Moving Along...You can come too!!!

After over four years here at Blogger I'm moving over to my very own website!

HERE IT IS!!!!

Come visit me at my new digs. You can still email me about anything, and I'll still be writing blog posts. I'm also offering Life + Recovery Coaching over there too.

Thank you to everyone who reads along with me here, I hope that you'll continue to be part of the Soberbia community. With this community I have grown into the woman I am today. Let's keep going. BIG LOVE.

These Revelations

I sent a complaint letter.

I've never done this before, me, people pleaser extraordinaire, forget the thought of me speaking up when mistreated or handled in a clumsy way, but I did it.

I have revelations all the time- Oh! I can do this! Oh! This seems so normal! - it's disconcerting how I realize and understand so much about myself in these short bursts, like an explosion of light bulbs above my head, it's so blinding and so illuminating all at one big time. Sometimes I have to laugh because I feel so off center and wobbly that if I don't laugh I might just cry and revelate forever. I reassure myself with little victories: I'm learning to walk, how to stand while bearing weight on both legs- to be in my body. I can take deeper fuller breaths than I could a year ago, I'm not always holding my breath. My accomplishments may seem small in the grand scheme of things- I can keep my chin level now instead of a little up ready to defend, I think about sex without wanting to seethe, disappear or hide, I danced with other people in the room, I sent a complaint letter. Revelations. Grand scheme ones.

I've gone from reading about sex to reading about grief. Unexpressed grief is basically like shoving giant wads of gunk into your feelings pipes so they get mucked up, impassable, and you become anxiously paralyzed by the fears you'd meant to cry out but drank down for twenty years instead. I can connect the two so clearly, sex and grief go hand in hand for all of my life. I can see how the grief was the beginning, I can take myself back to me at five sweet years old, strawberry blond hair hanging down my back, past the ties of my favorite pinafore, sucking in my tears because I was too dramatic and so so stupid for crying, my parents teasing me for having feelings. I can feel how much it hurt when I needed tenderness and my parents had no idea what that even meant since their parents had no clue how to do things like feelings either. How that grief led me to using sex for hurting myself and being hurt, how drinking helped me unrealize who I was enough to do it, over and over until the beauty of my body was lost and I spread my legs again, bereft. Revelation.

I can feel how much I try to hide myself, too big to disappear and too unwieldy to blend in.

I sit on the couch across from my therapist and stay a good girl, unable to sob out the tears that are dying to get out because I want her to like me and have me please come back again next week. I have stuffed it all down for so long that I'm afraid to let it out because I could possibly head into a nervous breakdown, never to return- we only have one small hour, and then I have to head to work. Not a lot of time for falling apart and then back together.

I imagine a time when I don't have all this work to do, that these moments of glaring understanding, these revelations, will happen only a few times a year instead of a few a week. These things that come up, these elementary understandings that could have been lessons learned long ago had I only been bravely paying attention instead of fearful and drinking. I feel so stupid sometimes that I'm just now getting the idea that I can ask for what I need and it isn't a crime, it isn't wrong. Why wasn't I this person I am now all along? My years of work boxing up and shoving down all of the feelings and it turns out they never disappeared after all. All that work, down the drain.

The other day I was talking to my mom about being sweet when people are hurting and she said she uses humor to make people feel better. WHAT? I felt so sad and angry thinking of all the times I cried, hurting, and got humored by my own parents. They were using their humor, the very people who were supposed to love and heal me instead making it worse. Making it funny. I'm in total disbelief that she thought that teasing was what made people feel better. I want to stomp my five year old foot and scream stop laughing at me! right in her smiling face. Which would have only made her laugh harder.

No wonder I have no clue about what a normal emotional response is. No wonder I don't know how to take myself seriously, or how to speak without questioning myself, or how to be tender, or where to put all these big feelings. No wonder when I sit on the couch at therapy when the most hurty things come up I laugh. God, no wonder. No wonder my life is full of revelations, these connections that lead me from disappeared to conscious again and again.

I'm all spun up, so much happening, so many feelings that I don't know where to put them all. They're all unruly as puppies, scattered and making messes everywhere. I don't feel like myself anymore, but I don't know who I feel like either- sometimes it feels so much like me and then I hardly recognize who I am. It's like giving birth, but for years.

