Sunday, March 31, 2013

A Little Struggle-y

This has been a week. Life is in one of those sort of weird trampoline moments where it feels up and then down, and then up and then maybe face plant. 

I have been thinking so much about drinking this week. Out of the blue, suddenly and without warning. I almost teared up thinking of a gin martini driving home from work. I keep looking at the back porch thinking about getting it ready for us to use and feeling so so sad that I won't be out there swilling wine, smoking cigs well into the night for the spring and summer. Ugh, I know. Doesn't that sound so...awful? And yet so much like my real life that I want to throw it on like an old sweater then quickly turn my head so I can't see this pretty life over here. 

It's hard to get used to me this week. I'm doing with sweets what I used to do with booze, without the hangover and blackouts which is nice, but still that out of control behavior that makes me so mad at me. Which means something is bothering me, but I don't know what it is yet, and instead of doing some soul searching to figure it out I've been downing cheesecake and cookies and jelly beans. And salted caramel popcorn. And cherry cheese coffee cake.  And maybe helping bite the heads off of chocolate Easter bunnies. 

That's the hardest part too, the part where even though I'm not pounding away at the chardonnay I'm still carrying on with the defeating behavior. It's like I'm eight years old and I'm trying to get away with something. And I know I won't get in trouble because I'm the parent and the child. But then I'm not in trouble, I'm just silently beaten up in my head all day, so I didn't get away with anything. Anything at all.

Deep breath. 

Do you ever get through a week and wonder who lived your part? If it was even you since someone made all these bad decisions and now here you are scratching your head without a clue who it was that thought all that junk was a good idea? And how even though I don't drink anymore I'm still behaving like an alcoholic? How that's not fucking fair because I don't drink anymore

I'm not good at struggle. I'm not good at not looking the part- you know, the part. The one where life is good, everything is fine. I cannot be vulnerable or people will think I'm weak. And if I'm weak then I'm not doing it right. And, hold up. People might see the real me. Who I'm really starting to like, but I'm delicate. I don't need folks tromping all over my fresh new feelings. I mean, it is spring over here y'all. My tender emotions still need time to get middle-of-summer-leaves tough. 

The boys are gone for the whole week on spring break with their grandparents. I've been thinking about going to a...meeting. I adore everyone here (more than you could ever know since you can't see my face, nor I yours) but I also may need some face time. Some real arms to hug and say "It's OK" that don't belong to my husband or my mom. A friend or two who knows what I'm going through and can stand to talk about it for a long time, more than once. I need some reinforcements. Eyes to look into and voices that say, "I understand exactly where you're coming from. There, there."

I don't know how I feel about the whole premise of AA. It doesn't feel "right for me". And by "right for me" I mean, well....the religious thing. I love the thought of love and faith. But do I believe there's some entity controlling all of this? Well, no. No I don't. I'm not a fan of religion per se. This is a hard thing to explain. I could be all about surrender, and be powerless to control what happens except for me and my choices. That is true. I have always loved the singing at church, so maybe I can find a singing AA group and go from there. AA feels sort of brain-wash-y to me. I don't know. I just don't know.

So here I am again. I have to kind of laugh at myself since I've finally taken some time to sit and think. You know, THINK. Work through some shit. Tie up some of the loose ends that have been noisily flapping around in my head all week. Taking a few minutes to batten down the hatches, put down the cookies, and get on with it. 

Sunday, March 24, 2013

Old Journals

This has been an emotional weekend. I searched out and found old journals that are mostly about wanting to quit drinking, and a bad relationship I stayed in for seven years. There are a lot of lists, and a lot of wishes. Loads of inspiration. And trying. Many drunk poems about broken hearts. Some are quite cringe-worthy. I had to laugh when I read the title I wanted to give my story: "Must Be Thirty". (Perhaps I'll need to change that to: "Must Be Forty (almost two)".) Ahem.

It's strange and kind of cool to read things I wrote almost thirteen years ago. It made me realize how long it has taken me to get to where I am, right now. How many years went into wishing for sobriety, wishing for freedom from myself. I wanted the right things, I just never could get up the nerve to get them. And when I say I wished for sobriety, I really really did. Every day. I think the only time I wasn't wishing for sobriety was when I was wishing for another drink.

