A-holic

Do you ever feel like you're getting your shit together for like the nine hundredth time this year? That's me. I mean, do people who aren't a-holics just understand this all their lives? I'm getting used to the ebb and flow of my life, although I'm still surprised by how it does it. After almost four years sober I know what's coming mostly- about four times a year I get sad and lost, and about four times a year I pick myself up and find a way around that corner again. 

I wonder if it's stretching out my life suit, like growing but instead of in sizes in measures of prayer and hands up. But also like my ass is spreading out some, like I'm settling it down into the mud that is my life, wiggling it into the mud for a long stay. Getting comfortable. Finding a home.

I was laughing with my therapist the other day about how impossible it seems that until about eight months ago I had no idea that I struggled with anxiety. And now that I know it I recognize it everywhere- in traffic, at work, teaching yoga, when my kids argue, when my husband doesn't seem to see me, when people disagree and I'm not even involved, when I feel lost about who I even am anymore, should I have a cup of tea or water- there it is: anxiety. Is it attachment to outcome that makes me grab on so hard or just the fear of being an afterthought? 

But because I recognize it I can recognize it. And then that helps me to understand that if I recognize it then I can surrender to it because it's something I know. It's like the day I decided to quit drinking- I recognized myself as a person who is an alcoholic and so I understood that I could surrender to that, that it was safer to be an alcoholic than it was to be someone who would spend another day denying what I knew was the truth. 

Is there a difference between an alcoholic and a problem drinker? I only know that as soon as I slapped the label of "alcoholic" on myself I got sober. How fucking weird is that. It brings me a strange comfort in a way to be able to call this strong forceful part of myself something. Over the years that grew into calling myself an "a-holic" because I don't just only want to drink all the booze, in varying degrees I am driven to have more more more of anything that feels like permission. Giving this part of me a name gives it a form, it gives me something I can grab on to and hold and shake and shape. It gives me a part of myself I can identify and recognize. It makes it so when I feel anxious and I'm holding a handful of chocolate covered raisins I can think about who is holding those raisins and be able to put them back. It gives me someone to run to in the dark, someone to hand the light and pull in and tell sweet things like "it's okay" and "I think you need water".

I'm interested in your thoughts. 

Ready

Lord. Where have I been? Every morning I wake up and think, shit. I have a blog post to write. Then I think it again the next day, and then there's so much to say that I sort of got overwhelmed and just put it off for a better time, another day I'll be able to sit down, to concentrate for real. Then I can do it.

Ha ha ha. We all know how that kind of planning goes. But then! The children went to see their grandparents for Mother's Day. My husband is at work. I'm having a huge Saturday night vegetable roasting party and I'm the only one invited so I can do whatever I want. Which means I can cook and write and go to sleep when I get tired. Word.

I finally funked right on out of my funk. Something that helped was this rock my therapist gave me in group the other week. Here it is:

I was talking about how I can't get things to go the way I want or think they should and then we all nodded since I have "issues" with being a little...."controlling"? And then she gave me this rock, some slips of paper, and a rubber band. She said something like: "Write the things you're worried/trying to control on the slips of paper. Rubberband them to the rock. Carry it everywhere. When you're ready to let something go take it off of the rock until there's just the rock. Then maybe be able to let that go too."

I wrote my things: my mom. My dad. My weight. Money. Finding balance. Work frustration. Eating too much. I rubberbanded them to my rock and went to sleep with my rock next to me on the table by my bed.

I got up the next morning and went for a run: me and my rock and my worries. In my head I was bitching at myself for holding on to things, for being worried and not faith full. Chiding myself for not being able to do the rock thing right. Worrying about failing. In my in my head desperate voice I wailed to myself "But what if I fall???"

And then a voice, my own, but from way down deep inside of me said,

"What if I catch you?"

I sobbed in relief. Instant, overwhelming, blanketing full on full out relief.

I looked at the rock in wonder.

Then I remembered that I was in public, and running. And so I said a fervent prayer of thanks out loud straight up to the sky. Then I wiped my eyes and kept on going.

When I got back to the car I took the rubberband off of the rock and put the slips of paper in the door compartment of the car. I drove home with the rock in my lap.