I feel so fortunate to be coming along in my understanding, and also so right at the beginning, like I've been running for a hundred years and somehow I'm still within sight of the starting line. It's frustrating in this gracefully annoying way, this is where I have to laugh, where it actually is funny, and lovely, sweet and amazing. Me, at forty-five years old, stumbling along, learning to walk. Learning to fly. Being exactly myself at my life. Being born, by revelations.

Forever. That's a Mighty Long Time.

I had a conversation with my universe sent friend Amy about being sober. About how long is OK. About if it's a day by day thing, one day at a time, or what about forever?

For me, forever works. I'll tell you why: there is never ever any choice about whether I drink again or not. I don't. Ever again. Not in two years, or on my tenth wedding anniversary, or when my eight year old son gets married one day. Never.

And maybe forever might work for you, too.

It's kind of like this: I don't ever ever have to decide if I'm going to drink again. When I woke up that morning nine months ago I decided, "If I ever drink again it will wreck my life. Welp, thank god we're done with that." And then it's hard some, and easy some. But there is never that chance to waffle around and second guess myself. There is never the maybe just one or two conversation, the I can handle it back and forth with myself, with my alcoholic self. That person has to be gone forever. Or I will shrivel up and die a slow sad death while hurting the people I love the most. No thanks.

I can't follow the one day at a time philosophy because that gives me too much leeway with something I don't need any freedom about. Obviously I can't be trusted to make good decisions when it comes to booze, so I have to never have a choice. Since, knowing me, there's a good chance I would make the wrong one. Over, and over, and over again. So forever is a relief for me. In that phew, it's out of my hands way that faith makes people feel. The pressure is off.

I've talked with people who can't say forever. That saying forever makes it too hard to quit. Saying to myself, "Well, I won't drink today, but I can tomorrow" makes me feel all wobbly and like I'm already headed to the wine store. Even if every day I say "Just today" it makes me feel like I'm not sure about tomorrow, which makes me nervous. Real nervous.

Forever makes me safe.

Forever is big. I've been sober for nine months now. Forever is much bigger than that. But these last nine months have been the best of my life. When I say "best" I don't mean easiest, or happiest, or I've been floating on a cloud of joyous rapture. I mean whoa dude, look. I have lived. I have been a real person in the world. I have cried hard and desperately, wrung my insides out. I have learned so much about myself: most surprisingly that I really do like me. A lot. I have loved with my learning to open heart, and smiled so big that I have to stretch out my arms and shake my butt a little, pump my fist in the air a little.

I will definitely take all of that forever. With a side of always for good measure.

So maybe forever might be OK for you, too. You could walk up and introduce yourself. You might have a lot in common with forever and you didn't even know it. Forever could be the back up you needed to make sobriety work. It could be totally OK to wrap yourself in the security blanket of never again. Forever makes me not doubt myself, which makes me trust myself. And that makes me stronger. And sober. Forever.

Giving a Fuck

I talked myself into a bit of a tizzy this morning- you know how you sort of convince yourself that things just aren't going the way you want them to. Like this: "Ugh. I ate that graham cracker cereal last night. I feel fat. And also so many cashews. Why can't I stop drinking so much coffee? I think coffee makes me eat sweet stuff. I'm blaming everything on coffee from now on. And I have to stay up later so I don't wake up in the middle of the night wide ass awake. The coffee again. Fucking coffee."

And I won't replay the other conversation about the GIANT zit I have forming on my chin from all the sugar I ate this weekend. It is giant, but I'm resisting the urge to mash and squeeze it until nothing comes out and I've made a huge red spot on my face that scabs and peels for a week and a half.

But y'all, at least I give a fuck.

This is my new mantra. My way of making myself seem sane when I'm making myself my own special brand of crazy.

I care about my skin and my sleep. I pay attention to what I eat and what I drink. It matters if something isn't organic, or is pumped full of chemicals. I hydrate. And try to remember to floss and brush every night. At almost six months sober just being sober isn't an excuse for me anymore. It's not a free pass to eat eight cookies, it's inspiration to do better because I know that I can.