God. Thinking about the years of sadness. The time I spent drowning myself. Not finding the right people to build me up, but searching out the ones who made me that much worse. There's nothing worse for a people pleaser than people who can't be pleased. I read these and remember how much I gave, and gave. How I let people take, and take. How I drank to soothe myself, to forget how awful my life really was. How I lied to myself every single day. How I never cared enough to take my own hand and lead myself out. How I could write about how I wanted to, but it was probably when I was drunk or regretful. The bursts of normalcy: taking walks, drinking tea, reading before bed. How proud I was of those things. Even then I could tell that sobriety was right for me. It's too bad I couldn't keep my promises.

And then, look.

Ten years later. Still writing about the same old things. Talk about denial. Or just plain stupidity. OK, OK. I'm not being mean to myself here, well, not overly. But really? And it still took me two more years to actually give sober a solid go. To LET GO and be brave. Yes, it really was about time.

I am humbled by the years I spent waiting for myself to catch up. How even though I was miserable I kept on going. How it could have been so much worse. And if I kept going all those years when life was heavy and terrible then I can certainly be strong enough to stay the course, to feel the joy and the relief.

I've been practicing for sobriety forever. This is why I am fine in it. Why I feel so right in it. Why it doesn't scare me to say things like "never drink again". Why saying "never drink again" actually makes me want to sing out loud and say things like "thank you jesus" with my hands waving about above my head. Why I can accept the fact that I cannot drink with grace and gratitude. My blog is sober me. These journals reminded me of who I used to be. But really, those two people aren't very different. All they wanted to do was be sober. And that was worth waiting for.

Wednesday, March 20, 2013

Sobriety 101 Part 2

So, of course what happens after you get sober is that you have to stay sober. No easy task there. Unless it is easy, which some days it really just is. And then there are those other days. The hard ones. Ugh.

Here's the thing: you will never know how good sober feels until you do it. You can head to the fridge for just one more for one more day or five more years. You can wait until you are ready, or you can know that by thinking you might be ready, you just might really be ready.

Getting sober is hard. Really hard. (Like you didn't already know that. Duh.) Booze is not for you. You can't have it. If you read my blog I'm guessing you have a problem with alcohol. The only way to get rid of that problem is to stop drinking. And the only way to stop is to....stop. There are a thousand ways I adjust every day to stay sober. 988 of them I don't even notice.

You thought you were ready. But then a few weeks or months later it turns out you weren't ready. And you drink. And it isn't different. It's the same mother effer that it ever was. And so are you. You are that same person who couldn't drink. On your report card it says, "_____ is a delight in class. Eager to learn. Cannot moderate." Whoops. The dog ate my homework. But do you have to start the whole grade over again? Hell no. You just study a little harder. Lock up the dog when you're trying to finish your homework. Stop trying to moderate and maybe jump rope instead.

I guess moderation works for some people- and many people I read still hope to be able to drink again.This is not me. I get such comfort from knowing I don't even have to worry about that anymore. I don't drink. I can't. It's just not allowed. And that doesn't make me sad, or miserable. It doesn't make me long for the days of yore. It doesn't make me feel left out, or lacking. It makes me feel sober. And kind of like a bad-ass.

You don't know me personally, but you know me from reading what I write. Some days I cry a little after I write this blog thinking about me, who I used to be. How grateful I am that I gave myself a chance. How just one hundred days (less really.) changed my entire life. How I wish I could take everyone who is still struggling with quitting and bring them home with me for a while to feed them soup and care and seltzer. Thinking about maybe you, reading this, and you wishing you were talking about your hundred days. Or your one week. How I wish I knew, when I was stopping and starting over and over again how good it would feel to just stop. How I wish you knew I was there in my heart, holding your hand, telling you to be brave. Telling you it is uncomfortable. Totally. And we would laugh about it. How at the beginning you are all loose ends and feelings. How you are kind of a beautiful mess, but a sober one.

Here's another thing. Staying sober is hard too. I can't say how hard it is past the day I'm on. But I think that's the way to do it- stay on the day you're on. Whether you want to count it or not. And also think about the future. What if I were brave enough to say "I will never drink again" and it stayed true for the rest of my life? What if we all just were that brave? To say a big word like never. To follow it with again.

How to be sober: never drink again.

How to stay sober: keep saying never. Again, and again, and again.

Sunday, March 17, 2013

Sobriety 101

There's something about a hundred of something. It feels so....hundred-y. So....solid. So....a lot.


A hundred days? Like, no way. I couldn't make it more than three or maybe five. Seven days? Why bother. Thirty days? Well, you might as well tie me up and put me under the bed. Drop me off in the middle of the Sahara. Super glue my lips closed. Throw away the key. A hundred days? I must be pregnant. Or dead.

