sobriety girl

Four Agreements

2011-06-27T14:05:00.000-04:00

From the Four Agreements-

Everything we do is based on agreements we have made. In these agreements we tell
ourselves who we are, what everyone else is, how to act, what is possible, and
what is impossible. What we have agreed to believe creates what we experience. When these agreements come from fear, blocks and obstacles develop keeping us from realizing our greatest potential.

Based on ancient Toltec wisdom , the Four Agreements offer a powerful code of conduct that can rapidly transform our lives and our work into a new experience of effectiveness, balance and self supporting behavior.

BE IMPECCABLE WITH YOUR WORD

Speak with integrity. Say only what you mean. Avoid using the word to speak against yourself or to gossip about others. Use the power of your word in the direction of truth and love.

DON'T TAKE ANYTHING PERSONALLY
Nothing others do is because of you. What others say and do is a projection of their own reality, their own dream. When you are immune to the opinions and actions of others, you won't be the victim of needless suffering.

DON'T MAKE ASSUMPTIONS
Find the courage to ask questions and to express what you really want.
Communicate with others as clearly as you can to avoid misunderstandings, sadness, and dram With just this one agreement, you can completely transform your life.

ALWAYS DO YOUR BEST
Your best is going to change from moment to moment; it will be different when you are healthy as opposed to sick. Under any circumstance, simply do your best, and you will avoid self-judgement, self-abuse, and regret.
Four Agreements

Letting Go.

2011-02-20T07:40:00.001-05:00

"She let go. Without a thought or a word, she let go.

She let go of the fear. She let go of the judgments. She let go of the confluence of opinions swarming around her head. She let go of the committee of indecision within her. She let go of all the 'right' reasons. Wholly and completely, without hesitation or worry, she just let go.

She didn't ask anyone for advice. She didn't read a book on how to let go... She didn't search the scriptures. She just let go. She let go of all of the memories that held her back. She let go of all of the anxiety that kept her from moving forward. She let go of the planning and all of the calculations about how to do it just right.

She didn't promise to let go. She didn't journal about it. She didn't write the projected date in her Day-Timer. She made no public announcement and put no ad in the paper. She didn't check the weather report or read her daily horoscope. She just let go.

She didn't analyze whether she should let go. She didn't call her friends to discuss the matter. She didn't do a five-step Spiritual Mind Treatment. She didn't call the prayer line. She didn't utter one word. She just let go.

No one was around when it happened. There was no applause or congratulations. No one thanked her or praised her. No one noticed a thing. Like a leaf falling from a tree, she just let go.

There was no effort. There was no struggle. It wasn't good and it wasn't bad. It was what it was, and it is just that.
In the space of letting go, she let it all be. A small smile came over her face. A light breeze blew through her. And the sun and the moon shone forevermore."

- Safire Rose

From the heart

2011-02-14T11:26:00.002-05:00

Another Valentine's Day...and another day to remind myself how important self-love is. And what is self-love, anyway? For me, it's coming to the blog and writing...it's the affirmation that I am still on a journey and that I am here to share my thoughts. I've been remiss. Busy. Pondering my place in sober life. Afraid to come back to the one place where my thoughts make the most sense simply because I didn't feel like making sense of anything for a while. Now? I'm back and here and writing again. The book is back in motion, the thoughts of sobriety are teeming inside my brain....things are just starting to unthaw from a long, cold hiatus.

It's a good day to begin the self-love fest again.

Compass.

2010-12-13T15:08:00.001-05:00

Every minute, every day, we choose direction. Whether we wake up and decide to move left or right, there is a specific direction that we take. It is all relative to where we want to go. And trying to figure out how to get there is sometimes an incredibly daunting task, particularly when unaided by our own fear of the unknown.

So many times in my own life, during these times of choice, I sometimes wish that I could whip out a compass and have it magically point me in the direction that would be the most conducive to happiness and well being. When this magical intangible compass has failed to appear (as it should), I have become frustrated with myself for walking in the wrong direction or running like hell right into the middle of total misdirection.

The reality is that we all have an internal compass (not a magical one). One that, if crafted with time and insight into how we want our lives to be lived, will help us move in the direction we choose. It's about learning to navigate choices. And spending the time to understand the consequences and aspirations that the chosen direction holds.

Each time I am faced with a new direction and the decisions weigh on me, I think about what is driving my intention. Where will this direction take me? And ultimately, will I be a better person and happier when I've taken steps to move that way.

And that, my friends, is the shiny direction bearing tool that may not prevent me from making mistakes, but it helps me stop and at least ask where I am going.

Sober Thanksgiving (A repost)

2010-11-10T09:07:00.001-05:00

Here's a scenario. It's your first few months sober and Thanksgiving, being your first holiday, suddenly creeps up on you. Panic. Angst. What do you do? Hide from the family? Ignore the holiday completely?

As if holidays aren't tricky enough, being sober during these times, when being merry and celebratory is analogous with having a drink in hand, can be daunting. I know, I've had a few (nine and counting still) myself.
One of the most elemental facets of sobriety is to make sure that you are always taking care of yourself, on every level. If you are not going to spend the holidays alone (I'm hardly ever against the idea!), you should have some contingency plans in place for the trip to grandmas.

The first task I completed in my first year sober during the holidays was to take a sheet of paper with every single e-mail address and phone number of all my support systems (at the time, there were many), quotes I loved, goals I had..etc. I wrote SURVIVING MY HOLIDAY SOBER on the top of it, scribbled incessantly and tucked the paper into my wallet. In all honesty, I never once pulled it out. But, it sure did help knowing that at any time, I could run outside and call someone or read some relevant bit that would ease the anxiety.

Okay, piece of life support paper in tow...doesn't get you through family ordeals or questions. Simple thing to remember: "Sometimes, the less information given, the better". Does Aunt Sally really care about whether you are drinking a bottle of wine with her? It probably bothers you more than she. Do you need to launch into a sober diatribe? Depends, but I would lean no. You are primarily sober for you, no one else. Your sobriety is an added benefit for those around you.

It's your choice as to how much information about your life you want to disclose. I've learned in the last seven years that if one of my family members still chooses to believe I was in a big magazine for helping people (when, in reality, the article was about me being a former party girl), then so be it. Not worth the argument.

Before and after long hours at the table, it may help remember the following thoughts (I've used one or all over the years):

Pets are a good reason to excuse yourself early to go home
Going for a walk with one family member is sometimes easier than answering to twelve and fresh air never hurts
Any kind of clear soda in a glass with some fruit that you get immediately upon arrival will usually put an end to the "what are you drinking" question
Be kind to yourself, don't fall into the roles that we're assigned at birth
Remember that this day falls only once a year
There is no chance you will get pulled over on the way home
You will not be hungover on Friday
Be thankful, really thankful, that you are sober this year
Families usually fight because it's like looking in a bunch mirrors, everyone is related and similar
Watch sugar, it's a great way to become testy

I have my own rituals, I try to do Thanksgiving with friends so that I can relax. Remember, there are more holidays in the next month! I go for a run. I buy my favorite beverage and put it in a wine glass, just for my own sanity. Have a good holiday

The Essence of being human.

2010-09-16T07:03:00.001-04:00

Today, I realize that I've spent the better part of a year unraveling myself to the point that I am standing among proverbial pieces of my life scattered around me.

These pieces, emotions. Anger. Hurt. Happiness. Regret. Heartache. Longing. Love. Like small slips of paper caught up in swirling fury.

I pick and choose each and begin to manifest these emotions. E-mails unleashing fury. Journal pages filled with regret and sadness. Conversations with glimmers of hope. I tend to focus only on each piece that I am trying so desperately to rectify and make right. I am so busy trying to put all the pieces together, I sometimes forget that I should be focused on the glue that binds them. The acquisition of strength and forgiveness. The process in which we are able to see the entire puzzle, not just each slightly busted element.

And through this, if I sit for a moment and just let myself rest, the pieces begin to fall slightly into place. Imagine that. If I just allow myself a moment to be human, to be still, there is a clarity in where the pieces begin to fall. I begin to realize that we are all simply human. That the picture is much larger than minute elements and variations and utter unravelings. It's humanity. Life. The very essence of being human.

The truth can only set you free.

2010-09-13T20:32:00.000-04:00

I heard that somewhere, I think my father copied it from a notebook of proverbs at one point. Until this moment, sitting in complete darkness with only the computer screen as light does the phrase, "The truth can only set you free" come through my transom.

And now, the truth.

For the last 17 days, starting on my former 10th wedding anniversary, I have not been sober. I had contemplated the move for months. I thought about it, rationalized it and stopped writing my blog. I researched moderation. I made a list of everything I would have to do if I would drink again. No tequila. No drunk dialing. No moving cars. Had to get back into therapy. Had to finish the book. Had to blah blah blah. The list I wrote started to get longer and more complicated. Yet, I felt justified. I felt as if I, at thirty six years old with a relatively successful life and a seemingly well established pattern of sober behaviour, could take nine years of being sober and turn around and drink as a normal woman.

I was giddy with excitement. I felt free of every personal responsibilty I've had over the last nine years. Sobriety Girl would end. I sat and said, "well, I'm just Kim. I'm just normal now".

The problem is, I'm not normal.

