MisAdventuresOfSoberMommy

For as long as I can remember, I have always assumed that things happened TO me. I’m starting to realize that these things happen FOR me. It seems like an easy enough concept on the surface but it is so much more than that on my end of things.

If everything has a purpose, then instead of writing off an event, emotion or experience I am beginning to try and sit with it a little longer than before. What was the purpose of my going through this or feeling this?

Let’s not even bridge the gap to “What is my purpose” because that one is still a chin scratcher for me.

The purpose of my past struggles with alcohol, drugs and all of my favorite -isms was impossible for me to see while I was still in active addiction or even in early recovery. But like a magic eye poster, the farther away I get the more clear I can see the big picture. I had to break myself down to a skeleton of myself to rebuild. I had to experience all of the fear and lows in order to gain a better spiritual connection and see the forest for the trees, sometimes literally. Now I am grateful for every little sliver of good and beauty in my life. I am even grateful for the ugly parts. Because they serve a purpose. It’s good to remind myself that. If you don’t have a bad cup of coffee you’ll never know a good one when you try it. So to speak.

A lot of blood sweat and tears go into my recovery everyday even if I don’t talk or write about it. I’m not magically cured from everything. The most valuable resource I have right now is a grateful heart followed by a forgiving spirit and an analytical mind.

Why did I do that? Why did she have that tone of voice? Why would this happen? Why won’t this happen? What else are the people around me going through that colour their reactions. Most of the time I can ascertain that it’s not about me and removing the ego is a great gift of sobriety.

If I can remind myself that everything that happens is happening for me, for one purpose or another I become open to learning lessons. In baseball the coaches used to tell my boys when they were younger, “you win or you learn”. This is undeniably true. Sometimes the purpose of really difficult things is a learning exercise. Sometimes for personal growth, sometimes to prevent us from repeating the same mistakes.

When I’m stuck in traffic I remember to pray. Not for the traffic to subside, but my regular check ins with my God. Or I find time to think about something I’ve been moving too fast to face. Or I catch a song on the radio that brings me joy, nostalgia or much needed tears. The purpose of that traffic might be to remind me I’m not in control or to slow down and take a breath. Or to see a restaurant I’ve never noticed. Or to see how beautiful the clouds are. Or the sky. Or a bunny on the side of the road.

Time alone while my love is in the shower brought you this brilliant rambling. That was the purpose of the pause in an already beautiful morning.

Xoxo Amy Marie

Soooo Happy St. Patrick’s Day!! For 37 years, I believed that I was “Half-German and Half-Irish” with “some other mutt stuff mixed in”.

Boy, was I wrong, but I’m sober! So in place of Kiss Me I’m Irish, I will go with Kiss Me I’m Sober. This applies all the time, though. I’m an affectionate sober lady. I’m just not Irish, as it turns out.

Last year, I purchased a DNA Ancestry Kit and expected ZERO surprises. But curiosity got the best of me and I had to get my personalized report. Years and years of assuming that my family name of Riley was automatically an indication of Irish heritage went swiftly down the drain. So as it turns out, if we have any Irish in our family line, it was not noteworthy enough to make the pie chart. I am also way more German than I originally thought. And unless my mom is hiding a dirty lil secret that I was swapped at birth, our Riley is more of English origin. And while I never would consider myself French. We are super more French than not. Dash in a lil spice from South America for good measure. And thats me!

But what does that mean for my excuse of “drinking like my Irish side” back when I was still in active addiction?!?!? It is a retroactive identity crisis. I guess I just drank like an alcoholic. Period. And what does that mean for my love of corned beef and cabbage? Nothing. That did not disappear when I got my ancestry report. I guess that is just an Amy thing too!

So it makes me wonder, why was I so quick to attribute my drinking to percieved genetics? Excuses, that is why. It was so attractive to explain away my behaviors without having to take personal responsibility for them. I do not have that luxury any longer and I am relieved. I can wake up ever day and admit I broke my foot last year because I’m clumsy. I spilled coffee all over myself this past weekend while trying to be my coolest. I ALWAYS am the one at the table when dining out who eats the hair or grill brush before noticing it is in my food. I make mistakes. I coudn’t drink or take drugs like a normal person. These are all Amy things and I own them. Being able to be honest with myself is a game changer. I’m no longer running from the truth or afraid that people would “find me out”. It is so refreshing to live in my truth, good bad and indifferent.

