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.

Un-Lemming-ing

(My dear friend, Belle, inspires me daily. She and I have never met in person, but we talk every day. She is a HUGE reason why sobriety sticks for me. This post was motivated by a conversation we had yesterday. Thank you, Belle. Thank you thank you thank you.)

I have always been not a leader, and not really a follower either. But definitely more follower than leader. Because leading can be scary. It means you have to put yourself out there. Be noticed. Fail, in front of people. I have always liked the beat of my own drummer, just not been brave enough to follow it most of the time. I suppose that makes me a follower. Dammit.

Being a follower is what led me to drinking in the first place. I vaguely remember standing outside somewhere passing around a two-liter of Sun Country wine cooler and feeling really uncomfortable but not courageous enough to turn it down. I must have been all of thirteen or fourteen years old. The group I wanted to fit in with were all getting wasted on the weekends, so I was too. How cool. And meaningful. Yeah, right.

Drinking is what made me a follower my whole life. I drank to fit in. It was the only common ground I had with so many people I wanted to be friends with. Booze is the great equalizer- if you're holding a glass of alcohol you're OK, you're one of us. The suspicious weird ones were the people who didn't drink. The ones people spoke of with disdain: "She doesn't even drink." That was not going to be me.

So I drank.

I became a lemming. The uber follower.

At least it started out that way. Towards and through my thirties I drank because I had to. Because it was part of my identity. Who was I without wine? Drinking was something I really, really knew how to do. And even though it made me miserable I was stuck back in that dark outside somewhere not daring enough to try another way.

So much of boozing is being one of the crowd. Trying not to stick out. Not dealing with the way it should be uncomfortable when you meet new people, or when you're in unfamiliar situations. Jumping on the bandwagon of "Jeez, I just need a drink"- which sounds so much more cosmopolitan than "Jeez, I just need to handle this consciously and I might need a minute." Instead blindly following the lemming. For years. Safely and sorrowfully one of the crowd.

Then I looked down and saw my floating device.

Heeeeeeyyyyyyy.....wait.......

I don't have to go "in the drink". I have my handy life raft ring thing. I can be my leader. I can take me to myself. My sober I'm having lemming-ade self. I am my own in crowd. The un-lemming.

Through the Wringer

This is me yesterday, only I'm not the woman with the purple hair, I'm one of those flat women. I think the one in green. I had a meeting at work and it was a doozy. Add that to the great ground beef fiasco Sunday night and maybe both of those women are me-well, the one in green is me, then the one in red is my nerves. Since my nerves could be on the outside of my body they've been tested so hard this week. And I think they have that surprised look, like WTF just happened here?

Yesterday, after this two hour meeting (which was not all bad, most of it was very good, but the bad part was bad. I'd been having trouble with my boss. He said sorry and his boss said put it in the past.) I felt like I'd been run over by a truck. I was jangle-y, tense, spent. I sat in the driveway on the phone trying to give my husband a five minute synopsis and all I could think was, "I NEED A FUCKING DRINK." (see comments in picture above)

Of course then I remembered that I don't do that anymore. And I only intensely wanted one for about a minute. Because then I also remembered that a drink wasn't what I really wanted, and it surely wasn't what I needed.  What I needed was some dinner. Lots of deep breaths. Some normal life.

Normal life. As in go inside. Hug kiddos. Make dinner. Let my inner mama take over. (my mama, as in me mothering myself) I was patient when I wanted to fuss and grrrrrr. I somehow got through pj's and stories without losing my mind.

My inner mama doesn't play. Now that she knows I'm listening she is not afraid to speak up. And she doesn't like excuses.

Me: "But I had that awful meeting at work and I want to bury my head under the covers and feel sorry for myself. Wah wah wah."

Inner Mama: "That has nothing whatsoever to do with these two boys who love you and want to spend time snuggled close to mommy. Chop chop. And do try to enjoy it. Plenty of time for sad burrowing in a bit."

I made myself do it.

Y'all, no matter how bad and hard and sad and terrible some things have been this week I know that because I'm sober I am getting through it instead of going around and around again. It's been hard to feel- really feel all these roller coaster emotions- to throw my hands into the air for the biggest hills, mouth wide open wailing with fright and sorrow. Feeling the grace of comfort and the warmth of pride for doing it all without my old avoidance technique- i.e. seven glasses of wine. Phew. This shit is real.

I have been through the wringer this week. And the most important part is that I made it out to the other side.

My Word

Over at http://mishiam.wordpress.com/2013/01/01/opening-the-new-year/ Michele shared her tradition of picking a word instead of making resolutions for the new year. (I know, are we still talking about New Year's? Isn't that so...last year?) I thought wow! What a great idea. Kind of a mantra, a banner to fly over 2013. Then I waited for my word to pick me. I was hoping it would be something grand and deeply meaningful like "believe" or "serenity" or "youarethebest" but...well. We all know about plans, right? About mice and men, and them going agley? About the universe laughing when you make them?

So, without further adieu, my word. (drum roll, please)

Ok y'all. It's INVEST.

Welp. I actually thought that. I mean, I knew when it popped into my head what it was. I can't lie, I was slightly disappointed. What a cold sounding word. And it's all about money, isn't it? Ugh. A whole year devoted to money??? Where was my soul bending word? My profound and meaningful syllables? The word that makes me go "Ooooooooooo"?

Then I looked it up.

