenacity was taking over and showing me the way! I found him with ease, 20 minutes early, and all was well.

         That small and insignificant missed-exit adventure invoked a lot of introspection and thought. As I was fumbling my way across familiar streets and headed in the direction of the park, I passed not one, not two, but three liquor stores I have been to. No big deal, right? It makes sense that a drinking person would have frequented a liquor store once or twice. These stores were nowhere near my house or either office. One I had ran to right before a big meeting at a different location one day. Another, I stopped at on my way to an event. The last one I found after driving aimlessly one day and too embarrassed to go to the one near my house since I'd been there twice already.

          My body shuddered as I recalled these liquor store visits. As I continued forward to pick up Middle, I then started thinking of the many different office locations I have had, the neighborhood in which I live, and the main routes of travel I take every day. I could tell you where the closest liquor stores are, which ones have the wine I like. Which ones don't have the Raspberry Smirnoff, but another flavored kind. Which ones require a purchase over $5 to use your debit or credit card and which ones close at 10, 11, and Midnight. Furthermore, I can tell you the succession of stores I would frequent on a weekend: MY store ( the closest one, the one with the drive-thru, the one that would have 4 minis and a bottle of red ready as soon as I pulled up) would be first because its convenient and just need 4 minis to help me clean the house. Then, those would run out and I'd go a bit down the street in either direction, and often rotate between the two stores,  for 2 more minis and vino. Finally, I'd go a good 12 minutes away late at night to the one that doesn't close until midnight so I could get just a couple more minis to close my mind and eyes for the night.

            For a girl who "gets lost in her own bathroom" I sure as hell never had any problem finding a liquor store and establishing a routine relationship with it. It is as this moment of recollection that I realize I have no choice but to keep straight on this sober path. Turning left into AA may not work for me, I'll save that adventure for another day, another blog. Turning right and believing that I am NOT an alcoholic means turning right into a familiar liquor store and this time, perhaps upping the order. I might get easily lost, but my time as a drinker has proven that I can find my way around anything if I truly want to. I know today that I am that important. My best me is ready to make an entrance and I am happy to keep driving straight to go pick her up.

         

Girl's Nights, Firepits, and Coffee. Oh My!

     

         Two nights ago, my 4th sober day, I was faced with hosting a girls' night that I had planned prior to "the decision", People pleaser that I am, coupled with immense guilt from ignoring my friendships, I did not cancel and spent the entire day bracing myself for the torment I was sure the night would bring. I stayed busy all day. Mostly crying in my bathroom, out of earshot of my littles, but busy, nonetheless. Then, something kinda cool happened- courage. I wiped my eyes, strapped on my big girl boots, and sent a mass text announcing, casually, that it was BYOB and I would not be drinking.

        Moments of cellular silence passed and during the few seconds, which felt like hours, I imagined in horror what my friends must all be thinking. Me? NOT drinking? Is she sick? Is she broke? Is she on some silly diet again? Is she taking ANOTHER break? Or, my biggest fear, 'yeah, ok. She'll be buzzed by the time we get there, and then make a wine run'. Instead, all but one responded that they also had no intention of drinking that evening and were in the mood for a laid back night of catching up, simply looking forward to seeing me. Wow.....and here I was worried that our friendships were based on the copious amounts of wine and vodka we inevitably consumed whenever we gathered.

          As the only drinking friend offered us all a Smirnoff ice (Ha! Like that would  quench my thirst had I partaken), I simply declined with no explanation. When met with a "Are you sure?", I blurted, completely unintentionally and in spite of myself, "Yep. I've decided I am an alcoholic and an going to really give this sobriety thing a fighting chance." Oh the horror! I said it out loud! Shit, shit, shit. It's real now, there's no going back. There is public accountability and credibility at stake now, shit!