This change did not happen overnight and still takes a good amount of effort on a daily basis. But I believe this is an important ingredient in the recipe of my sobriety.

So I’m not Irish. (anymore)…I’m still a Mommy…I’m still Sober

Kiss Me!

xoxoAmyMarie

Absent the bevvy of tough gorgeous almost identical women in matching outfits, tight ponytails and lipstick holding guitars, the idea of being addicted to something other than drugs and alcohol, my nicotine laden vape, fried foods and sweet goodies…do I think I am addicted to anything? For this one, I’ll check in good old Robert Palmer…and when I do, it is facepalm time.

“Your lights are on, but you’re not home
Your mind is not your own
Your heart sweats, your body shakes
Another kiss is what it takes”

Crap. Been there.

“You can’t sleep, you can’t eat
There’s no doubt, you’re in deep
Your throat is tight, you can’t breathe
Another kiss is all you need”

Shit.

“Whoa, you like to think that you’re immune to the stuff, oh yeah
It’s closer to the truth to say you can’t get enough
You know you’re gonna have to face it, you’re addicted to love”

Damnit, ok. Let’s pause right there for one second. Who ISN’T just a smidge intoxicated by the newness of new shiny fun carefree flirtation, kissing and connecting? Hands? I certainly am. I am mystified by the first week at least of each new prospect. If we’ve met, its deeper. If we’ve kissed, hang on tight. If we’ve….well you now?…Pull it together Amy. Without getting into the physiological reactions and chemicals released in our brains, it is normal for folks to love love.

But being an alcoholic and addict, I constantly wonder if I am in fact addicted to love. The thought that I could be is horrifying. Recovery would involve quitting cold turkey, and that does not fit into my grand scheme of not being single forever. Also, I can go long stretches without the “love” and affection that I so crave and my head does not fly off. I don’t feel this way toward everybody I meet. It doesn’t happen every time I kiss someone either. Point of fact, met a horrible kisser recently. Ticked so many other boxes but it was so easy for me to just walk away.

But from time to time I meet someone who sweeps me entirely off my feet. It used to happen a lot. Ive had my heart crushed. Crushed. Shattered, lit on fire, drowned and buried. I subsequently installed cement shoes to avoid the aforementioned sweeping. The cement was just what I needed. I didn’t let myself get hurt. This looked like avoiding forming a bond with others and evolved into getting attached, and scared, and leaving them before they could hurt me. It seems counterintuitive for a gal so optimistic about the fairy tale ending to tear the buds off the flowers every Spring. But selfishly and in the interest of self preservation, this is how I got by. It has taken a lot of work and I have been chipping away at my cement shoes. I want to be swept off of my feet again. The amount of work if physically manifested would be huge biceps from all of the swinging of the pick axe.

I recently learned of limerence. “Limerence is a state of mind which results from a romantic attraction to another person and typically includes obsessive thoughts and fantasies and a desire to form or maintain a relationship with the object of love and have one’s feelings reciprocated.” Maybe it is limerence, but there is no obsessive thoughts or fantasies.

If I’m not addicted to love. It is not just lust. It isn’t limerence, then maybe I have a meaningful bud forming on green in the winter of my heart. The key is not to use my way too overanalytical mind to sabotage things and sit back and enjoy the ride. Stay tuned.

I suppose you can say that not one person on this planet is having the 2020 that they pictured at 11:59p.m. on New Year’s Eve. And the knowledge of this lack of uniqueness in my situation has made me feel frivolous for thinking that anything I have to say is more profound than anybody else…and anything I am going through when stretched and reflected through the lens that is 2020, is same-sized in comparison to the masses. But then I remind myself that I am responsible for my own feelings and thoughts, and to me, my 2020 has been great and horrible like any other year…but with a whole hell of a lot more masks.