Three weeks into my very controlled environment of absolute chaos, I have already gone to a place I really can't live in. I lost control and allowed myself back into a space I had long long left. It was that easy. One single moment and I put myself back there. One single minute changed my life again. I made the very decision to end a long standing deal with my heart and soul. I sold out to my need to feel numb.

And I am sorry.

Now, I sit. I feel humbled and in a place I have never been. I feel compelled to write. I feel compelled to, once again, begin my journey over again. I pulled out my writing from a decade ago. I sat and re-read every single blog entry I have ever written. I've spent the better part of two days bawling my eyes out.

I sit here with an entirely changed perspective. I don't know how this will end. I am trying to navigate through this part of my life. I feel like I am no longer an inspiration but IN NEED of inspiration. I've let go of what has happened and I'm prepared to deal with what is happening right now. Being in national magazines, having optimal search engine placement, the collection of facebook friends matters less to me than where I am in my life and what I need to get to truly find out who I am.

I have resolve though. I believe I am done.

I'm sad. I'm angry at myself. I'm disappointed as many will be. I'm hurting and I still realize that. I have lost a challenge, but not the battle. I've come here to tell the truth, because I start a new journey today. Because the one thing I know how to do and do well, is write out those things that are the most challenging in my life. And this one is perhaps the greatest challenge yet.

And I've read the preface to my blog again. I haven't read it in years. And again, I start from the beginning:

One of the biggest fears of beginning any journey is the unknown. We do not know where the journey will take us and that can be quite scary. What will we uncover? What will we find along the way? The journey is as amazing as the final destination. We learn with each step. We learn we have the ability to go in any direction we choose. That direction is very much of our own accord.

Addiction, Mia Michaels

2010-07-14T22:24:00.000-04:00

Control

2010-05-04T20:42:00.006-04:00

Early on, I believe that we establish what it is to sense whether or not we are in control. Cognitively, it feels better to be in control, ones ego is in check and we are then able to perceive growth and maintain a sense of balance, regardless of the situation.

As we grow older, we establish specific patterns stemming from this early sense that allow us to remain in check emotionally, physically and beyond. Even if it's some kind of ordered chaos, there is always present a sense of being able to navigate through a multitude of life situations.

When we lose control is the time the real test of integral thinking comes into play. Losing control seriously challenges people to look at themselves and then look far beyond to gain perspective. And, for me personally, it continues to be one of the biggest learning experiences ever.

You literally have to lose control of a situation to understand what drives you. What allows you to be as healthy and productive as possible when you cannot put your hand within reach. Where do you derive strength to undertake the tremendous ability of letting go and not allowing control to define you. It's seriously mind blowing to someone who has looked at control as immeasurable false protection from pain, not realizing how much of the situation wasn't mine to control in the first place and how imperative it is to just give it up, ego rebalanced and space allowed for immeasurable growth. Absolutely freaking mind blowing as I experience this more and more, wanting that space and re-balance but holding on to it for dear life for fear of pain.

It's ego. And as someone who has spent most of my adult life in some kind of addiction, the ego is a very fragile being. To just allow things to happen, to the ego, is rough. To the soul, it's truly necessary. It gives the two diametric opposites a chance to rest and intertwine once again. Definitely a challenge.

But I'm learning that just as that control is necessary for balance, so is letting go, if only briefly to recoup the senses. You just choose the elements that are the most balanced at that time and focus there. You let go of the rest.

And I believe when this happens, you wake up with less of a proverbial mental hangover and gain just a SHRED of clarity.

Imagine that.

The attempted demise of Sobriety Girl

2010-04-02T13:33:00.001-04:00

Over the last eight years of my sobriety, there have been many times where I have wrangled with the identity of "sobriety girl". I've created this persona to express my life as a sober woman. I've written countless articles under the name. At times, "sobriety girl" seems to be stamped on my head wherever I go. I've even googled "sobriety girl" and realized that my persona has become a brand running rampant on the internet. It has been infinitely satisfying on many levels to know that I've been fortunate to be able to gain insight from others and continue along my own recovery road. I've been writing the book for over a year with an actual audience anticipating it.

Many times, particularly in the last two years, I've done just about everything but shut down the blog and kill off "sobriety girl". I struggle with my recovery every day. I struggle many times to write positive and decisive blogposts about where I am in my recovery because I am simply uncomfortable where I am. I look for normalacy in life. Boring. Bored. Quietness. And I begin to take the "sobriety girl" persona and look for ways to eliminate one of the most healthy and inspiring pieces of my life. I feel that living under some alias is far too much of an ego trip. I am just another person trying to survive addiction. And there are times when I don't like what I've created.

The funny thing about thinking about the demise of my self created persona is that I haven't slipped. I have managed to not drink through some of the most trying personal times of my life. I just find it to be self serving to call myself anyone but who I am. I am Kim. I am desperately trying to find the right path to happiness. And in the process, I sometimes write raw and emotionally insights from where I sit. And these come under the name "sobriety girl".

So, from here, I am still writing under "sobriety girl" but the persona now matches my real one. And I think, in the end, there may be some normalcy in that. And now, I can get back to writing the book. It's been a long time since I've sat down and wrote out chapters that resonate where I struggle and where I succeed.

The Wall

2010-01-29T12:18:00.009-05:00

This morning, a friend wrote this to me:

"...powerful is your default state, you just let the CRAP overtake you, like vines creeping up a wall. You're the wall. The vines are your insecurities..."

It's been a tumultuous week with several notable minor but annoying meltdowns to enhance the overall drama level. I've shed some tears, fought outright panic and lived with a sense of complete anxiety in the span of about six days. Nothing overly dramatic or out of the ordinary but enough to cause me a heightened sense of angst.

It's not the meltdowns, tears or panic that really infuriate me. It's the propensity I have for defensively reverting back to something I used to liken to putting up walls. The reality is, I am the wall. I immediately allow the stress and question to define me. The vines can grow within 24 hours and I am then expending energy to get rid of them instead of learning to keep the walls down. I panic. I forget that I really am defying life's challenges by taking all that is adverse and creating something fabulous. And throughout my life, that's really what I do.

The reality, again, is that I have done tremendous work in my life, on many levels, and to allow myself to return to a state where I am paralyzed by my past is just plain ridiculous. We all deserve to be happy. We deserve to live as fully as possible. We all deserve the ability to rid ourselves of the "crap".

This morning, I vented. Cried like a baby. Rolled over and played dead. I gave my friend every reason why I could not possibly knock down this heavily guarded wall in which I have both allowed myself to hide behind and incorporated into my being. He kept egging on my fight instinct. Pointed out the objective. Wrote out the OBVIOUS. And after much argument, I re-read the words. He was right, I am defiant. I am powerful. And I have moments of complete insecurity. It happens.

We move on, persevere through life and hope that we've learned from our mistakes. I made a mistake this week (okay, I've made several as I am just generally like that) by allowing anything to stand in the way of who I am and why I'm here.

And now, I've furiously pulled down the weeds and remembered that my insecurities will never define me, they just annoy me. And life moves on.

Ambiguity

2010-01-21T13:13:00.003-05:00

"If I take refuge in ambiguity, I assure you that it's quite conscious."
-Kingman Brewster

Many years ago, I used to retreat into this deep and very dark hole when I felt insecure or immensely stressed about a situation. If there was a question, I'd hide. If faced with doubt, I'd dig and dig until buried deep within self-involvement. I'd drag myself into a very uncomfortable place because that is where I felt the most at home. No rationalization. Little insight. Just a deep hole that required little from me. Blinders on. Heart closed. Life stopped. When faced with any possibility other than what I considered manageable, the only solution would be to block out any kind of emotional response. Not so good for the soul. And definitely not conducive to communicating or learning about anything emotional.

I attribute this to being a very black and white thinker at times. When faced with ambiguity, run like hell, crawl into the hole and shut out any possibility of gray. It was really that simple. To do anything less would mean being open and vulnerable. To allow one moment of stepping OVER the hole would be blasphemy to the self-imposed code I had painfully instilled. Again, this thinking and subsequent Alice in Wonderland like fall down a slippery slope really never yielded any positive results. But boy it was a place I gravitated to consistently for the majority of my life.

At this moment, I feel ambiguity. I have been feeling it in some larger sense since we began our lovely economic roller coaster as has the rest of the world. It's unsettling. Scary. Lately, in the wake of changes that have been both amazing and frustrating, the need to run from the unknown has been overwhelming. I feel open. I feel incredibly vulnerable and scared. The gray has been splattered EVERYWHERE. The voice in my heart keeps encouraging me to RUN LIKE HELL AND JUMP into that "safe" place.

My choice: Run and crawl back in, digging deeper and deeper into the safety of a place I no longer consider healthy. Or learn to appreciate and accept ambiguity for what it is.

First option...not happening at this point in my life, unless I feel like undoing almost a decade of serious work and this would likely lead to a three year bender.

Second option. Define ambiguity as it applies to the moment and embrace the hell out of it. Learn to live with it and maintain an open-mind (or as open-minded as one who regularly sees things in black and white terms can be). Look beyond what makes me uncomfortable. Be prepared to fail. Be aware that no proven model has yet to be developed for life, particularly my own. Expect the unexpected and maybe ambiguity will turn into superb clarity. Or perhaps not.