But look! Here I am- neither pregnant, nor dead! And one hundred and one days sober today!

Saturday, March 16, 2013

Life As A Box

I was talking with a new friend about possibilities the other day. We were talking about life. And how it can be kind of like a box. And how you are the one who decides how big your box is.

I've had several people ask me what the benefits of sobriety are. In other words, why be sober when drinking is so a-) socially acceptable and sobriety makes you a weirdo and b-)  so easy and comfy. This is the best way I can explain it. Drinking makes your life box small. My legs are cramping up a little already just from looking at her in there.

It's like, if you drew a box on the floor and put yourself in it, the ways you would stretch when you drink are just arms length. A reach out to the fridge for another bottle. A reach over to turn the alarm off for the fifth time. A reach up to massage your aching head. A reach inside to push yourself around for being hungover again.

When you really quit drinking your life box grows. You can start to push your boundaries. When I first quit I think my life box even got a little smaller at first- I was so scared to do anything. And the only thing I really wanted to do was stay sober. It was all I thought about. Then, suddenly I was walking around a bit. Taking a look around. Peering out the windows. Hell, making some windows. There are trees. And birds. Possibilities.

Because I am sober I can make my life box just what I want it to be. I can add whole rooms if I want to. Growth is feasible because I'm not suffocating from a hangover. I can commit myself to my life. I can make plans. Invite other people in. I can say, "Look! See what I'm doing? Isn't this nice? Aren't you proud of me?" My life is a place other people want to be.

I can give love to other people since I'm feeling love for myself. Sobriety makes my heart bigger. Whereas I used to hide- not answer the phone. Oh, God. NOT the doorbell. (This still takes practice. The phone rang last night, I picked it up, looked at it, didn't answer. Then I called right back. Silly. But I didn't answer the phone before, or call back, ever. I didn't want anyone to know I was drinking. And then I didn't want to have to make up excuses for why I couldn't make plans.) Now the kids can have friends over. I make lunch plans for my days off. Sometimes this even happens two days in a row.

You know how, when a house or building gets built, you use these things called cornerstones? Look at the definition: a stone representing the nominal starting place in the construction of a monumental building, usually carved with the date and laid with appropriate ceremonies. And: something that is essential, indispensable, or basic. Holy crap. That's what happens when you make a sober date. You make a cornerstone. A nominal, indispensable starting place. A strong place to start your new life box.

OK, now, also. It can get a little crazycakes when you start making the box bigger. You might have to go whoa whoa whoa! Hold up. Tooooo many changes. I can't even find the other side of my box now. I need to go back to my cornerstone. Have a seat. Think a minute. And you can do that since you aren't drunk so you know where you put it. Here it is. Ahhhh. Right where I left it.

You also might forget that the box is yours and start trying to make it look like someone else's. You get turned around then too because you don't recognize your surroundings. Head back to the cornerstone. Walk the perimeter. Trust.

Imagine your life as a box. Imagine how booze makes that box jail. Imagine how you can make a cornerstone. Or two. Or as many as you want because this is your box. A box to shape and grow. A box to open. A gift to share.

A life.

Thursday, March 14, 2013

Big Wooden Door

This is me six months ago. I'm the one on the left. Or maybe the right. No, definitely me in the middle. 

This picture looks like what drinking felt like to me. Like I had my head stuck in the middle of a big wooden door. It was heavy, and uncomfortable. My family is in there, too. Stuck just like me. And there's my life, trapped as well. But doesn't it look fun? Woo hoo, life of the party right there! Hand me another Prosecco!

Maybe this is the picture they should put on bottles of beer. Because it represents what drinking is really like. I mean, I suppose not for those people who can have one beer or two. (What is the point? Really?) So they can have regular labels. But for those of us that drink like I used to we get these. Would it help? Help if reality was staring you in the face every time you took a sip? I dunno, I think I would have just turned the bottle around and kept right on chugging.

Every day I try to figure out why I stopped this time. Why? What happened? Why was that day different? And all the days after that? 

Now, let me clarify. This is not a study in self torture- more like a wonderment. It kind of sounds like a puzzle and a bunch of gratitude all rolled into one. 

The other day I found a video I made of myself to myself on my phone last fall. It was me, telling me not to drink. Something along the lines of..."Later you are going to want to drink. Don't do it. NO MATTER WHAT." I can look at myself in that video and see that I am lying. I was totally going to be downing sauvignon blanc later that day. And for a few more months after that.