I’m still sober. I’m still a mom. I still have misadventures. But I turned 38 a week ago and feel every second of my age. Depending on how I fall asleep, the amount and position of my pillows, the temperature in the room and the lunar cycle, I wake up tired or with a back ache or in a fog. I cannot seem to keep up with my former self physically or mentally and emotionally, well…

I have a new plan for that which includes packaging my emotions up into tiny boxes like wild animals and feeding them sweets and deep fried goodies to keep them from breaking out of their little boxes and upsetting my equilibrium. I even tried painting over my emotions with the war paint of an online date shopper who needs to put her best foot forward. With photos taken from just the right angle as to hide the physical toll feeding my little boxed wild animals without abandon has taken on my poor body. Where I was once soft and feminine, I am now just plain bigger. I don’t like it. But apparently, I also don’t hate it enough to do anything about it. My weight and I are in a standoff. I am not winning. I also don’t have an actual need for the companionship of any online date shopping. I leave their messages in the cart and never checkout. I cannot afford another helping on my plate and quite frankly I am just using these trinkets for my own sick need for acceptance. You swiped right. I must be pretty enough. Today. or I must be witty enough. Today. I prefer to meet my matches in the wild. When I know that they have seen me unretouched. From every angle. Smile and frown lines. Crows feet. Poorly made up bad skin. Ripped jeans, tarnished jewelry and maybe a little lipstick on my teeth. These ambitious few, are worth more. Maybe they can see beyond all of the effort and wipe the foggy window off to let in the light that can be for the right man, my laugh and how I always have to push my glasses back up my nose using my pointer finger. Or how I tuck the left side of my hair behind my ears. Or how I blush. Or how insecure I am. The prospects are good, until they decide I am fool’s gold and cast me aside. The hopeless romantic I am will carry on up this steep hill. As one of my favorite hype songs says, “So better to climb, than to face a fall.”

All that to say, while I haven’t picked up a drink or drugs…2020 has me seeing unfortunate other ways to fill the God shaped hole in my heart…including food and sex.

You all know about COVID-19 so I won’t explain it. But as a result, I saw myself working from home…in a pile with teenage sons who were schooling from home…surrounded by dogs sleeping from home. It is nobody’s fault, but the stress and strain of losing our independence was palpable. It’s been around 6 months and we are coping better, but I lose my temper far more often than I would like to admit and my punishment is more guilt and shame at not being built like an instant sweet soft-spoken motherly teacherly type. I need to zone out in silence. I need nicotine. I need to wash dishes blasting Phil Collins, and without a human audience.

When I get to video chat with my therapist, my short answer is home is good, work is good, baseball is good. All of these are true statements. But the human mind and experience is much more complex than that and I for one, am much more complex than that. I think part of me is afraid that if I scratch the surface I will just bleed out, emotionally of course.

My best friend in the entire world. My only true friend who became family is preparing to die. She is going to take with her so much of me. I’m not ready for it yet, although I have had a year to prepare. Part of me thought maybe if I don’t look at it, maybe if I speak matter of factly or clinically about the situation, I can avoid breaking down. I can avoid the reality of an entire person missing. I know that is not how these sorts of things work, but the little girl trapped inside this 38 year old body needs to believe that. She needs magic. I need magic.

I. Need. Magic.

I need a personal trainer, a vacation, confession, salad, hope.

I need to remember that getting things out is always healthier than letting them bottle up inside. I need to be as kind to myself as I am to others.

I need a caffeine IV and a clone.

I need to write more. xoxoAmyMarie

Carpe Diem.  Seize the day.  I have been ebbing and flowing in my intentions of seizing each and every of my days.  First off, it has been years.  How have we all been?  I am still a Mommy.  I am still a Sober Mommy.  I still have MisAdventures.  I am still MisAdventuresofSoberMommy.  I suppose I should feel embarrassed or ashamed that I have not been keeping up with this blog that was such a huge part of my life for so long.  But instead I am proud of what I have been filling my time with instead.  And today seems like a perfect sweet spot to check in because I find myself with a few minutes of peace and I am in between those ever-so-difficult-to-type-with acrylic nails.  I can say this, but we all know what it is…an excuse, or what I like to call a “reason”.

My children are all taller than me now.  One will be graduating high school in a few months and I have to keep my head from spinning off and leading me down Catastrophe Rd. when I think of him operating a motor vehicle or paying bills or shaving his beard.  Shaving.  When did I get old enough to have children who do that?!?!  I blinked my eyes and the sweet voiced round faced little babies I used to carry everywhere with me have surpassed my every expectation.  Although unhealthy to have expectations, because they turn into resentments, as a parent we look into the crystal ball and see healthy, successful, happy beautiful young adults and adults.  As an alcoholic in recovery, I have to admit the crystal ball also scared me because of the statistic probability of one of the three of my guys, or two, or all….having the disease I do.  But the crystal ball could not have prepared me for the love and gratitude I feel every day.  They are athletic.  They are intelligent.  They are beautiful beyond my wildest dreams and they fill me with immense pride.  It begs the question, was I able to minimize the damage done to them while I was still in active addiction? And I may never know the answer but they are one of my greatest living amends, so I will keep on trucking.