I do know one thing, I am no longer comfortable retreating. No longer complacent with running away from the elements in life I fear the most. If I have to live an ambiguous life, I accept and get that.

There's some strange beauty in the unknown. Some prolific grace that I find much more enticing than no growth at all. And for that, I'll gladly give up the big shovel I've been carrying around.

Humility

2010-01-10T07:16:00.013-05:00

Several months ago, someone gave me this sage advice: "You don't need to oversell yourself in life, you just need to practice a little humility".

Interesting advice for someone whose basic definition of humility had rarely expanded from the thought that humble meant weak.

This particular advice was referenced to my professional life, but I do believe it carries over into everything personal. As a child, I don't think I would have been able to be humble, as most children are not. I was the youngest of three with divorced parents and subsequently a deceased father. I held close a constant fear that if I did not put myself out there ALL the time (I believe that's the overselling part in the aforementioned advice), I would simply be put back on the shelf to collect large amounts of dust. I garnered attention for being quirky, wild-minded and seriously smart. I acted on impulse in order to capture the largest percentage of an audience. I could command attention, positive or not.

As an adult, this process simply evolved rather than abating completely. I drank to become more emboldened. I became the "best" at everything so I could simply say that was so. And in this process, the word "humility" never passed through my transom. One of the reasons I began a career in advertising was likely to learn the true art of selling everything, including myself.

The reality is, this bravado that I created actually allowed me to keep the packaging sealed well. And the package, in my own perception, was damaged goods trying to be passed off at full sale. I was trying to sell someone that I hadn't quite become comfortable with and thus the bravado could seem at times contrived. Instead of learning about my surroundings and the people in them, I quickly jumped to the benefit of knowing and loving me. I would assume that I could just use my inherent gift for leadership and intellect to skate through the motions and get to the immediate gratification. I simply listened less and talked more. After I stopped drinking, I think this defense mechanism that I had cultivated for years became much more prominent. Now, I had a soapbox of sorts to actually allow my bravado to scream. I took my sobriety and ran to the top of the hill. I blogged, I lectured, I have been writing a book. I infiltrated this into my everyday life with gusto and rarely stopped to think about the core reasons for my decisions.

When I received this advice, I sat for hours. I looked up the definition. I researched humility like crazy. What a concept, I thought. I truly had never thought of adding this definition to my list of characteristics. The more I thought about this, the more I realized how much humility was missing from my life. The soapboxes I had carefully crafted suddenly seemed too big and too high. In my quest to sell everything I believed and conjured, I lost something in translation. I had been talking way too much in my life and not listening. The bravado was no longer empowerment but a hindrance to my ability to really understand who I wanted to be and how I would project that in my life.

I sat longer. I again thought about this advice on many levels. I came up with theories. I stopped writing altogether again, because I couldn't project the honesty I needed. I reassessed where I was...again.

Fast forward to the last months. This advice comes into my head every single day of my life. Being a media director in advertising, I know that to gain the greatest share of voice, advertising needs to be direct and greatly targeted while paying attention to WHERE and HOW people want to consume this message. Meaning, instead of overselling, it should be done with finesse and grace. And you have to believe in WHAT you are selling.

I get it. I get humility. The bravado I walked out of my last job with never entered the new one. The boisterousness in which I have lived the majority of my life has significantly eased. I understand now that I am not damaged by any means, I am a remarkably strong woman as a result of all the events that have transpired. And humility simply embodies this as strength, not weakness.

It's finding the balance between the two that is now the objective. Listening, while understanding who I am and what I want in my life. In believing who I am is worth gold and after some digging, you'll find it. Difficult, yes, but absolutely attainable. Believe me, I'm still ready to turn cartwheels at any point in my life, but I now sit back and wait for someone to ask me to. It's such an immense and incredible concept. And probably one of the biggest life lessons that I am learning.

And for this gift, I am humbled.

The Seven Year Itch

2009-10-18T14:32:00.003-04:00

I've hit a crossroad in the last year that likens itself to the seven year itch, as referred in marriage and a Monroe film. It is during this time in a marriage, after seven years, that being unfaithful may become into thought. I can assume (I say mostly assume because my own marriage didn't come close to seven years) that there just comes a time in any committed relationship that you question just about every aspect. And seven years seems like the perfect amount of time. You've gotten to know someone, you know habits and behaviors. Your goals may change and your lives may no longer run parallel. Life just becomes complacent.

My seven year itch, in sobriety, has come in full force over the last year. To be unfaithful to my sobriety is tantalizing...sexy and romantic. I picture myself in Bordeaux having a nice glass with a piece of bread and cheese. I feel cold alcohol on a hot summer day. I've become bored with my every day routine of being sober. I fantasize about my torrid affair while sitting there ignoring my sober self. I've started looking for reasons to stray and dip my toes in the other side. Ignore the blog, the work I do, the book...stop thinking...start living in la la land with my aspirations to be inebriated at any given point. The itch has gotten deep.

Truth is, that itch is a remarkably dangerous place to scratch. The love affair with alcohol would soon turn bitter. The romance? Gone in hours. Bordeaux? Not happening that way. I would leave my sober self, never able to return again. That moment that I took one drink would erase the last seven and a half years of painstaking work. And I would never be there again.

My solution...because I've decided to focus this blog more on the solutions than the problems. Decided to write more about life as it has become instead of what it was. I am present, focused and allowing life to come in.

And I've slapped on some anti-itch stuff...my blog, my work, my passion for this life...iI should be good for another seven years.

The Demise.

2009-08-19T15:56:00.006-04:00

As there are many cycles in our lives, I find one cycle within sobriety that has been resonating over and over again in the last year. Over the last few weeks, I have been dealing with my ever questioning state of sobriety with a scowl and intermittent indifference. The cycle of questions that force me to look at where I am in my life and what I truly need to be happy and content with the decisions I make. Formulate a plan. Let go of the past. Live life with gusto. Be sober. Be happy. And my addicted self, all the while, is hanging on my back like a bad relationship causing great distress.

The reality is, I am simply growing extremely tired of not being able to truly let go of all the baggage that came with the person I had been. Tired of writing and talking about letting go when, in fact, it hasn't happen on the level that I am seeking. My resistance to let go and just be who I am causes great frustration. And that, in turn, leads me to quickly blame sobriety and how miserable I may perceive it to be. It's an incredibly vicious cycle and one that, if not rectified, can lead to allowing the addicted self to take over.

Not good.

Yesterday, I cried for about an hour sitting at the computer unable to write anything about being sober. I just didn't have the desire to write about it. I've been avoiding it altogether because, again like a bad relationship, my addictive self has been screaming at my sober self a lot lately. And the noise is driving me batty.

Last night, I decided to just off my addictive self. Dead, killed, it's over. If I don't, I may just sit here arguing with myself for the rest of my life. And that will likely either drive me totally insane or lead to a massive bender that will destroy everything I have desired in my life. So, I'm giving my addictive self a nice funeral today. It's time. The demise has happened. Buried, gone, see you later.

Life is too short. Life is way too good (well, the economy and job situation could improve, but hey, it is what it is). Being sober is far too important in my life to allow baggage to weigh me down.

Today, it's another new day. Another cycle...and another stepping stone to happiness that is well deserved.

She let go.

2009-07-30T06:50:00.000-04:00

"She let go. Without a thought or a word, she let go.

She let go of the fear. She let go of the judgments. She let go of the confluence of opinions swarming around her head. She let go of the committee of indecision within her. She let go of all the 'right' reasons. Wholly and completely, without hesitation or worry, she just let go.
She didn't ask anyone for advice. She didn't read a book on how to let go... She didn't search the scriptures. She just let go. She let go of all of the memories that held her back. She let go of all of the anxiety that kept her from moving forward. She let go of the planning and all of the calculations about how to do it just right.

She didn't promise to let go. She didn't journal about it. She didn't write the projected date in her Day-Timer. She made no public announcement and put no ad in the paper. She didn't check the weather report or read her daily horoscope. She just let go.

She didn't analyze whether she should let go. She didn't call her friends to discuss the matter. She didn't do a five-step Spiritual Mind Treatment. She didn't call the prayer line. She didn't utter one word. She just let go.

No one was around when it happened. There was no applause or congratulations. No one thanked her or praised her. No one noticed a thing. Like a leaf falling from a tree, she just let go.
There was no effort. There was no struggle. It wasn't good and it wasn't bad. It was what it was, and it is just that.

In the space of letting go, she let it all be. A small smile came over her face. A light breeze blew through her. And the sun and the moon shone forevermore."
- Ernest Holmes

The Contentious Relationship.

2009-06-30T18:13:00.002-04:00

Over the last few months, there has been a complete breakdown of communication. I've been bitter and angry. Spiteful. Hurt. I've almost walked away several times. I've battled, yelled, pleaded and tried total rationalization with little success. It's been up and down to the point that I've become dizzy. I've cried in anger and quickly retreated by begging for forgiveness. Wrote letters, painted pictures and played sappy songs trying to find some neutral ground. Indifference. Love. Indifference revisited.

At this point in my life, the aforementioned is my relationship with myself as a sober woman. After eight years, I've suddenly became tired of the battle between my past and present selves. Two different ways of living held together by the thread of sobriety. And let me tell you, that thread is easily frayed when two proverbial alpha egos are furiously pulling from opposite directions.