Being sober is so much more than just being not drunk. Perhaps we can change it to being human, or being a full human instead of a half assed one. Worrying about all this shit may seem pointless but for me it shows me that I care about myself. I'm concerned for my welfare and well being. How about that!

Belle always asks me a valid question: "What if you were good enough right now?" But what if I am? And what if enough is enough, and better is more me- or to feel like me I need to kind of try things on for size to get the life that feels comfy and fits. What if coffee seems right for a while, but then I can bend another way? And that way is better? What if wondering and trying is my way?

Speaking of trying, and new, and my way- I can't run. This is heartbreaking. Running is my one thing that is ALL MINE. And I can't do it. I keep setting my alarm so I can get up early and walk, but then it goes off and I feel like what's the fucking point? So I'm going to have to wonder and try myself into doing something different for a few months until my foot heals. Another thing to gnash and gnarl over. But I am getting better at noticing when I'm not doing things because I'm fearful in a small or big way. Or knowing that I'm being a big fat ego about it. (walking? Hrumph. That is not running. Walking does not make me a bad ass. Laying in bed ignoring the alarm definitely does not make me a bad ass either!)

So I am good enough right now. And I'll be good enough tomorrow, and the day after that too. And maybe one of these mornings I'll be good enough on a walk. And I won't eat too many cookies when I'm feeling nervous. And I'll keep on trying to do better, not because it's a way for me to beat myself up, but a way to show me how much I really care, that I really really give a fuck.

Finishing Lessons

My parenting style is sort of like this: "You can't play Wii for a week!" Then two days later....."Wellllllll, I guess it's OK. Just don't blah blah blah ever again!" That was kind of my drinking style too. "You can't drink for a week!" Then after the hangover passed....."Wellllllll, I guess some wine wouldn't hurt. Just don't have blah blah blah glasses again!"

I guess we all know how well that worked since I'm writing a blog about sobriety.

My oldest is on day two of a week long "grounding" from the Wii. I wrote the date when he can play again on a post it and stuck it to one of the kitchen cabinets. No Wii until May 28th.

Now I have to stick to it. (Heh, no pun intended!)

I've never been good at finishing the lesson. I'm great at the pre-lesson excitement. I'm awesome at the first bit. Then I slowly slide back into the easy chair of the old way. Even if the new way is working markedly better. And then I sort of take that mental look around....."Um, what has happened here?" and kind of cobble together some new way, mostly old way. Never finishing the lesson.

It's sort of like learning math: there are these logical (mostly, math is not my best subject) steps to take and then you get the answer. Maybe math is a bad analogy since its' answers are absolute (again, mostly) and life lessons have a little more leeway. But the finishing is the most important part- at least trying to complete the problem. And asking for help if you need it. You know, sometimes you just don't get it and someone else does. And so you ask for help and suddenly the clouds part and you can move on to the next question, the next problem.

Being sober, for me, feels like I'm finishing my life. I don't mean ending it, I mean finishing it. Taking the next step. Solving the problem. And waiting for the answers.

Give it Up, Give it Up Again...

A blog friend recently had a relapse. That sounds so clinical, though, doesn't it? It sounds better to me to say a blog friend recently chose to drink after a little over a month sober. And we all get it. If you're reading this you probably have, at least once, told yourself that you were going to quit drinking. And then you probably drank again. I have promised myself to stay sober and then drank myself silly. Again, and again, and again. Until that last time.

I can't make guarantees that you will deep down believe since you haven't known me long. And some days I don't believe that I will never, ever, EVER??? drink again. I haven't known me long either. But in my heart I know. I know I can't. I know I just plain flat out don't want to. I don't want to. At the end of a hard day, or a sunny day, or a day that I'm alive there is just not a reason for me to drink. Period. I don't crave it, I don't want it. I don't miss it.

I don't miss it.