I got my Associates Degree.  Even though I planned to graduate with a degree in Human Services and go on to help more people than I could even count, I chickened out at the idea of attending internships necessary for this degree.  My sick mind convinced me that I couldn’t do it.  I would have panic attacks and embarrass myself.  I would fail, as I had failed so many other times at so many other things.  But I had to make a choice, let that prophecy self-fulfill and quit and cut my losses, or adjust my sails and slide into a degree with no internships.  So I did.  General Studies.  I almost had a 4.0 at graduation, but I biology did me in.  And that is ok.  I do not need to be perfect.  I DO NOT NEED TO BE PERFECT.  Its funny, I can type it and say it, but it never quite reaches the layer of my brain, heart or soul responsible for the decision to go easier on myself.  I try.  I am trying to be kind.  Because in spite of the colossal failure of not graduating with a perfect 4.0, I was in the honor society and I got to wear my cap and gown and all of the tassles and cords and walk across a stage, smiling, with my mother and step-father watching and smiling back.  What a day that was.  I became the first member of my immediate family to obtain a college degree.  Me.  The artist formerly known as the queen of failure.  The same me that just eight years ago was trying to run toward the exit sign of my life.  Crying, screaming and begging to get off this ride.  Doing nothing to save myself from the despair that was my existence.

I bought a house.  Well, I bought two houses.  In 2017, I took a leap of faith and moved out of state and purchased my first house with my significant other at the time and that was huge.  I stepped out of my comfort zone and jumped.  Albeit premature, it was a big-girl decision and after just eleven months, I had refinanced the house to her and come home stronger and with more conviction than ever.  I learned so much during those months about who I am, safety net or not.  What I want.  What I don’t want.  And returning to Connecticut, I set out to buy a home of my very own.  And I did.  It isn’t fancy but it is mine.  I am in love with it.  I have been in my new house for almost a year and a half and boy have there been MisAdventures.  There could be a whole new blog just about the MisAdventuresofUnderqualifiedHomeowner.

I got a job.  Well, there were a few part time jobs, actually.  The bunny slopes of returning to substantial gainful employment.  Each one taught me more about just how much I can accomplish when I am not basing the future on my experiences from the past.  I am not that girl anymore.  I suppose I am a woman.  Eh, lets meet in the middle and call me a lady.  I am not that lady anymore.  I don’t recognize myself.  I am happy, confident and excited for what is to come.  This job is full-time.  I am back doing what I do best, which is administrative work.  But I have been blessed with the most amazing group of bosses.  And I am happy.

Things go well, until they don’t.  I cry maybe three days out of the month.  I doubt myself.  I am constantly afraid the rug will be pulled out from under me.  That is normal, right?  This perfectly imperfect little life I have made for myself is a far cry from the scared girl who still cowers inside me sometimes.  Nothing is perfect.  Perfection is an abstract concept that I always wanted to attain.  My dishes aren’t always done.  My glasses are scratched.  I could stand to lose about 50 pounds.  I have a monthly car wash package that I pay for and never use.  I snooze all of my alarms and have to rush around.  I’m on a tight budget and sometimes forget that when my kids/want or need something.  I’m dating.  And scared.  And excited.  And happy.  And today I blogged. xoxoAmyMarie

Write.  That is what the icon in the upper left hand of my screen says right now.  I may not have been writing much on my blog these days…..but I have been writing till I’m blue in the face.  TRUST ME.

Waist deep in my second semester at this lovely Community College, I write notes, papers, emails, texts, essays, flyers, reflections, ugh….the papers.  I write constantly.  I know I want this.  I know I asked for this.  But sometimes I wonder when I can find a spare moment to check back in with me.  Sober Mommy.  Amy.  Not the student, not the club president, not the classmate….me.  The mother, the woman, the sober striver muddling through the best and most challenging parts of this new life I ordered for myself off a menu board somewhere along the way.

And I seldom feel creative anymore.  I feel many things…creativity is not one of them.  I feel accomplished because I earned myself a 4.0 GPA last semester and a spot in Honors courses.  I feel afraid that I can be successful and get better and that people can enjoy being around me.  I feel exhaustion.  I feel like maybe my glasses prescription has already run up.  I feel pride in myself.  I feel happy that my children are so amazing.  Presently I feel hungry.  I feel like maybe I should have worn a jacket today…or heavier socks.  But not creative.