Sobriety is such a process. I began, in earnest, in January or December two years before I actually quit drinking. I was sober-ish for almost four months (Longer than now- but I can't remember if I drank a little here and there then. I think I did.) I felt great. But I started up again. My job went south. I had a hernia and couldn't run. More stuff. Bring on the binge. Bring on the funk.

And it was funky. At the end of my drinking I was a big ol' mess. Fighting with husband. Ignoring the children. Sort of letting life wobble and steadily unravel. Wandering around with that door on my neck. Lugging it everywhere. Ugh.

I finally had to trust myself. I finally had to believe myself when I said "I don't want to drink anymore" for the five millionth time. I had to put that damn door down or resign myself to a lifetime spent carrying it instead of just the twenty years or so I had been.

Getting sober is about truth, and also lying. Except that the truth is that you cannot drink, and the lying is you telling yourself that you are quite lovely, and wonderful. That you are perfectly OK even when you are at your craziest. Pretty much the exact opposite of drinking: when you told yourself it was OK to drink, and the lying was you bashing yourself over and over telling yourself what a failure and suckball you were.

Getting sober, to me, is this: You take this person, this you, and you start to care for her.You make her trust her. You refuse to hurt her, or be mean to her. You are flat out honest with her. Even when honest is really hard. You hold her when she is fragile and scared, and laughing hug her when she gets it right- or feels comfy in her skin. You encourage her. You forgive her past, her mistakes. You make her responsible for what she does. You make her want to live beyond even her wildest dreams because there you are, holding your own hand for the scary parts. You take the door away from her. You throw her hands into the air on a bike for her. Because, you love her.

Wednesday, March 13, 2013

Predicting the Future

I woke up way too early trying to finagle the future again. I wish there were some way to figure out the answer right now. To know the very best choice. To maybe have someone who tells me what to do and then they are always right and I live in bliss for eternity. But a real person. Who might look a lot like Yoda. And sound like Maggie Smith.

When I was drinking, my life just kind of scooched along. It was sort of boring really. The only thing I really really worried about was my drinking. It encompassed everything. It affected everything. It took up all the space in my head. It was big. And solo. A one man band.

Now, holy shit. There is a carnival going on up there. Look over here! Here's this! And that! And this! There are so many options I am starting to feel a little overwhelmed. But in a good way, mostly. The hard part is not knowing how it ends. Not knowing what really is the best choice. Where is Dionne Warwick when I need her? Psychic friends? Hello?

The hardest part of early sobriety for me right now is reigning it all in. I feel like I want to pack all the missed possibilities in. Like right now. Is it possible to be too excited about life? I don't want to go off all willy nilly and end up with handfuls of fits and starts and no results.

And then I think about all the years I spent drinking and wishing for sobriety. And now here it is. Wish come true. Whoa. I mean really. WHOA.

So does that mean that maybe my other wishes can come true, too?

My life is really big right now. It's like I've been speeding around on a windy day in a convertible. Everything's sort of blown all around. I might need some smoothing. Some refining. Perhaps a pretty scarf to keep things together.

I need to remember that I don't need to predict the future because I can trust it. Me. At the carnival. In my pretty scarf.

Friday, March 8, 2013

The New Job Feeling

You know how, when you start a new job, you just don't feel quite right? You don't know where the bathroom is, or who to ask for help. You just don't know how things work around here. And then, after a few months you start to feel more comfortable. Make some friends. Find your feet. You don't feel like an asshole all day because you have no idea what's going on. Then people start asking you questions.

You get used to it.

Sobriety is just like that.

It's hard to leave a job where you're comfortable. Where everyone knows your coffee cup is the one with the owls on it. Where you are part of the wheel. Where it's safe.

Drinking is just like that.

I've been thinking a lot about what keeps you there when you're still drinking and you want to quit so much but you just can't. You just can't. And this is why.

It's the new job feeling. It's the I-don't-know-what-the-fuck-I'm-doing feeling. When you get sober you don't really know what to do. I made a full time job out of drinking, being hungover, and guilt. I didn't know how to do anything else. And it sucked, but it was comfortable. Safe. I knew how to do it. Not do that? Well then, what the hell else am I supposed to do? I don't know how to not do that. So it was easier to just stay at my old job- drinking- than go get a new one- being sober.