I'm reading this great, great great book by Augusten Burroughs called This is How. He talks about a lot of different things. I'm on this part now about drinking and he says basically this: It is not hard to quit drinking. You just don't drink. You decide that sobriety is more important than being drunk. Period. And if you drink then you've decided that being drunk is more important than sobriety. And that the past is the past. It doesn't make you who you are today. I think I drank for as long as I did because I believed that was who I was: Amy who drinks and wishes she could quit. That was the core of my identity. It was all I thought about. Either drinking, or quitting. Every day. Over and over and over. Years and years. And fucking years. It was my second job, all that thinking about drinking.

Surrender is a funky kind of word. It can mean you throw back your arms and head and let the world come at you like a breeze. It can mean you become small and lose yourself to fear. It can mean you give up every belief you have about yourself because maybe, just maybe you were wrong about you. I was wrong about me.

Surrender means you give up. Here though: have another perspective. Instead of surrendering to booze, or surrendering to the idea that you are powerless (NEVER, ever, ever are you powerless over booze. EVER.) Surrender to sobriety. Surrender yourself to strength. Don't surrender to a higher power- be a higher power. And no, I don't mean start calling yourself God. But I do mean create a universe. I do mean create days and nights. And light. I do mean make a life. And on some days rest.

I'm gonna tell you this: If you will not or don't want to surrender you will find a reason to drink again. You will find an excuse. You will reason it out in your head all the whys why it's OK this one time. And you'll get drunk and you'll be sad about it later. Or even while you're doing it. You'll pull out the powerless card and throw it on the table alongside your glass of booze and cry inside "But I need it!!! I can't live without it!!! Why can't I have it?" Surrender. Because you can't. You just fucking can't. Give it up. Out of all the glorious things in life there is only one thing you cannot have: alcohol. Drop that shit like a bad habit. Cede from the land of booze. Abandon that baby. And don't look back.

Investing in Commitment

I'm reading a book by Peter Buffett called Life Is What You Make It. I picked it up randomly at the library the other day during the six minutes I had to browse before the boys get bored and the library cop comes to me with Hampton since he's been playing with the water fountain. So four minutes then. It's a really on time find- he discusses career, and choices, and other cool life stuff. (The subtitle is Find Your Own Path to Fulfillment.) I love shit like this. It's kind of like a decoder ring.

Here's this quote: (attributed to Goethe)

"Until one is committed  there is hesitancy, the chance to draw back. Concerning all acts of initiative and creation, there is one elementary truth, the ignorance  of which kills countless ideas and splendid plans: that the moment one definitely commits oneself, then Providence moves too. All sorts of things occur to help one that would never have occurred  A whole stream of events issues from the decision  raising in one's favor all manner of unforeseen incidents and meetings and material assistance, which no man could have dreamed would come his way. Whatever you can do, or dream you can do, begin it. Boldness has genius, power, and magic in it. Begin it now."

In the back of my head I've been pushing around my label. What I call why I don't drink. How I explain it. I don't feel like an alcoholic now. I don't feel like an addict now. I don't feel like I need to struggle and yearn for freedom every day because I am enslaved to something much more powerful that  me. I don't feel like I need to promise myself that I can drink one day but just not today. That doesn't work for me. To me that's like the eat all your dinner and you can have dessert promise. Forced reward. Blegg.

Then I read that quote and zing. That's what you call what I'm doing. Commitment! Until one is committed  there is hesitancy, the chance to draw back. That was the problem all those times I tried to quit before. I wasn't committed. I was toe in testing the water, not jumping in letting the safety net close over me.

My sobriety has been entirely about readiness. I was not ready until I was ready. I was ready to commit. To make a promise to my lifelong partner (me!) that I would  love and cherish her all the rest of my days. For richer, for poorer. In sickness and in health. For better and for worse. Is sobriety like getting married? Could be.

So I think that means I don't even have a label. I just have a promise. Between me and me. I'll worry about how to explain it when it comes up. It means that I cannot renege or hesitate. The moment one definitely commits oneself, then Providence moves too. There are clear expectations. No one is wandering around in the dark looking for a wine glass because there will never be one. That makes me feel safe.

Ah. Take a breath.

Sometimes I want to have all the answers. And then sometimes I get one.

"Whatever you can do, or dream you can do, begin it. Boldness has genius, power, and magic in it. Begin it now."