I'm unemployed, back in my hometown (I've mentioned this several times, I know) and immersed in a life that I've been running to and away from for the better part of my life. When I became sober, instead of truly living within my surroundings, I checked out. I literally put a gate up to keep out elements of my past that I didn't want near me. I didn't let go, I just shut everything out. Returning home, all of those elements of my life that I didn't let go were all standing at the gate upon my arrival. Tempting my fate. I thought I was prepared. I believed I wore the big "S" cape. I truly believed I could surround myself with people who are equally addicted and stay in sober thinking. That I could maintain between my desire to be the person in my tulmutuous past (and actually reliving parallels of it) and the person I had become sober. Somehow, in the excitement of barreling through the gate, I completely forgot that I myself am an addict.

What's really happened is that I've started testing my boundaries with my own addiction and the behaviours that ensue. I've enabled. I've deprecated my sobriety to the point that I thought I may just lose it. I have allowed my past self to beat the crap out of me on more than one occasion. And I've somehow managed to completely romanticize my past behaviour by choosing to relive it. Not good.

The reality is that there is no relationship between drunk and sober. I was drunk and I am now sober. Two proverbial selves do not exist. I've conjured up the relationship as a way to avoid the inevitable. In not letting go, I have found little peace in either sober or drunkeness.

Over the last days, I've made a decision. I choose sober me. I gave it up. I let it go. I am deciding that simply being sober, in thinking and behaviour, is more important to me than trying to live with someone who doesn't exist.

And that means letting go of all of it, not just the easy parts (a great trait of mine...selective release). I've canceled. I've called. I've written off people that I care about because of their own addictions. I've cried profusely. Letting go really really hurts. But, what lies ahead can only be amazing. This much I now know.

Present.

2009-06-21T19:35:00.004-04:00

I don't know that I have ever truly believed that people could be present within their lives. If one is present, I've thought, where does the past fit in? I have always been one to try and rectify my past by trying to figure it out. To solve the problems that happened so long ago. My methodology would be to rack my brain for months trying to understand what in my past was causing me to make poor decisions. In reality, I was trying to assign blame and dysfunction on anything but myself and these decisions that were not grounded in present thinking. And, in an even more stark reality, I've missed a hell of a lot by allowing wasted time in the past.

The truth is, I'm learning that it really doesn't matter that much. There is something to be said for having an appreciation for the past, we've been there and done that so kudos to us. It is another thing to ground everything that is happening now and potentially in the future on the premise of a culmination of things that happened in the past. Doesn't make sense. That leaves little room for opportunity in the future because we're blocking movement.

And that leads to the sometimes cliche that stresses letting go. I myself have heard many people tell me to let it go and I would loudly protest that by letting go, the very essence of what makes me who I am would cease to exist. That's really good thinking for someone who doesn't want to let anyone in, doesn't want to be open minded and borders of self absorbed. And the essence is more ego than true emotion. There is truly a beauty and grace that comes with allowing yourself to move on. And by moving on, you are really allowing the future to be less subjected to the mistakes and hindrances in the past. You've gained an appreciation but have truly let go of the crap surrounding the experience.

I sit here shaking my head. It's been one of those big "duh" moments. Light bulb flickering. So, instead of thinking about how I can get that time back (a lot of time), I'm moving on. For all those people who have told me to let go (a lot of people), I don't think you're as crazy as I once thought. I think you may have actually been right.

And that's just amazing.

Awareness

2009-06-07T19:34:00.002-04:00

One of the greatest accomplishments in life, in my opinion anyway, is self-awareness. I've blogged about this before in a completely different learning stage of self-awareness. The whole process of recognizing self-awareness is truly awe inspiring. It's when truly find this awareness that we are able to recognize what other people need, therefore creating really healthy and evolutionary relationships. It's been a very profound experience, humbling really, to realize that in self-awareness there is humility and an element of selflessness.

Imagine that.

In the days were I found emotional maturity REALLY challenging, my self-awareness levels were meek at best. I had little ability to see what anyone else was feeling or thinking simply because I was so caught up in protecting myself. It had to be about me or my blinders quickly went up. Yet, I didn't know myself at all. I was just too scared to take a real look at myself and how I actually related to and communicated with anyone else. Instead, every single element in my life went through egotistical and oblivion filters. And what came through the other side was indifference and inconsideration of anyone else.

It's really amazing how much you learn when you open yourself up to it. I find the more I take self-awareness as a priority in my life, the happier I become. The way I am able to deal with others because of this self-awareness, learning what people need and want in life, also allows for greater happiness and fulfillment.

Again, imagine that.

A preview of "The Sober Door" (The book).

2009-05-27T14:41:00.003-04:00

I am by no means finished, but it's getting there so I wanted to share the preface (again) and first chapter of my fiction piece, "The Sober Door". It's grueling, painful and wonderful all at the same time. Thank you for all your support and would love to hear feedback. (This is also NOT edited yet, so it's simply raw material)

Kim

Preface

Locked in. Barricaded from the outside. He spared me. Saved me. Threw me with resounding force. I am conflicted. I am being spared. I am being enveloped in blackness. I can hear him. Screaming outside. Ranting, ranting, ranting.

“What do you people want from me. Who gave me this hell?”

I know that I am safe for the moment. He is hurting everyone outside the door. I am shut in, shut out from him. They are outside. I am safe. I am spared. The noise of the punches. Each slap stings. Screams. Cries. It rings in my ears. I hear my brother screaming. My mother screaming. I am enveloped in blackness. The vibration of each hit comes through the floor. I cannot see beyond the door in front of me.

“I am not the man you want in your life.”

I know I want him. I want him to open the door. I want him to bring me out, beat me and take me out of this dark place he has born me to. I want to feel the pain. EACH and EVERY lash that is being inflicted. have been in here for hours, this I know. Cramped and cowering, only wishing that he would love me enough to hit me too. I can smell his breathe, even from inside the tomb I am in. Acid. Fire. Sweetness. His nose, white like Christmas. His eyes wild as he had pushed my thrashing limbs. I was left out of the carnage. .I hear everything but cannot see. I am so desperate not to be forgotten in the massacre.

“You are all f***** nuts.”

For a moment, I hear his hand on the door knob. I think, “he’s going to bring me out.” I am not scared. I am ready to handle his wrath as it is inherently mine. I tremble. For once, I am not forgotten. I will be his daughter. I will wipe his tears away with my hand. He will know that I want him.

Quickly. So quickly. His hand is gone.

All goes silent. I hear whimpering. It is my own. I know he is gone. Left me here in the closet. Darkness. I am alone. I don’t know where he is going or how long but he won’t be back. He went too far. He left me.

He left me.
He forgot to leave my present. He forgot to sing, to blow out the candles. He forgot to tell Mom that I only eat chocolate frosting. He left. He left his only daughter. His baby girl. I only want him to buy me presents. Love me. Adore me. I am alone. He won’t sing my birthday song. Ever. Today is my sixth birthday. I am locked in the closet with the only way out is to my private hell.

You are about the read my version of what happened next.

chapter one.

By the time my twelfth birthday candles were lit by my own hand, I was a newly coined and initiated fatherless alcoholic. This combination would continue to haunt me for the better part of my life.

I walked into the house, mom and my brother Sam were there. Grandma and Grandpa were there. I walked into the singular moment that I would attribute every flaw and painful recollection. My father was dead.

“There’s been an accident?”

“An accident?”

“Dad is gone.”

“Gone?”

“Dead.”

I remember screaming. I don’t think at the time it was a truly harrowing and blood wrenching scream. I believe I screamed for the pure drama of the moment. I had, since my sixth birthday and likely at birth, a colorful and serious penchant for dramatic flair.

I look around the room. My brother hysterically crying. My mother panicked. My grandparents stoic. I collapsed. I picked myself up and ran into the room I had at my mother’s house. I thought about nothing. I was utterly numb. Void of any emotion. I would, over the course of many years, seek out any method I could to bring myself back to that moment of complete and utter disconnection. It was fabulous and instead of grieving my father, I relished in the emptiness I felt.

My delicate ego took over. This was an opportunity for attention. I, in my childhood, had been largely and grossly neglected by anyone within intimate range. Seeking out my own spotlight, I returned to the stage.

“How did he die?” “What happened?”

My father, in his stupidity had killed himself with his vehicle. He was not drunk this time. Not high or strung out. He was simply going from one place to the next in his transient life. A simple car accident killed him without incident. He drove off a mountain in the middle of the night, died instantly and with little fanfare. In his death, he was alone. Left to die on the side of a mountain.

In my bed I slept during his demise, dreaming of what I would be able to manipulate him with next and not knowing that I would never be able to control him again.

My brother Sam sat crumpled over in the kitchen chair. He was devastated at the loss of his best friend. Sam, who was seven years older than I, knew my father in a completely different way. His relationship had history. My father was present in his childhood, a force unlike any other. In my own, he was flippant and obtuse. My brother, then a nurturing soul, would manifest his grief of losing my father much much differently than myself. Sam was truly crushed by his loss. As so many times I would recall, I became enraged at his ability to feel the pain of loss for what it was.

I turned to Sam,

“I need to go for a walk.”