Doing new things is hard, period. Even when it's something fun, like riding a bike, it's hard. You have to baby bird put yourself out there for the world to see. And then you might fuck it all up. You might have to start over again- how embarrassing. You might have no clue where the bathroom is. Or who's coffee cup with the owls on it you just broke by accident.

Now try starting a whole new life. Holy crap. No wonder people put off getting sober. No wonder I told myself "I'll start tomorrow!" so many times. It's the new job feeling times a thousand. It's like trying to learn to ride a bike. With no hands. Blindfolded. On a tightrope. While playing the accordion. Which I don't know how to do either.

But eventually I had to say fuck it. I quit. This job really blows. I had to get a new one because as safe as the old one was I couldn't stand it any more. The old job feeling (drinking) was worse than the new job feeling (being sober).

Here's the thing about jobs, and life. You can always change your mind if it's just not working out. You can always go in and tell the boss, "This isn't a good fit" or "I'm seeking other opportunities" or "I quit asshole". You can make your life anything you want it to be. Ask for promotions. Be a cake decorator when you've always been a farmer. All of it takes practice. All of it gives you that I-have-no-clue feeling.

Especially sobriety. But who knows? With some practice, you could be really good at it.

Wednesday, March 6, 2013

For Those About To Rock: This One's For the Lurkers

This is the party I had for myself last night for my NINETY DAYS today. Well, really I had a clumsy tea party with my four year old and played crazy eights for an extra twenty minutes. But this is kind of what it looks like in my head. And you don't even want to see what's happening in my heart!

And then I read that. I was around at bath-time? I played cards with the children at the END of the day? Holy shit, I must be sober. It's when I think about the living I'm doing that I realize how fucking important these days have been to me. And then I feel excited and actually smile out loud because I get to keep going.

Now, look. It's not all crazy eights and tea parties around here. The night before I put the four year old to bed mad and crying. Sometimes it's goodnight and good riddance. But I knew it. And I wasn't outside on the porch swilling wine and chain smoking twenty minutes later, I was in kissing his tear stained face and pulling the covers up tight while he snored. (Oh! Tired. No wonder he was being such an ass. I was too. Tired, and an ass.)

There's nothing more annoying when you want to do something that someone else is already doing than reading about their successes. Then you think: "That won't happen for me." Or: "But my life is different." Or just: "But. But. But. But." There's also nothing better that reading about other people doing it because it means if they can do it you can too. I mean, I hate all that "You can do it!" shit as much as the next guy. "If I can you can, rah rah rah!" Shut. The. Fuck. Up. But.

But (ahem) you can. And you will find nothing else as satisfying as getting some power over your life. You will pile up hours then days like stones and blocks until you start a wall. You'll look over the wall and see booze over there lonely and sad and you will turn your back. You will turn your back and tend to what needs tending because that's what sober people do. You will stop drowning. You will breathe. My god, how you will breathe.

You will no longer feel like a liar and a cheat. You will wake up in the morning and know exactly what you said last night. You will feel the best and worst you have ever felt and you will not climb back over that wall no matter what. You will become beautiful not because you lose weight but because you can see yourself and you feel proud. You will peer over the wall and see shame over there too and you won't give it another thought. You will not go back.

You will realize that there is no way to build a gate in the wall. You cannot drink again. Ever. You will hate that. WHY ME? How am I going to celebrate blah blah's whatever if I can't drink? Then you go. And you have seltzer and feel uncomfortable and people think you are charming not sloppy.

Getting sober, on paper, is pretty dang easy. It's free. You don't have to travel to a certain place to find it. It doesn't require a degree. You can be any age. Any sex, race, or religion. You can do it any time you want. I'm pretty sure there aren't laws against it.

I cannot do it for you. I am already doing it for myself. And this shit is hard, so only one per customer. But I will tell you this: if I did it for you, it would not be as gorgeous. It would not be yours. And that's what it is, really. Yours. Yours for the taking.

Monday, March 4, 2013

A Letter to My "Sponsor"

Sober car coming through!

Dear Belle,

I lurked on sober blogs for two days before I screwed up the courage to send an email to you- then a stranger (!) and you actually emailed me back. And when you said you'd like to keep hearing from me I believed you and so I kept on writing. And you kept writing back. And I kept not drinking. Getting up early to write, to check my email. To see if it were possible that you wrote again. And you did. Every day. Sometimes more than once!