Over two months ago, I celebrated 4 years of sobriety.  Earlier this month I celebrated 50 months.  50 months of sobriety.  Let me just spend some time on this.  That is 200 weekends spent with my children, as opposed to out “God knows where, doing God knows what”.  This is over 1400 approximate days without needing to take a pill to ride in the car with another human being.  This is 50 months of knowing what I am doing, what I did, where I am going and where I came from.  This is an amazing 50 months of being present.  Of feeling the sun.  Of tasting things and seeing colors.  50 unbelievable months of gratitude and God moments and prayers, both answered and unanswered, all part of the will of a Higher Power I never knew existed until I was able to rid myself of substances.  50 months of weather reports, cups of coffee, meetings, baseball games, classes, buffalo wings.  50 months that I can honestly say I have lived for the first time in my life.

And this semester is different.  This semester I take two days for self-care.  Monday is rest, relaxation, AA meetings, me time.  Wednesdays are my coffee commitment and weekly therapy sessions.  I am loving my classes.  Much like the strange interest I took in Art last semester as a result of my Art Appreciation course, I am finding myself enthralled by post-reconstruction era US History, clinging to my professor’s every word like it is a bedtime story.  And believe it or not, what I am learning has even helped me in my pursuit of being a better home Jeopardy viewer/player.  I didn’t need any help with Wheel of Fortune.  I am a million dollar champion in my own mind there.

And I am sitting in the Pavilion of this Community College, typing all of this on a laptop that I won as a prize from an essay contest.  I was even on television being interviewed last semester.  Imagine that?  I wake up each day and figure that there are unlimited adventures and misadventures for this sober mommy.  I have started wearing lipstick…and I am finally getting my windshield fixed. I have love.  Like real love.  Anyhow, the view from the Pavilion today is half snowy and half sunny.  There are birds flying around outside and believe it or not, two lady bugs buzzing inside the very same window.  I know when I see ladybugs that my mom’s wife is with me.  Although she passed away almost 3 years ago, Diane is amazing at being around when I need calm or validation.  I know I am in the right place.  I know I am doing the next right thing.

So where can I possibly go from here?  The sky may just be the limit.  I will start by going to the vending machine and indulging on a snack that I wouldn’t otherwise eat.  I deserve a treat every once in a while.  Maybe today the treat is Cheetos.  Maybe.

I hope not to stay away too long this time.

xoxoAmyMarie MisAdventuresOfSoberMommy

Cruising past 100,000 miles on my 2012 Kia Sorento was quite the milestone.  This was my first brand new car.  This was the car I drove to Rhode Island in after Tropical Storms to get my heart broken and drink absinthe. This was the car I drove to South Carolina to try my best to translate a long distance relationship to reality…to feel sick and anxious…to drink too much barefoot moscato and monster energy drink…and take too much xanax.

But this is also the car that was waiting for me when I got out of rehab. This was the car that drove my family sober to Florida and Maine and anywhere else we need to go.  The wear and tear on this baseball mom mobile is horrific and it is just as beautiful to me as the day I drove it off the lot.

Since the last time I wrote, this car has taken me to Social Security hearings and doctors appointments, which I won.  This car has taken me to therapy every week and AA meetings when I can make them.  This car takes me to baseball practices and games.  Grocery shopping.  Stores, museums, cemeteries, movie theaters, vets, you name it, I can drive there in this car.

These days this car gets me to school five days a week.  Can you imagine it?  Sobermommy goes back to school?  Well it is true.  I am half way through with my first semester at a community college in my area.  I am hoping to work as hard as I can and earn an associate degree in human services.  So I can help people.  More than I can now.  This is a big huge deal.  If I am successful, I will be the first cousin on my generation to earn a degree.  I know I am getting ahead of myself, but I like this goal.  It suits me.

I am taking three courses to start off with and volunteering at the food pantry on campus.  A group of great folks even voted me President of a club on campus.  This is a trippy contrast to any past attempts at higher education.  My grades are decent ;).  I get fairly anxious most of the time, but I am working on some different coping strategies.  And my plan is to be successful.

My biggest issue is with time management.  Somehow just being a student, attending classes and clubs, doing work and studying…eats up a whole hell of a lot of time.  I cook less super fancy yummy meals.  I shop less frequently.  I think I have let the yard work slip.  And finding time for AA meetings has proven the hardest.