           WHAT A RELIEF! How freaking awesome did that feel? How amazing are my friends, who, simply replied with Good-for-you's and I love you's. In that moment, I gained confidence. Until that point, I had never given a thought to the fact that I was genuinely loved. We had lots of giggles, lots of conversation, lots of gossip. I realized, drum roll........I am witty, fun, loving, and intelligent WITHOUT my old double V's. Wow, whoulda thunk! I woke up yesterday morning feeling like I had solved world peace. Yes, it was just the thing to catapult myself into a sobriety high.

            The high wont last forever. I am not naïve enough to think there will be no lows. I know myself well enough, as hopefully, you will too, to know that I will inevitably create lows just to gut-check and challenge my sober happy self (baffling, cunning). But for now, that night gave me the courage to tell my husband. It gave me the confidence to make it another 2 days. Hell, I even cleaned the house today and made s'mores over the firepit with the Middle and the Hubby tonight S.O.B.E.R. I will ride this high as long as I can. It feels foreign and new. It feels like a first kiss. I feel butterflies and giggly and warm. Of course, it could be the 2nd pot of coffee I just finished, but sssshhhhhhhh.......my sober self doesn't need to know that.




          

Because it's Different.....

       I don't know how. I can't explain it. It's just different, this time. I feel present. I feel tired of testing the waters of sobriety for 4-10 days only to dive right back into the deep end of old drinking patterns. Six tiny, but so profound, days ago, I woke up, only slightly hung over, and realized I'm too old for this shit. I'm functioning on the outside, but inside, I'm dying. I'm missing out on so much. I'm cheating myself (and my family) out of so much love. It's time to figure out who I am without the vodka and vino. It's time to find the best me.

   So, here I am on Day Six. I have been here before, on this sixth day. But not with this resolve. Not with a true desire to change. It's raw, it's scary, it's pretty fucking empowering. I even told the hubby. That in of itself is a big deal.

   And I told him in a really scared and teary, almost teenage girl confessing a sin to her parents, kind of way. I told him why it was different (Because it is). I told him that the time and energy I had been spending on my every-other-day binges (days off were wasted hangover days full of junk food, crappy TV, and if I was lucky, half-assing my way through a workday) were making me tired and self-resenting. I fessed up to (like he didn't already know) the extent of my drinking. How I would buy just four little raspberry vodka shooters and tell myself that's all I would have. Inevitably, I disclosed, I'd buy a *couple more and of course, a bottle of Red, to get me through the night. I even told him how I would calculate how much I could drink before getting home before I think he'd notice, keep the rest in my car, and bring it in only after he'd leave for his overnight shift. I'm ready, I told him. I didn't want to tell him, because we've sort of been here before. But I had to if this was going to stick. His only response? "I've been waiting for this for a long time." And with that, he confirmed that he too, knew because it's different.

   I didn't tell him that some days, I would buy those little shooters at 11am ( never 10 because, only drunks do that), smack dab in the middle of my work day. But mostly, how I would get four as soon as I left my agency, drink two before private clients, ya know, because somehow, two would make me more open and creative and smart, and then two more in between clients or on the way home. And I didn't feel the need to tell him how that would be just my appetizer and four more and a bottle would be just what I needed to pass out at night. Or how I have hiding spots for the miniatures all over the house, or in my car, or how anytime I'd be driving and see a police car, I'd do a mental check of how many empty minis were floating around in my car and were they out of sight in case I got pulled over. Nope, I didn't tell him those things. A) Because I'm barely starting to get those memories in clear sight and mind and B) because he's not stupid. He knows.

  So, here I am on Day Six. I have a lot to say about these last six days. A lot of notes jotted down. A lot of clarity and hope and confidence. Perhaps I'll blog them all today and start my one-a-day post tomorrow. I have no demands of myself today as far as getting these thoughts out in any sort of schedule or order.

 Today, I came clean to my husband and myself. Today, I played with my middle and little. I am present today. I meditated and prayed. Today, I am looking forward to seeing two clients and NOT stopping at the liquor store on the way. Will I need to white-knuckle it an hour from now as I pass the all-too-familiar-know-me-by-name shop on the corner from my office? Maybe. But I know I won't stop. Not today. Because, it's different. I like being different and I can't wait to keep discovering how different I can be.