At twelve, I was so apt at stirring up dramatic moments and then quickly disappearing from my self induced spotlight. I would be running so fast, I rarely looked back at the pieces I was leaving behind. I walked away from my family. I ran into the street and walked for hours. I only recall thinking about what my friends would say or how embarrassed I was that my father was, once again,causing spectacle in my life. I blamed him. I blamed myself. I cursed everyone I knew in my short life.

I sat down and thought only one thing.

How could he leave me again?

With that thought, on that night, I picked up my first bottle of alcohol.

Three days later, we had a funeral. I don’t particularly remember the three days preceding actual burial. I was drunk. So drunk, I still have very little recollection of those hours save one conversation.

“Gus, are you drinking?” Gus was my given name. I was a girl with a boy name and a boy haircut.

“What mother?”

“Are you drinking?”

I was, as luck would have, drinking all of her cognac that was kept in the house for the occasional guest. Grief was masked by the astonishment I felt at the fluidity in which I poured myself my seventh glass of alcohol ever.

“Drinking what?” I laughed in my euphorically giddy state of new found inebriation.

My mother stared at me. She was too deep in the midst of her own crisis to realize the road I was about to run down.

“Don’t be smart”

She turned around, heading towards the door.

I was so intoxicated by intoxication, by my sheer ability to numb myself within minutes, I laughed hysterically.

“I am smart”
She shook her head and left.

From that moment, I knew life would be a lot easier drunk.

At the burial, where the hundreds of friends my father had all attended with heavy hearts, I carried that exact cognac with me in a thermos to lighten my own heart. I reached for it, twisting the cap with every insincere and made-up eulogy that was given. I ran to the car to alleviate the angst of seeing the many girlfriends that I had lived with his custodial time and during his marriage to my mother. Here, I could replenish the numbness I strove for. In my stupor, I shunned the people who really could give a rat’s ass about me OR my family. I watched people. I took note of who said what and how they remembered him. I was subconsciously creating a list of people that would I would love to hate over the next fifteen years.

I was twelve years old and drunk at my father’s funeral. In the wake of his death, I had never felt so alive. I could be present and escape interchangeably. Without shining the spotlight on myself, I was unnoticed. I blended with the masses of faces that I chose neither to recognize nor acknowledge.

At the funeral, I never shed a single tear. But confusion overwhelmed me on so many levels.

I was torn between being a fatherless child and an angry daughter. In the ensuing months, I had started to realize that missing my father was advantageous to gain control. I could miss him and excuse myself from being responsible. His death became my mantra for inability to deal with life. I felt overwhelming guilt and grief wrought with anger and abandonment. I was pissed and happy. I cried in the middle of the night. I found every picture of my father I could and poured over the detail in his face. Wore his clothes trying to smell him. Cursed him. Cursed myself. It was a state like I will never know again. I was so young and so old in one breathe. Because through all of this, I was stealing cocktails at my neighbors. Learning the intricacies of highballs and martinis through my keen observance.

With all my father’s affairs to be put in order months after the funeral, my mother walked around in a haze of denial and indifference. She was long past living and breathing my father. Her decisions reflected not her children, but her need to release herself of him. Where would Sam and I live? Not with her. Who would sell the house he lived in? She did, very quickly. Every decision that was made allowed my mother to distance herself from the pain she had endured. Her only real mistake, in the process of her own grieving, was that she let go of her dead spouse's children by pure accident.

In this neglect, during the first months, I was finding my own dependence being shifted from any parental figure to one that closely resembled a bottle of Vodka.

I recall this moment:

“Gus, I need to move the pictures of your father.”

“Mother, where do you want me to put them”

“Not in here, not in your room. I don’t want to see anything on the walls or the dressers. Put them in your closet. You can look at them in there.”

“The closet?”

“The closet.”

Expectations.

2009-05-20T19:11:00.004-04:00

" . . . Take another glass of wine, and excuse my mentioning that society as a body does not expect one to be so strictly conscientious in emptying one's glass, as to turn it bottom upwards with the rim on one's nose."
-Charles Dickens, "Great Expectations"

In the wake of my recovery and likely my perciptious road to it, I have become painfully aware of the expectations I set for myself on many levels. I wish to succeed professionally (okay, lost the actual professional job, but I'm still writing a book), attain true honesty within my heart and soul and live my life with happiness. The standards may be lofty as I truly believe something great is on the brink of emulating from the growth and awareness I am gaining. I just wish, in my lack of ability for self effacingness, that I figure out what the hell this brink is and how to get there. It confuses me. I find that the closer I come to realizing this maturity and ability to achieve all levels of the success I strive for, the harder I try to sabotage it.

I am more comfortable with self deprecation than I am with self adaptation. Yet, there is a part of me that understands that this is a process we all go through (some of us actually go through this during childhood and adolescence...think I skipped that class) and that when we let go of the fear, life becomes possible. I have been neither ready or willing to let go of fear without paying my own price. Immediately, I will bring myself back into a space that doesn't allow for movement. Trapped within my own fear. And this fear is what I am looking to use as my weapon in battling the life I deserve and want with great passion. I'm out here swinging and in my dolorous armor, I'm slow on the life uptake. Sometimes I think I should just hit myself and get over it. And I think that more and more everyday (something must be working).

So, do I compromise and lower the expectations I have set for myself and my "lofty" ambitions? I don't think so. Do I get a life and start doing what I'm meant to do? I think so....wait, I know so.

The more we do to truly be who we want and what we want, the more "greatness" emulates. And that, to me, is a pretty attainable goal.

Rescripting the past.

2009-05-11T06:17:00.004-04:00

In the last two weeks, I've found myself in an interesting situation and time in my sobriety. While I have been sober for almost eight years, I always feel like I've been missing something. There are times when I think that I miss the excitement of irresponsibility and the extreme life highs that can come as a result of being a raging alcoholic. The spontaneous and unstable free fall that comes with caring about few consequences and living with reckless abandon. The drama. The sheer intensity in which an addict lives.

So, here I've been, unemployed, living back full-time in a town that I've long since left mentally. We live in a community of intense eclecticism. Mountains, rocks, sky. A small town of people addicted to one thing or another, depending on which way the wind blows. And, by my own choice for several reasons, many of the people and situations that I had long forgotten made a guest appearance back in my life.

And there are several reasons for this. I have been intrigued to dip my toes back into my life as an addict. Not drinking, of course, but living vicariously through others who are spiralling down to rock bottom. I've watched myself slip back into a very comfortable place, one where responsibility and emotional growth comes to a screeching halt and the unfulfilled desire for excitement comes flooding in. It's been, in the last two weeks, both exhilarating and frustrating to say the least.

In essence, I have lived the last two weeks many many times in my former life. The people and circumstances haven't changed at all. And because of this, I have been remarkably tempted to try to re-script events and feelings that have been dormant for years. While I am dipping my toes in this life, I am still very much aware of my surroundings. The drama, while incredibly enticing, is not without hard falls after the peaks. And for what? To try and rectify what I couldn't fix in the first place. Other people's actions. My inability to exist in that life. It doesn't work for me anymore.

So, now, the drama has ended. I never came close to jumping into the pool, but I was reminded that no matter, I won't be able to swim in those waters again. Never could and never will. Re-writing the past is not an option. Living in the present and being fully present in life is the most rewarding and healthy option for someone who almost lost life so many times.

And, I'm sitting here watching the door close on another chapter. While I am sad, I never doubted the outcome from the beginning. I went through the last two weeks absolutely aware of what would happen. I remain slightly bruised from not being able to rewrite my own history and help stop someone at terminal velocity downward, but so so very happy that I do not have to. Everyone writes their own story.

Writing the book

2009-05-08T19:36:00.001-04:00

I apologize, I am in heavy book writing mode. Be back in a day or so.

The porch.

2009-04-30T08:10:00.004-04:00

Just about ten years ago, I used to sit on my front porch while in the throes of my final days of being consistently inebriated, waiting. I was waiting for the inevitable to happen; my marriage was failing, job was left and emotionally I was numb. I would sit and wait for my ex husband to show up (it was sometimes days) and count cars for hours. It was quite possibly one of the most miserable periods of my life. I had made bad choices. I was lamenting over and over the five years I spent spiraling down faster and faster. I was so far removed from being healthy because I was in so much pain.

I remember the pain from this time, it's been creeping up on me over the last week for a variety of reasons. I can still feel the angst of being emotionally comatose because I was simply so lost within my miserable life. I blamed everyone. I wished for a life that I didn't really want in the first place. I took anything and everything personally. I spent time in a marriage that never should have happened. Love eluded me. Life confused the hell out of me. And to boot, I was always in a state of drunken self medication.

And I would just sit and watch my life go by, wondering when something would happen to change it. Ha, good luck, I think now.

Fast forward to yesterday, I sat on the porch last night watching the sunset. I felt a resurgence of this waiting as variables have come into play that remind me of my old life so many years ago. The thoughts of years ago have been forefront and I am amazed at how aware I've become at recognizing them. This time, I was on the porch reminding myself of where I am in my life. Where I've come from. No longer am I waiting for my life to pass by but rather letting those things that are no longer conducive to good health simply pass by my transom. It's refreshing to know this.

And it's amazing to know that my life isn't passing by at all.