I haven't really carried the rock around since. My parents and I have made a gentle peace with each other- kind of like we were all wearing tight coats and then someone suggested we unbutton them. It still feels weird, but more comfortable. I am still too thinking about my weight, but I'm running, and rolling around on the floor doing yoga. I'm not eating too much on purpose. I gave up money worries because it's May, or Saturday, or a bird chirped.

I'm reading this book. It's changing my life. It came along when I was ready. Ready, just like I was ready for the rock. Ready for my voice.

Ready, after all these years, to trust myself again.

Elephant Suit

Expectations are a such a damn thing.

I've been thinking about how my whole life has been based on expectations: ways I think things should go, which inevitably more percent of the time than not they go not that expected way and then I feel all out of sorts. Hurumph.

My personal sad truth is that I am sort of obsessed with a few things that I expect to be one way, but then I don't really do things to have them turn out that way. And so then I get to feel bad about it. Hooray!

And yes, although that seems totally stupid (totally) it is how I've lived in my head my whole life.

Like this: I am happiest when I do the things I love to do: run, read, write. Take the time to stop and think. Get myself onto my yoga mat just to get my body on the ground and push my imaginary roots into the earth. Eat the food as nourishment not punishment. Spend time by myself every day. Read to my children. Be kind and affectionate with my husband. Wash my face. Brush and floss. Honor my sobriety. Pray some. Get enough sleep. Do some dancing.

Instead I launch myself headlong into a bag of gingersnaps or whip myself into a little frenzy of frustration and resentment where I lecture the kids until we are all heartily sick of me and all my good advice. After the kids are in bed I go into the Facebook/Plants vs. Zombies trance that keeps me up too late and I'm convinced that kicks dents into my soul. I avoid writing because I think I don't have anything to say, or promise myself I'll come back to comment on a blog I've read later: when there's more time, or there might be a better thing I've thought. I don't go for a walk because I'm lazy, and it's cold. I run and hurt myself and declare that I can do nothing so why bother.

And then, the beloved universe gets sick of waiting for me and all my lagging and out come the jumper cables. You know: connections.

For some reason (see: universe) I started re-reading A Woman's Way Through the Twelve Steps. And I got stuck on step one. Then two days later Lilly posted this brilliant post and I spent last night reading that step one chapter again and making notes and drawing and thinking and realized that surrender is the total antithesis for expectation.

Surrender is a lack of expectation.

I got some surrendering to do.

My biggest one is surrendering to me. Like, me me. To stop being innerly embarrassed by who I am. I unconsciously correct myself a thousand times a day to fit in nicely. Lord. This is annoying and awful. It's hard to explain. Even in traffic I try to make life easier for everyone else. I spend my days compromising constantly. What a control freak!

Surrender is a lack of control.

Which means I am totally uncomfortable.

And.....happy?

Something else really struck me about Lilly's post: the idea that if you are a true Australian you are almost expected to drink. Like if you don't drink you might want to get off their continent, because unless you're pickled you're branded an impostor and shall be voted off the island. More expectations. Big ones. Nationwide ones.

What bullshit. Stop listening to those fucking people and find some who think being an Australian means you come from Australia. Anyone who thinks you can't be something because you don't drink is fucking ridiculous. Dammit.

Which gets me thinking about surrender again. What if most of some people's ideas don't fit you? What if instead of pushing our square selves into their round holes we take that energy and make our own truths about life? What if that's hard but we just surrender and do it anyway? What if, instead of predicting outcomes we can lean into this moment and be in here and not flung out there in the world of expectations and pseudo rules?

Step one, for anyone who knows or has read the steps, is about admitting powerlessness over our addiction. I had a lot of trouble with that in my very early sobriety: powerless? Um, no.

Um....yes. I am powerless over alcohol. Which is why I choose to never ever use it again.

But I am also power-full. The power comes from the surrender. And the surrender comes from lack of expectation. It comes from having self truths that resonate with me. Giving up the idea that I don't not fit in the world is tough: making decisions from a place of surrender rather than expectation is a hard act to follow. It's not easy to wake up from a lifelong sleep.

But here comes spring. We expected it a month ago, and then today it's freezing out still. So I surrender to the cold today, and dance in my chair. I'll walk instead of run. I'll learn to stop at enough. I get on with the business of living MY life and stop white knuckling the day. I'll be glad to wave my white flag. I expect you will be too.