I still grab each and every chance I can to attend my home meeting, but most days my schedule doesn’t permit.  I think it is time I crack my little white meeting book and widen my meeting horizons.  So hard for me, walking into new rooms with new personalities.  But my sobriety is a priority and I know I do better with meetings in my system.

For now, I will continue to do this.  All of this.  I love this.  Life.

Now that I’m sober I’m ____________. 

Now that I’m sober I’m so many things.  I’m awake.  I’m alive.  I’m tired.  I’m growing.  I’m changing.   I’m happy.  I’m trying.  I’m scared.  I’m well.  I could go on forever but I won’t bore you with the minutia of what I am.  I am Amy Marie.  I am a mother.  I am present. 

Let me say that one again.  I. Am. Present. I am in a state of constant presence. I am present for myself, my mom, my children and my friends and fellows.  I am present for meetings and baseball practices.  I am present for shipping and cooking and cleaning.  I am present for ups and downs….wins and losses.  I am present for awards and detentions.  Cats. Dogs. Fish.

I love to glance quickly at all of the things I am present for.  To me this is a huge deal because if I counted all of the stuff I was present for before I got sober it would be a short list. 

Being present is a part of life.  No matter what you’ve gotta show up.  Suit up or not…you’ve got to show up. 

Lol.

Today I have shown up for a teenager’s baseball game in the cloudy brisk windy weather….which I was not appropriately dressed for.  I watched bad calls and good calls from the umpires.  Missed swings and doubles.  I wished I had a hot coffee and a softer blanket.  I even got blessed by a bird shitting in my hair.  If that isn’t being present…. I don’t know what is.

If I had it my way I would have stayed on the couch watching tv shows drifting in and out of sleep….eating whatever whenever…doing the bare minimum.  Before I got sober I would never have been able to lift myself out of the depressive cycle that is so easily my go to daily deal.  Today I just have to pay for the strength and wisdom to do the next right thing.  Which was attend and be truly present for a game in which my oldest sons team lost 11 to 0….and be present enough to see a great catch by this same kid in the outfield.

Thank God for my mom.  She is so funny.  She carefully and lovingly kept tucking the blanket in around me so that the wind didn’t hit me hard.  She even helped clean the bird shit out of my hair.   

Today I am present enough to be grateful for all of the blessings God has given me. 

I am back at the same field now for a baseball practice for but younger two sons.  My outfit has grown into more weather appropriate version of the earlier one.  I’ve taken off the flip flops and put on socks boots and leg warmers. I’ve added a heavy hoodie and a scarf.  And coffee.  Hot. Black. Coffee.

And I have positioned myself under another tree.  Tempting fate.  Taunting the birds.  Daring them to use my hair as a toilet again.  Deep down I’m still capable of the same ridiculousness as I ever have been.  But if the birds shit on me again….it is because I’m present.

Xoxo

Nothing changes if nothing changes….or so they say.  Well, whoever THEY are, I agree.  But knowing that change is necessary and even healthy does not make it any easier to embrace.  I am human, I fear change.  I am an alcoholic, I can turn that fear into cement shoes holding me right on the other side of something great.  And it happens to be true that the Serenity Prayer is a useful tool.

Let me refresh, for anybody who needs it.  “God, grant me the serenity.  To accept the things I cannot change.  The courage to change the things I can.  And the wisdom to know the difference”.

If I want people to change the way they think of me, look at me, speak to or of me…I must be willing to put the work in myself to facilitate this change.  I work an action-based program of recovery where I have to constantly stop myself and examine what my motives are, what my part in situations are and what is the sane way of handling them.  MY FIRST INSTINCT IS TO REACT INSANELY. I am glad I know this.  I, like many others out there, am impulsive.  This impulsiveness has gotten me in a lot of trouble in the past.  If I continue to say the first thing that comes to mind, especially when I am hurt or angry, I would be a very lonely person.

Thinking before I speak still hasn’t been something I am good at, so saying nothing at all is what I have fallen back on.  As recently as this past weekend, I have been guilty of throwing a huge toddler temper tantrum and if I had allowed myself to communicate with ANYONE during that time, I would have lost some special people for sure.

What I have now that I have never had before is a strengthening relationship with my Higher Power, whom I choose to call God.  So I pray to God and ask Him to help me to see His will for me.  I pray for Him to help me be honest and to guide me.  I there are things that I can identify as those I cannot change, I ask God to show me where I can take action and ask Him to handle the results.  By the time I am through praying for strength and all that good stuff, I have calmed down a bit and no longer feel the need to act in anger or disappointment.