Happiness

2009-04-19T18:57:00.002-04:00

I used to think that happiness eluded me. I was not able to find the things that were able to make me feel fully content and at peace. I blamed all the circumstances and mishaps of my life as reason for not being truly happy. This elusiveness caused me great conflict and question; "why was happiness not coming my way"? Not good for one's emotional growth.

The fact of the matter is, as I am coming to find out, is that I am really the one who is eluding happiness, not the other way around. Instead of surrounding myself with happiness, I have been running. Running, hiding and fearing the consequences of giving up a great wall of self deprecation and utter sadness. It's been a comfort both before and after my sober life. I've run fast and hard from those paths that would lead to joy and solace. I've locked the gates and completely shut down in fear of rescinding the miserable barriers I've created.

And so, what to do...what to do...is what I think. Focus of what makes you happy. Strive boldly instead of retreating. Love yourself and find peace from within. So many smart people in my life have quoted the aforementioned. "So much easier said than done", I've retorted.

Today, I'm saying "so much easier done than holding all the crap in".

The Process of self-invention.

2009-04-09T08:14:00.002-04:00

As with any kind of recovery program, there comes great self invention when we begin to take stock of ourselves in a new light.

When I was first sober, I left my job in the city for two years to reassess where I was in life and who I wanted to become. This was an easy process at the time. Cut out drinking, lose the drama and start living life. I painted and wrote. I started the sobriety girl brand. Exercised. Went to therapy. Got rid of a lot of demons. And I was truly happy.

As I dove back into corporate world, I lost some of this invention. I was busy in other areas of my life. Time became scarce and work took hold of me very much like any other addiction I had. I never went completely back to my old self, but I forever questioned the choices I was making. I mean, I was an outdoor girl living in an office with no windows. I felt stifled and suffocated in one sense and overwhelmingly corporately satisfied in another.

In the last three weeks, I'm watching myself go through a very similar process of shedding demons and moving towards bringing back those elements in my life that I consider healthy. I'm getting over the layoff pain as it's been amazing to realize how universal losing a job is at this point in our economy. While I am actively looking for employment (one needs a paycheck bigger than NYS unemployment to keep going and I'm still writing the book), I've set short and long term goals for my future. Right now, today, I am focused on everything that I've missed about myself. Below are some highlights of these inventions I've dug out of the "good for you" trunk that had been collecting dust in my house:

Exercise: Imperative to recovery and life. Forgot how much I loved to run (and I can now do so in daylight) and ride my bike.

Emotion: Every day I challenge myself to do something out of my comfort zone. Calling to refinance a loan (never fun), writing about something painful, seeing people I haven't seen. These were all things that never made it on to the every day list because I simply did not have time or energy to expend.

Life: I'm reinventing my life. Big statement but it can be done in small steps. Taking time to breathe in the morning with a cup of coffee. Walking the dog for an hour instead of ten minutes. Having an actual social life that includes people other than my dog.

Communication: I have more time to communicate. I can call my grandmother and talk for an hour. Picking up a pen means connection with my journal instead of trying to find time in an electronic calendar for myself.

Love: I forgot about loving myself. All the aforementioned have confirmed that I do indeed like myself these days. Now, it's time to bring the love to the surface. A big, bold goal in my life today.

I'm not completely scraping my corporate life, again, I like making money. I am reintroducing the things that I loved about me and about my surroundings. Recreating the wheel? No. Re-inventing? Absolutely. It was the most anticipated change that I never expected and happiness is starting to creep back in. Imagine that.

The professional break-up

2009-03-27T16:03:00.004-04:00

As someone who worked within one job function for the better part of my career, getting laid off brought on change that was unexpected and not overwhelming comfortable. I've found in the last two weeks, being laid off bears many parallels to the throes of a personal relationship break-up. One where my job has essentially up and left me to deal with picking up the pieces (duly noted that this is a strange economic time, but the parallels are still similar).

Similar to the first few days of a break-up, denial followed by a sense of euphoria were the key emotions. I was in shock. Suddenly, it was over. Regardless of how happy or unhappy I was about the five hour commute or the inner workings of corporate politics, life as I knew it was over. I lamented about what I could have done differently (I don't think it would have mattered in the slightest). I questioned my part of the "break-up". I had difficulty fathoming what I would do next without my job, my security and, parallel to a relationship, professional identity. All of it was beyond my control, as with someone being left in a relationship, and everything scared me desperately.

After this brief period (again, these are strange economic times), I began the euphoric process of change. Suddenly, I was not tied to the commute. My blackberry stopped incessantly beeping with e-mails. My calendar went from overloaded with meetings to completely clear. I realized that I could do whatever I wanted, my independence was back and I was free of stress. I felt very similar to the days after my marriage broke up. I spent two days walking around my property thinking about my next steps. I smelled the air. I felt the wind. I was free of my own expectations and responsibility of another. Anything was now possible.

And then, like any break-up, reality and grief began to set in. Panic, due to the financial constraints I now faced. Euphoria was great, but brief. What the hell was I going to do now? I spent two days on the couch depressed and anxious.

Fast forward a few days, as it is now coming up to three weeks. I'm in a new routine. I'm not thrilled to not be working, but opportunities that were unexpected have been presenting themselves to me. Sort of like the dating after a marriage, not familiar but refreshing.

I'm adjusting to no blackberry. I've taken up pilates again. The book WILL be finished by the end of the summer. The boxes with all my belongings came, I cried for a few hours and then wrote my own personal "dear work" letter. And let it go.

It's about reinvention. Staying in the moment and knowing that things will improve at some point. In the meantime, I no longer have to worry about the metro north increase or what my client may or may not say. I'm re-energized for life, sans the paycheck.

So, good-bye to my job, it was special and I learned a great deal. But, it's over and the time has come to move on.

I'm positively fired.

2009-03-19T07:12:00.004-04:00

Yesterday I was interviewed on the radio regarding my demise as an advertising executive person (got laid off last Friday). I never really thought it would happen....but it did. So, instead of wallowing in self pity, I decided to do something I very rarely engage in---positive thinking.

Yes, it's not pretty getting laid off as more and more people are finding out today. On top of the rejection one feels, regardless of the circumstances, when you're sober, you have to worry about falling back into a self deprecation trap. I saw it this past weekend, noticed myself staring into space and looking to retreat on the couch in sheer panic.

Regardless of the fact that I am worried about the job market, finances, leaving a place I called home for years, there is opportunity in this process.

For the first time in years, I have had five days with little thoughts of work (where I had previously been consumed by every detail). I've done the radio, climbed rocks, taken my dog on a hike and given myself a reprieve from the hard work I've done for many many years. I've gotten on my bike and felt the wind.

Below, I've listed as many positives things about losing your job that I've experienced, conjured up in my head for fear of losing it and just thought of over the last days of analyzing everything:

This a good time for re-invention (I mean, the job you had may not be the one you do again) both personally and professionally
Don't dwell. After trying to figure out what happened, I finally realized that I would never be able to find answers to unanswerable questions.
Take care of yourself. I found the first three days was easy to stop all things that were good for me, including taking a shower. Not such a good thing for anyone else in your life or yourself. This is the time to be good to yourself as there are things that are beyond our control.
Contact EVERYONE you know. This is a good time for networking.
Develop short term and long term goals. Even in a time of uncertainty, writing out goals will help. I currently have about four pages written.
Re-evaluate what you need to live. Does having wifi connected to an iphone matter? Where are the savings in your life?
Whatever you do, don't stop. Every morning I get up at the same time I did when I was commuting into the city and I just do anything to keep a routine.
And think about the bigger picture. At some point, we will work again.

I will be posting the link to the interview from yesterday...and if anyone has any good advertising jobs, please let me know (See? I'm using all my resources!)

Radio Interview

Hitting Bottom...Sober

2009-02-25T08:30:00.004-05:00

Some people say that an addict hits bottom before he pulls himself up and begins the arduous and thrilling road of recovery. To some extent, I believe this to be true. Moments before I decided to become sober, I had essential hit what I knew to be my bottom. I lost a husband, friends, and most of my personal dignity. I was forlorn and lost, love was absent and all respect for myself had washed down the drain faster than I had would have ever imagined.

Hence, the road to my own recovery began and seven years later I've blogged and given speeches and taken pictures showing the world what sobriety can do for someone. I've had the pink cloud of euphoria following me and dissipate as quickly over the years, knowing the personal work I was responsible for creating thunderstorms while figuring out how truly life changing being sober was.

I've been walking, running and stumbling through my sobriety over the years, never questioning my choice not to drink but certainly questioning the the choices that I make in my everyday and emotional life.

So, here I have been: Sober and relatively happy but not altogether satisfied with where I am. Moving forward at a slower pace than the first two years. Not completely comfortable being me sober and definitely not comfortable being me in my former skin. And months ago, I realized that I am starting to slide towards the bottom again. I'm not talking about picking up a bottle, that would be entirely too easy. It's so much more subtle than that: I have been living in fear. Fear of love. Fear of life. Fear of taking all the tools I've learned in my sobriety and applying them to my life. It was like living in limbo for the last few years, not making wrong decisions but staying very clear of the right ones.