This video (It's Coldplay "Paradise". Check it out on YouTube if you can't watch it here. It was a perfect way to explain how it feels to be sober.) made me laugh and cry. Lilly, this one's for you. One day we'll meet in person. You'll know me. I'll be the one in the elephant suit too.  xoxo

Half

I am six months sober today.

This afternoon I tried my hand at sewing. After an hour I sort of sighed and moved on. I won't say I gave up since I'm going to try more. But my eyes were kind of crossing, and the picture didn't really make sense, and so before I got frustrated and cranky I did something else.

Today I had a free day- I ate what I wanted. I bought a scarf, and another book for my Kindle. I sort of waffled around the house listening to it rain. I thought about stuff. About how different I am than I was six short months ago. About things I'm ready to try. About happiness. And me.

I thought about the next step. The next part contentment. Goals for the next six months, since I accomplished the one goal I had for the past six months: staying sober.

1. bringing yoga back into my life.
2. eating the way I know makes me feel the best
3.  regular dog walks
4. saving money
5. opening myself to vulnerability

Rearrange all those letters and they spell: SOBER

My challenge-ish thing I want to try for the next six months is living my dream life. Living the life I want- not the one my ego pushes off on me. Listening to my heart, to my me. Not listening to the voices that say "not good enough" or "more more more" or the feelings that run through the cookies blindly. Listening to the voices of joy, of sad. Hearing what I need when I would normally waste an hour on the computer or eating past fullness.

Taking pauses. Chewing it all up. Concentrating on slowing down. On counting to 10. Breathing in. Finding my passion and my patience.

This seems like a tall order for a half year. But I am up for it. I am excited by the possibilities!

Long ago back at the New Year I chose a word. That word was INVEST. I'm ready to put my word to good use. I'm ready to invest in myself. I can now trust that I'm worthy of it.

I thrive on rules. I learn this about myself almost daily. I like a short leash. I like to know what to expect. I don't like the freedom to go with the flow: this does not work for me. When I go with the flow I flounder and flail and always end up taking waaaayyyyyyy more rope than I need, and then I'm either tangled or hanging by it at the end of the day. I need things to be set. I like organization. I like no's. Boundaries. Fences. Lines. All of these things make me feel safe, relieved.

I want to set some goals. Like:

1. lose that 20 lbs I've been trying to lose forever.
2. train for a half marathon/marathon- have a set running schedule
3. yoga class 3x a week.
4. strength training
5. write an hour a day
6. limit computer time- maybe once a week for surfing and wasting time instead of 5 times a day
7. stick with a budget
8. spend more time with the kids
9. have a date twice a month with husband
10. work on my flailing libido
11. give up caffeine
12. stick with a Paleo/whole 30 way of eating. Banish sugar.
13 Get to work on the garden
14. be silly and happy
15. stay sober
16. continue to be open to deeper friendship connections
17. be proud of who i am

But then there's this thing that always happens when I make the grandest plans.

Life.

So there are those things I want to do, ways I want to become the normal rhythm of my life so that I do them without thought or question. Like how I stay sober without the struggle to avoid the wine store anymore. I just do it. It's who I am now.

My mother commented today with her eyes shining wetly with pride, "You are so much easier to be around now" when I shared with her that I was celebrating six months of sobriety today. And we laughed about it, and I tapped myself on the head and said, "It's easier out there and in here."

Something happened to me when I decided to quit drinking. I made a commitment, a whole hearted promise, that I was going to succeed. I made a deal with myself that I would not drink so I could live. So I could be the person I wanted, in my heart of hearts, to be.

And now it's time to do just that. So while all those goals seem silly, or restrictive, or like too much maybe to you to me they seem like a big white bright ball of hope. They seem to say "Look at me. Look how big your hopes can be now, when a short six months ago you were just praying for the courage to not drink that day. Look how your world has stretched and moved to include any possibility you choose. Look how fucking strong you are now." So now that I've quit drinking it's time to be really brave. It's time to see what I can do. It's time to explore the map of who I am. Unafraid. Not worried that it's too hard, or too much; but embracing the challenge of living a life full on- full of love, and of joy- full of failure, full of trying.

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.

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!

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.