And so I could not drink. I couldn't because I couldn't bear the thought of writing to you: "I drank last night." And so when it was 5:30 in the afternoon and every fiber of my being wanted to screech off to the wine store I poured seltzer and ruby red grapefruit juice into a big wine glass and chugged away instead. Day after day. Day after day.

I couldn't drink because trust is a tenuous thing. Although I know it wouldn't have mattered to you, it would have mattered to me. And I didn't want there to be any doubts. I didn't want you to wonder if I was hammered or hungover when you didn't hear from me. I wanted you to be able to trust that I was serious about this. For these almost ninety days I've been building my first genuine non-drinking-I'm-Amy relationship.

You are the first person I've opened my whole self up to in as long as I can remember- probably since I was about five. I've been nothing but me. I've said what I meant to say, not what I thought you would want to hear. And guess what? You liked me anyway.

And you've been you. Not a supercilious self help guru, but you. When we have different perspectives it's refreshing and not tiresome. You get my quirky humor. You make me laugh. We are a good mix of alike and different. I don't even know what you look like or how your voice sounds and I count you as one of the most important people in my life. How cool is that?

We are friends with our souls. Thank you. Really. Thank you.

Beep beep my friend. Beep mother fucking beep. Sober women ROCK!

p.s. Find Belle's blog here.  My email is if you're reading this and you need a sober pen pal. Don't be afraid, or think people don't have time. Amazingly, people will take time for you if you're brave enough to ask for help. Or if you just need a pen pal.

Saturday, March 2, 2013

The 11th Commandment

Ooops. I forgot one!

I've been thinking a whole lot about the messages I tell myself, the way I react to me, and how I handle decisions.

I figured something out that anyone with a grain of sense could have seen. Easily. But you know how the seeing things thing is, and how you just don't until you just do.

I issues. And by 'trust issues' I mean the kind that you have with the most important person in your life. I don't trust ME.

I notice that when it comes to making decisions I waffle all over the place. "Well, maybe this? Or that? Whatever could be good, too. If I do this then will that be mad? Blah blah blah." I also think I tell myself in that destructive whisper-y voice that you can't hear with ears or your head but the one that you just know in your heart that I'm not doing it right. Ever. That I can't be trusted. That I don't know what's best for me. I have zero credibility with myself. My motives are always questionable. That I have been given the opportunity time and time again to do what's right and I failed. Miserably.

I was listening to The Bubble Hour again yesterday. It was the one about early sobriety. The first guest was a  woman who had to move herself and her young child in with her mother. Her mother was having a hard time trusting her now that the woman was sober because for years the mother had been lied to. Let down. This is me. I am the liar and the distrusting mother. Talk about a tough crowd.

Learning to trust someone after twenty some years of letdowns is a big big big deal. Sometimes I can feel myself not even wanting to try, having given up on me so many times- and maybe even for good years ago. Don't get me wrong, I am trying so hard. And I want to try so hard. I haven't ever wanted anything more in my whole life. It's the knowledge that the person that hurt me the most is ME that blows me away. It's knowing that my soft place to fall has it's arms crossed and is eyeing me suspiciously. It's that I can't be trusted to make even simple, seemingly easy decisions without the scrutiny squad tearing them to bits looking for hidden agendas. And I'm paralyzed and frustrated and skeptical. And brimming with self-doubt.

So I suppose this all boils down to instincts. And hearing. And trust.

And my 11th Commandment: Honor Thyself. Because if the neighbors can be part of it, then I can be part of it, too.

Those two words give me such pause. Honor Thyself. I would have never though to do that before. Hold me in high esteem? Me deserving respect? Having dignity? Credibility? Whoa. No wonder I'm feeling a little awed at the prospect of bestowing myself with all that. No fucking wonder it's hard to trust that, and that something like that is confusing to hear. Especially since I haven't really ever done that, and so I'm extra extra out of practice.

Sobriety is hard, but really life is hard. When you choose to get sober and turn around to face your life you just can't imagine all the remarkable things you're in for. When I made the choice to quit drinking forever I declared my intention to honor myself. Out loud, into my universe, to my higher power, to myself. Every day  is an act of building trust. A lesson in self respect. Every day I stay true to the promise that I've made to myself strengthens my integrity, my self worth.

If I can choose to honor my higher power, the lives of others, a day of worship and rest, and to not lie about my neighbors or want their stuff then I can make a new commandment too. A commandment to be taken earnestly and holding monumental significance. Maybe the most important one of all.


Every one of these eighty-six days shows me that my word has value. And that I am not a liar after all.