And yesterday, I truly truly hit my sober bottom. It was unexpected in a sense. I was having a bad day, playing emotional tug of war with my past, realizing my present wasn't what I wanted it to be and just suddenly realizing that I have been hiding in the shadows of my own recovery. Outwardly, I have been rock solid. Inwardly, I have been so scared that allowing myself to love again, to live again would cause the same pain I've felt so many times in my life. And I'd grown accustom to just hiding from the life I could very well be living.

I cried yesterday for almost six hours straight. I cried so hard I just didn't know how to stop. I started thinking about my marriage, my old relationships, old life, loves, fears, etc. And then I stopped crying. I stopped and thought about where I was. It was my bottom.....sober.

So, today, after sinking to my emotional low, I feel as if a new chapter begins. Doesn't it always? That I deserve love and life just as much as anyone, regardless of my past and those events that have put me where I am today. My voice, continues. My life, moves forward. My love, renewed.

And, today, I think that hitting bottom happens at many points and in many variations. It's a chance to pick-up and move on. A chance to find out what needs to happen to attain the life we are so entitled to and deserve.

So, bottom's up, I say....today is a good day.

Everyone has a story....

2009-02-04T08:08:00.005-05:00

I was born with a sixth finger, a pinkie that was removed about 24 hours after I was alive. Not a big deal by medical standards, but by being born with an extra digit, I came out strange and screaming with a story from the get go.

Many decades later, I still have a story and I'm still slightly different (I don't think it has anything to do with the removed appendage) but the difference is that now I have a voice to tell the tales I live.

This week, I celebrate my seventh year of sobriety and again, I look back on my "story" to gain insight and perspective on my own life and how it relates to the overall ways of the world.

My story leading to recovery is universal. I drank, I walked down a tumultuous path in life and I hit my own proverbial bottom. Nothing hugely earth shattering, but I was starting to run down the path of serious self destruction instead of walking and I got smart, I stopped for a moment to look at where I was headed. I changed direction and used everything in my power and resource bank to ensure that the direction I was heading would lead me to the most advantageous place in life.

Seven years later, my story is now grounded in recovery instead of addiction. I have been able to take the voice I was born with (again, reference the "came out screaming") and use it both to help others and learn from the world around me. I am not an expert in recovery, but rather, an individual who has decided to share my life with anyone willing to change their own direction.

After seven years, the struggle to be sober remains as critical as ever. I fight my urges and insecurities on a daily basis. I strive to collectively take everything I am learning and win the battle against my detrimental addiction that almost cost me my life on many occasions. In today's economic meltdown, I struggle with how to make sense of what's going on and am trying to do so with those things I have learned in my recovery; Patience, acceptance and faith.

All things considered, patience consists of taking each day as it is. I can not control all the elements around me, but I can remember to be patient with myself, my job, the economy, etc. Every day has become just that, every day. I live in the moment more than ever, I try very very hard not to consume myself with the future because I just don't know what's going to happen. And I accept this inability to predict the future. I accept the things that I cannot control. But, take responsibility and pride in those things that I can.

This is where faith comes in. I have faith that no matter what, I will remain sober. I may end up in a different place on many fronts, but I will always see my sobriety as a constant source of faith that, when things were at the lowest point in my own life, I pulled myself up and recovered. And, universally, we will do the same when the time is right. The principals of recovery can be carried over into so many more elements of life than just addiction. It means having faith in oneself, having faith in the ability to persevere and believing that what one is doing is honest and true.

So, seven years later I no longer find myself focusing so much on how I got here. That was the easy part. I do focus on why I have chosen to live my life sober, reasons that are far more fulfilling than why I chose to live my life drunk. I have chosen to live each day as a gift. I am alive, I am able to interact with thousands of people who are living a similar life and I have been given a gift to be able to speak freely and candidly about my journey.

Thank you all very much for being here. You've made the journey very real and true.

The Sober Door © Book Excerpt

2009-01-14T07:41:00.011-05:00

I've been writing a book for the last few months, it's a fictional labor of love about a woman who comes to terms with her sobriety. Since I have been getting a lot of e-mails regarding the book and am appreciative of all the support, I've decided to post the unedited first draft version of the preface to "The Sober Door".....stay tuned in the next year, it will be out there.....
Thanks,
Kim

The Sober Door ©

Preface

Locked in. Barricaded from the outside. He spared me. Saved me. Threw me with resounding force. Conflicted. I am being spared. I am being enveloped in blackness. I can hear him. Screaming outside. Ranting, ranting, ranting.

“WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME? ALL OF YOU?”

I know that I am safe for the moment. I know he is hurting everyone outside the door. I am shut in, shut out from him. They are outside. I am safe. I am spared. The noise of the punches. Each slap stings. Screams. Cries. It rings in my ears. I hear my brother screaming. My mother screaming. I am eneveloped in blackness. The vibration of each hit comes through the floor. I cannot see beyond the door in front of me.

“I NOT THE MAN YOU WANT IN YOUR LIFE.”

I know I want him. I want him to open the door. I want him to bring me out, beat me and take me out of this dark place he has sequestered me to. I want to feel the pain. EACH and EVERY lash that is being inflicted.I have been in here for hours, this I know. Cramped and cowering, only wishing that he would love me enough to hit me too. I can smell his breathe, even from inside the tomb I am in. Acid. Fire. Sweetness. His nose, white like Christmas. His eyes wild as he had pushed my thrashing limbs. I was left out of the carnage. .I hear everything but cannot see. I am so desperate not to be forgotten in the massacre.

“YOU ARE ALL F**** NUTS”

For a moment, I hear his hand on the door knob. I think, “he’s going to bring me out.” I am not scared. I am ready to handle his wrath as it is inherently mine. I tremble. For once, I am not forgotten. I will be his daughter. I will wipe his tears away with my hand. He will know that I want him.

And quickly, his hand is gone.

All goes silent. I hear whimpering. It is my own. I know he is gone. Left me here in the closet. Darkness. I am alone. I don’t know where he is going or how long but he won’t be back. He went too far. He left me.

He forgot to leave my present. He forgot to sing, to blow out the candles. He forgot to tell Mom that I only eat chocolate frosting. Today is my sixth birthday. I am locked in the closet.

After the Holidays

2009-01-06T11:25:00.002-05:00

Years ago, I used to find that the most depressing time of the year happened right after the holidays. The celebrations were over, the list of resolutions that I had made was already lost in the post-holiday shuffle and the coldness of winter was finally becoming reality. It was a time of looking back at the year prior and wondering if the regrets of my actions would follow me into the new year.

When I became sober, the post holiday period was more of a sigh of relief....I had made it through the social maze of skipped invitations and constant reminders of what I was missing out on (or so I thought at the time).

The last few years, however, I look at the post holiday period as a great time of self reflection. I no longer make lists of resolutions I know I will not keep. I have only one real and true resolution that I live every day of my life. Everything else, because of my constant resolve, is falling into place with the work that I put into being sober.

One thing I do around this time is take inventory of my goals and objectives. Where am I within my sober life? Where do I want to be this year? This month? This day? Resolutions, post holiday periods are more about asserting what we are living with and reflecting on how we can achieve even more balance in the months to come.

Today, my personal inventory looks a lot more like an orderly pantry than cluttered attic desperate for reorganizing. Sure, the cans on the shelves may still be stacked in slight disarray, but it's accessible and ready for cold winter days of reflection.

Happy New Year

2009-01-05T10:02:00.004-05:00

So, New Years Day 2009. 530am. I'm on my way from getting coffee since I went to bed on New Year's Eve at 8pm thanks to my resolve not to go out on NYE anymore. Car dies (thanks to my 90,000 mile BMW that neither Healey Brothers nor BMW corporate would help at all). I walk home in 2 degree weather with pajamas on. Three miles into it I am picked up by the local newspaper delivery guy making his far too early rounds. I am freezing, he knows me from another lifetime. I am so grateful.

Get home, news is not good. No car. I'm likely paying for it for the next two years. Instead of the complete panic that normally envelopes me, I start thinking of my options (having it stolen, though it crossed my mind, is not one of them)......

I realize that, no matter what, I still have options. Was it a mistake to buy the car? Yes. Am I completely humbled? Absolutely. Do I still have my health and happiness? Most definitely.

As much of an inconvenience as it is, I am still here and alive. I still have family that was able to lend me another car for the time being (humbled once more driving a truck with 237,000 miles that actually runs!). I was freezing walking home but survived. I have seen great kindness from strangers, friends and family. Everyone is chipping in when years ago, they may not have been so apt to help.

In all, I am pretty lucky. I finally got back to my car four hours later (and again, kindness from the tow truck guy who picked me up at home), there was a yellow flower and a newspaper with a note written: "Hope your 2009 gets better. Smile". I actually smiled. In the wake of such shallow disparity, I still have the things that mean the most. And then some.

Happy New Year!

When the Party Ends.

2008-12-29T11:32:00.002-05:00

I feel compelled to write this morning as I can no longer ignore the newspapers, TV, on-line blurbs about twenty-something-drink-touting celebrities gone wild without jumping on my soapbox in some fashion.

Though life in NY is a lot less glamorous than Hollywood, and my life in particular, can't hold a torch to celebrity hob nobbing, my party days still haunt me on many levels.