What a beautiful thing that the huge toddler that I became this past weekend didn’t have to act impulsively.  How fabulous that I didn’t call or text or react insanely.  And while I didn’t get my way, I understand that God’s will is not necessarily aligned with my self-will.  But my self-will is fueled by my ego and self-centered thinking.  And I cannot have it both ways.

So I remind myself….my self-will brought me to drinks, drugs, men, food, gambling.  My self-will brought me down paths I can never erase and brought me to depths I couldn’t see a way out of.  My self-will was the cement shoes holding me under water.  It was God that has done for me what I could not do for myself.  My best thinking got me only so far.

Anywhooo, today marks 40 months of continued sobriety.  It seems that each month since I celebrated 3 years has been even more of a challenge.  I am very blessed in my life.  I have a wonderful (and challenging) little family and great new friends.  I have great old friends.  I have a great and patient man in my life who I am enjoying getting to know.  I am grateful for little league baseball and puppies and even the snow covered daffodils.

I will be embarking on what may be our last family vacation for a while and I just can’t wait to feel the sun on my face.  I found a meeting down in Florida last year that I really enjoyed attending which I look forward to returning to.  I know that I have to keep up with my meetings, especially now.

Each day is a gift.  Each 24 hours that I manage to stay away from a drink is a gift.  A gift I work hard for.  For me, to drink would be to die.  And I have to remind myself of that each and every time I get delusional and think that maybe I could go back.  This is a fact of life for me.  There is no cure for alcoholism, only a treatment.  Same with addiction.

40 months.  That is a gift.  I thank God and I thank all of you.

xoxo

More times than I would like to admit, my outsides match my insides.  When I am spiritually unfit, my body is unfit.  It shows on my face, my crooked smile.  It is in my voice, the breaking, the tremble.  It is in my posture, the way I cover my eyes with my bangs.  Looking down.

But the opposite is also possible.  If I make my meetings and work my program…if I call my sponsor every day and thoroughly dedicate honesty to my steps, I can start to heal my spiritual malady.  Through making more meetings, I see more of the sunshine.  More strong coffee and smiles.  More companionship and more unconditional love from people who share in my struggle.  When I feel closer to my Higher Power and closer to my fellows I realize that I never have to be alone again.

Spiritually I have a direct line.  I remember to have more thanks than pleases when I pray.  I keep my ego right-sized and I pray for those still spiritually sick that may do me harm.  Then I love myself more.  And I watch what I eat.  And I become more active.  And my outsides glow.  I am confident and loving myself inside and out.

What I don’t have to worry about anymore is trying to cover up my insides by faking it.  I was a phony for so many years.  Hiding my misery.  Drinking down my feelings.  Sedating myself and zombie-ing through my days.  I am ok with the days that I have more challenges than I like.  I am ok with feeling my feelings.  The good, the bad…they are all a part of sobriety.  I even am trying to be ok with the fact that it is after 10pm and I am awake and working here.

Leopard print snuggie and all.  I love me today.  I love today.  I love life.

Parenting is hard.  Parenting is hard.  I will say it again….parenting is hard.  Single parenting is hard.  Being unemployed is hard.  Having crippling anxiety is hard.  Being around people is hard.  Finding a meal all 5 of us will eat is hard.  lol.  Doing this all sober is hard.  and rewarding.

My sobriety feels like the sunshine on my face.  It smells like jasmine and vanilla.  It tastes like bacon.  Imagine, something so amazing that it works on all 5 senses…then add in serenity and peace of mind.  That is my sobriety today.  And I only have today.  We all only have today.

They say that this is a daily reprieve based on the maintenance of our spiritual condition.  Phew!  Some days it is hard to think about staying sober for a whole day…so I have to take it hour by hour, minute by minute, second by second.  They say our disease is doing push ups in the parking lot…my goal is to take counter measures to ensure that I can be stronger than my disease in the event that I am approached.

I will be victorious.  I follow the suggested path for this sobriety.  I am worth it.

Tell yourselves, whatever greatness you strive for….whatever pampering, bettering, whatever you are up against…..you are worth it.  Say, “I am worth it”.  Love yourself.  If you can’t, let a power greater than yourself love you until you can.  Work on your insides so that your smile  matches.

xoxo