Booze - Me = Still Me

I was sick again for the past few days. Strep throat this time. My dearest pen pal extraordinaire Belle reminded me to be extra patient with my sad sick ol' self. And I wasn't. I was mad. World? Do you see that pissed off person? It's me. And I'm mad at you.

In one of life's little "the joke's on me" ever since I quit drinking I have been sick pretty much the entire time. Very funny universe. I mean WTF? Dear, sweet, noble me has decided to get it together and now I feel like shit all the time? Ahem. How DARE you?

Here's the thing: wasn't I sick and feeling cruddy all the time before? This should feel like normal, not like a slap in the face. I realized I'm carrying around all these secret resentments I thought would magically go away because I got sober. Could you move please? My unicorn can't get through.

I thought I was going to lose weight since I quit drinking. I thought my face would be glowing and blemish-less. I thought all my money problems would melt away. My marriage would be the stuff of songs. Life would be...better. Easier. I wouldn't have to deal with so much emotional junk. I would be a better mom. I would be able to concentrate. I would take up sewing and the guitar. I would have so much extra time since I wasn't dedicating it all to either being hungover or getting drunk. There would be space in my brain for new stuff since the broken record finally actually broke. 

Part of the reason I drank was to get away from me and my "hard" life. Because I didn't like who I was, my life would never mold into what I thought it should be. I was never good enough just because I was me. 

Take away the booze and guess what's left? Still me. 

Me and my crazycakes belief that life is supposed to be easy. I really thought that at some point you get there. Sometimes I still do. Like you're on a rafting trip. Just around this next bend and over this waterfall and then I'm thinner, richer, and more beautiful than ever. Just around this next one I guess. Or this next one. OK, maybe one more.

When you are never satisfied there is always another bend. You never ever feel content. There, finished, and easy are when you're dead.

Oh.

One of the great things about sobriety is that you're aware of it all. One of the suckiest things about sobriety is that you're aware of it all.  

There's a way to find the balance of seeking and satisfied. To let the old stories in your head go, for good. For real. To stop wishing for not impossible things, just the wrong things. To put all that wasted energy into things that actually work. To change not only that inner voice that shamed you daily for drinking, but to change the chorus behind it.

Lead singer: "You suck because you drink..." 

Chorus: "And you're an unsuccessful fat ass too!" 

Change to:

Lead singer: "You rock because you're sober..."

Chorus: "And you made fresh lemonade too!"

Change the stories in your head that just aren't true. Change the lies you've been telling yourself. Be brave enough to see the truth. The real truth. Even if it makes you out to be a pretty decent sort. It's OK to be you, and be proud too. Right now. 

I thought getting sober was going to 'fix' it all. Since that didn't work I'm pretty sure having a number six in the waistband of my jeans and more zeros at the end of my bank balance won't do it either. Looks like I'm just going to have to keep going around the bend. Again. And again. And again. 

p.s. Life IS better. Tons. Boatloads!

Say What?

"'Motherfuck-itude' and 'motherfuckery' is 

about quitting your bitching, getting out of 

your own ego, and getting to work."

I read this and wanted to immediately print it out and tack it to the wall above the desk. And then live by it every single mother fucking day. I'll have to memorize it since it's probably not appropriate for an eight and a four year old to get their minds on. "Mommy? What's a 'mother fucker'?" I think the word 'ego' is a much dirtier one. But the bad word police didn't ask me. 

I've been wallowing a lot since the Girl Scout cookies arrived. Eating them with total abandon. Alcoholic abandon. "Hi, my name is Amy and I'm a Girl Scout cookie-a-holic." Really it's more like this: "Hi, my name is Amy and I'm a give-myself-permission-to-do-whatever-I-want-even-if-it-makes-me-miserable-and-I-know-it-will-a-holic". Phew. Say that ten times fast.

I have not enjoyed revisiting the place where I say "Fuck it!" and then beat myself up for it, and then do it again! I have gone backwards in the past week. And I don't dig it one single bit. I've been living unintentionally. Not having any direction, or purpose. Flailing about not concentrating on anything, doing a little of everything, accomplishing nothing. It has sucked. 

I hate this feeling that I'm being dragged along while the crazy person makes all the decisions. It's like when you were little and someone tickled you until you were laugh-screeching for mercy. You loved it, it was so funny, but it was awful because you couldn't escape or breathe. 

I'm learning that I like structure. A lot. That I like telling myself "NO!". It works for me. The easy choice isn't always so easy. Yes, I can cram cookies down my throat while sitting on the computer instead of paying attention to my children and doing a load of laundry. That seems delightful and easy. But then. My face breaks out from the sugar. The children gallop around the house, wanting to be noticed. No one has anything to wear. I feel fat. Easy's not so easy anymore. Fat, yelling, and zitty in dirty jeans: not so delightful. 

I did better yesterday. And then, like magic, this quote appeared this morning. 

And I mother fucking love it. 

p.s. Here's the article if you want to read it.

Caring Isn't Punishment

For the past few days I've felt like this child in the corner. I know that's what made me give up my Whole30- it started to feel like punishment, like I'd done something wrong and deserved to do without. Hold up.

I realized this morning that I carry this notion that nurturing myself has negative connotations. That it's a bad thing. A selfish, self-centered, greedy thing. Well, dang. Where did that come from? If you wrote to me and said you were doing something nice for yourself I would be all for it. Hell, I even have a whole day of this blog devoted to cheering for myself and y'all.

So why does my inner bully start tapping the bat when I'm starting to feel pretty good about things?

And when did I stop believing that I was a worthy person? Because I cannot remember a time when I didn't feel that way. Whoa.

Getting sober uncovers all these simple truths about me. It's like I'm meeting a whole new person. It's pretty damn cool, and pretty unsettling at times too. If you'd asked me three months ago if I liked myself I would have said flippantly, "Sure, I guess I do." And I really wouldn't have known the answer, I didn't even know who I was. I was a shell.

If you asked me that today? Right now? I would say with my head, "Hmmmmm. I think so. I'm still figuring this one out." and with my heart I would say, "I would die for this woman. She is brave, and kind, and strong. I love her."

As I would say to my oldest, Jack (he's eight):

"It's OK to think your self is cool."

I think it's time to learn that lesson for myself.