Oh....hello. Here's what it means:

INVEST
to array in the symbols of office or honor, to furnish with power or authority, to grant someone control over, to cover completely: envelop, clothe, adorn, to endow with a quality: infuse

: to commit (money) in order to earn a financial return (One of my biggest goals this year is getting our finances under control, to stop wasting so much money on useless things. Not drinking will be a HUGE help for that.)
: to make use of for future benefits or advantages <invested her time wisely> (Again, not drinking has been a great way to actually spend my time)
: to involve or engage especially emotionally <were deeply invested in their children's lives> (Once again, sobriety is already making me a better wife and mother)

Invest. My word. It makes cents. (ha ha, a little financial humor there. Already working the power of my word. *cocky head bob thing*) But seriously. What a great little word. It says all the stuff I want to accomplish this year. In a really good way.

HIGH FIVE! Sunday 12.30.12

Once again, here's where you can post about something or things that was high five-able about your week. It/they can be big or small or even medium. And you can include your days/weeks/months/years sober too. And I will shower you with friendly words of encouragement.

Since I'm here right now, I'll go first.

Some people will say I'm crazy, and if you did, well...that might be like you knew me. Lucky for me crazy means silly and off the wall instead of I need an army of therapists. (Hmmm. I might, however, need those too.) BUT! I gave up sugar this week. I ate too many Christmas goodies and I was getting a bit doughy. (wahn wahn wahn... ba dum bum)

Sugar was making me feel like shit. I, however, just kept right on shoving cookies into my mouth night and day. (No need to wait for 5 o'clock for cookies!) I'd have two or three when I got home from work. Then four or five after dinner. Then another three or five before I went up to bed. (*note: I go to bed about 8:30 or 9:00. Not a lot of time between dinner and heading upstairs. I was out of control!) The wine was gone, and in it's place...

I started to feel like this:

 (Impetus behind cookie bingeing: I read in one of my I-got-sober memoirs that she ate candy in bed every night and it helped. So this was my excuse. It sounds familiar, right? Weeeeelllllll....other people can drink a few times a week/eat candy in bed every night and be fine...I'm sure it's OK for me too.) But myself was not buying it.

Y'all, there's this part of me now that sticks up for me. It whispers, "Hey. Hold up. Don't do that. That will make you feel like crap- in your bod and in your head." And then there's this part of me that listens. They cooperate to make sure I keep feeling good. Oh.

Whoa.

I had to sit here for a while and think on that. Twenty-four days sober today. High five.

Feeling Stuck

I'm having the "I'm about to have a revelation" feeling. Like my soul has it's head stuck in the porch railing bars, but oh look! the fire department is on the way with butter and a ladder. This little girls' name is Tong Tong, and she was trying to sneak off to play when she got stuck. The metaphor here is suitable. 

But look, you can see the fireman in the background. She fucked up, but here's someone to rescue her. 

I am my own fireman. 

Twenty-one days sober today. 

It's a Social Situation

Bowing out of social invites is hard. Especially with people you used to drink (a lot) with. I'm still sort of deciding how I want to put it when asked me to come over and hang out. "We'll have some wine" (too much wine) "and hang out." (get drunk) On the playground isn't where I really want to get into a discussion about my drinking or the reasons why I quit.

I discovered yesterday that saying, "I'm taking a break" results in the "Are you crazy?" look from drinking folk. Well, let me clarify. Folk who drink like I used to drink. I don't think people who have a casual relationship with alcohol care either way. However. It's really uncomfortable to try to explain while pushing a pair of four year olds on swings. It went like this:

She: "Hey! You and the family should come over for dinner over the xmas break! We'll make pizza and have wine!"

Me: "Well, we're pretty busy, and I've been taking a break from drinking."

She: "A break? From drinking? Why would you do that?"

Me: "Well, it's pretty expensive, and I was just feeling like I needed a break..."

She: "Well, your husband can still drink can't he? Is that allowed? Or is he on a break too?"

Me: "Well, no he's not on a break" (he's the one glass and fine type by the way) "but we'll see."

I can't really covey the confused, baffled, almost offended look on her face here. Kind of like she was smelling poop and sucking on a lemon while trying to figure out the answer to 219 + 26. I'm sure I had a similar look, trying to say no without hurting her feelings. Maybe I should have just been honest.

She: "Hey! You and the family should come over for dinner over the xmas break! We'll make pizza and have wine!"

Me: "Oh, no. We could not possibly do that. I quit drinking because it was ruining my life. Coming to your house would be one of the most dangerous things I could do right now because you are a lush, just like I used to be. But thanks though." DANGER! DANGER! DANGER!

It brings up the feeling that I have to sort of weed through people who aren't good for me. Not that they aren't good people, just that they aren't good for me. And also the feeling that these sorts of friendships will naturally fall by the wayside, that there really isn't a need to force the issue. And that I have a choice in the matter.

I'm the sort of person who, when faced with a tough social situation, always makes it work for the other person. Even to my own detriment. I will make myself hurt, or sad, or uncomfortable- take the blame when it's not my fault- just so someone else doesn't have to suffer. And I am terrible (terrible!) at standing up for myself. I'm a *gasp!*.... people pleaser! Now that's a shocking quality in an alcoholic, hmmmm? I am also bad at asking for help. (The two go hand in hand I think) And then, joining our couple...saying yes when you really mean no! A trifecta of personality flaws.

So, I'm curious. How do you handle situations like this, especially so early in sobriety?