When I was young, I realized that I was a gregarious type, singing chords of Annie to anyone who could stand my repeatedly bad version of "The Sun will Come Out". I was an attention seeker probably from the moment I was born. Yet, weaving in some family tragedies and the angst I felt being outwardly social and inwardly a mess, being a party girl held many advantages.

I built my social reputation on drinking, getting drunk and acting as wild as I could handle. I was perceived as spontaneous, wildly irresponsible and willing to do anything for a serious buzz. Shots? Loved them. Beer Pong? Martinis? Wines by the bottles? All my mantra during my late teens, early twenties.

During this period, I was running around with trendy crowds in NYC and Washington DC. According to myself at the time, I was fabulous and unstoppable. I did not know one single person in any of my social groups that did not drink. I stumbled around Manhattan at 3am, crashing wherever, with whoever. And getting into cars with strangers? Never a problem when you had the camaraderie of a drinking partner.

And during this period, I now recall, there were few and futile efforts to slow myself down. People would casually mention that perhaps I was drinking too much. I found myself constantly apologizing for drunken mishaps, hangovers or blatant irresponsibility. I would blow off any member of a non-drinking circle, family included, because they simply did not fit my lifestyle. I was entirely too stubborn and too convinced that drinking was acceptable and respected.

Never once during these years did I think about actually stopping. That would have been sacrilege. I would have suddenly lost rank on some self-conjured social scale. I would have no one to party with, no friends and no life. Not only was I able to bury serious emotional issues, but socially, I could hide behind the fact that I deemed myself life of the party. It simply became easier to modify every other aspect of life to fit my need to be this girl. It is a way of life that so many people in their early adulthood are now faced with.

As I write this, I still have a pang of guilt for getting on a soapbox. I truly believed that life did not exist without drinking. It had been etched into my social psychology for so long, the words "alcoholic" or "drinking problem" were reserved for those people who were weak and unable to handle the drinking life.

And as I write this, I am laughing at how utterly, absolutely, undeniably wrong I was.

I never believed that "alcoholic" would happen to me. But, it did...and fast. My life went from being twenty something with a penchant for partying to a young adult with a serious issue. The party was over and I was desperately drowning issues long pent. I was trying to live in a time that no longer was. Trying to draw attention as a beautiful, stay out all night, sophisticated imbiber. In fact, I was turning into a socially miserable drunk. I would turn belligerent. I would miss work. I was spiraling out of control and I was in such incredible denial, that I almost took it too far too many times.

Yet, my denial perpetuated my actions. I became even more wild. I was lying. I was making excuses. Anything to make sure that my life as fabulous party girl remain untarnished. Ha, I think now, if I had looked in the mirror then, I might have realized that my image had been tarnished years before.

And then, one day, after some bouts with "hitting bottom", I decided it was time to stop.
I had gone too far. My romance with being a party girl had ended and my parties had become drinking at a bar with anyone I could find. After 14 years, it was the most painful "break-up" I have ever experienced (I don't think my divorce came close).

I have now been sober for seven years. I will say that my life as the party girl no longer exists as I knew it. As I work in the illustrious world of advertising agencies, I am still surrounded by the notion of partying all the time. I am still immersed in a world of drinking versus not drinking. And it's not easy. I frequently find myself longing for home on the rare occasion I am out and about. I have become a member of the non-drinking club and still have to remind myself that membership has its privileges. The friends I had during all those years of partying have either moved on to other party friends or simply dropped me because I chose something so socially foreign in young adulthood today.

But, there is never a day that I am not thankful that I made the choice to change my life. It was my decision to make, and I made it with grace and acceptance. I still mourn my old life at times, but I know that I've gained the ability to be responsible and true to myself. I really never thought that I would have gone so far in my sober life, but I have and I continue to live each day with strength and pride.

And in an ironic twist, in December 2004, I made my debut as a sober woman in the pages of Glamour Magazine. Picture, article...the works. It was a defining moment for me as I had always dreamed of being in a magazine as someone famous or notoriously wild. Never did I realize that anyone would actually want to read the story of a woman who gave up all those notions in exchange for a quieter, emotionally responsible life. Life as a sober woman on a soapbox.

So, twenty somethings, take heed. Perhaps when every one who is famous keeps hitting bottom, it will finally be trendy to be sober.

Checklist for Early Sobriety

2008-12-22T10:38:00.000-05:00

Ok, you've made the decision to get sober. Beside the obvious of not drinking, there are many things to think about to help in early recovery.

Below, I've listed a checklist that may help with some ideas. Feel free to add any additional items.

Find a recovery program to help in the earliest days. Whatever program you follow, just allowing yourself to learn about being sober and surrounding yourself with sober people can be a big help.
Create a resource list. Write out a list of people who you can call when you need someone to talk to, support or just a diversion from your old ways.
Look for a good therapist or counselor if you feel it will help.
Browse the bookstore and stock up on some good sober books for inspiration.
Do an emotional inventory and record how you are feeling each day.
Find a new hobby, activity or anything that will keep you out of the bar scene, you'll be amazed at how many things there are to do besides sit at a bar!
Find another person in recovery and buddy up with them for support.
Journal, journal, journal. I cannot stress how much this helps in early sobriety. I used to write fifteen pages a day, just pouring things out. Grab a paintbrush and be creative. Painting out your emotions is refreshing.
Forgive yourself for the past. It's gone, over and you can only move forward at this point.
Find some IM buddies from a sober site or group and utilize them as resources
Write down all the things you can do now that you are sober. Pick one each week and do it. Eat well, exercise and watch your sugar during the earliest part of sobriety.
Finally, be gentle on yourself. It's a long process, one that is constantly evolving and changing. It's worth it.

Trust.

2008-12-10T12:08:00.003-05:00

Last night, I had one of those amazingly lucid light bulb moments that seem to come far and in between lately, with the lights in my brain kind of flickering on and off due to a multitude of distractions.

I was having a conversation with someone and I suddenly realized that I questioned whether or not I trusted this person. It was a weird sequence of events. I started thinking that I didn't trust them to behave rationally and in the healthiest manner when it came to conflict. And then, suddenly, I had a flashback to someone essentially telling ME the same thing. That I was unable to be trusted. Then, the light bulb went off. I suddenly understood that my own definition of trust and my defensive reaction to being questioned in the past really stemmed from not understanding the true meaning of what it is to trust someone.

In addiction, trust is not the most prominent trait in those who are afflicted. Personally, I have had one hell of time learning to trust myself. In the past, I've lied, made up reasons and justifications to fit my own behavior. Trusting myself came far down the list of reasons not be so self-deprecating. And in turn, I rarely paid attention to the actual meaning of trust as it applies to emotional well-being. When I was told I was not trustworthy, it was so much more than just not stealing or lying, my own interpretation. And, because I was so defensive when told, I never even bothered to ask for a definition as it related to a given situation. I sit here and shake my head at my absolute ignorance.

I spent some time looking up various definitions of trust; confidence, absolute certainty in trustworthiness of another, belief, faith, reliance.

Whereas my definition of trust bordered on naivety (you trust someone not to steal your belongings), I suppose it's been defensiveness that has not allowed me to look at myself and what others could possibly interpret trust as.

I see now that trusting someone means that you know that they will be able to handle themselves with rationality and strength. That trust comes with being open to someone else and learning what their needs are, communicating fears and hopes without defense or reaction.

I'm simply amazed that I just never got this. I've had it explained and talked about so many different times in so many different types of relationships. I just adamantly refused to acknowledge that trust comes deep within and starts with oneself. What an exhausting epiphany it's been in the last twenty four hours!

And so begins the process of just trusting the emotions I have first and foremost. That my strength and will to be in my life will manifest itself through the actions I take. That when things get bad, I am fully capable of handling a situation with the grace and esteem that I have truly come to possess.

And in doing so, trusting others will be a constant shining instead of the flickering light that's been in serious need of a bulb change.

Sobriety and Thanksgiving....

2008-11-24T11:41:00.006-05:00

Here's a scenario. It's your first few months sober and Thanksgiving, being your first holiday, suddenly creeps up on you. Panic. Angst. What do you do? Hide from the family? Ignore the holiday completely?

As if holidays aren't tricky enough, being sober during these times, when being merry and celebratory is analogous with having a drink in hand, can be daunting. I know, I've had a few (seven and counting still) myself.

One of the most elemental facets of sobriety is to make sure that you are always taking care of yourself, on every level. If you are not going to spend the holidays alone (I'm hardly ever against the idea!), you should have some contingency plans in place for the trip to grandmas.

The first task I completed in my first year sober during the holidays was to take a sheet of paper with every single e-mail address and phone number of all my support systems (at the time, there were many), quotes I loved, goals I had..etc. I wrote SURVIVING MY HOLIDAY SOBER on the top of it, scribbled incessantly and tucked the paper into my wallet. In all honesty, I never once pulled it out. But, it sure did help knowing that at any time, I could run outside and call someone or read some relevant bit that would ease the anxiety.

Okay, piece of life support paper in tow...doesn't get you through family ordeals or questions. Simple thing to remember: "Sometimes, the less information given, the better". Does Aunt Sally really care about whether you are drinking a bottle of wine with her? It probably bothers you more than she. Do you need to launch into a sober diatribe? Depends, but I would lean no. You are primarily sober for you, no one else. Your sobriety is an added benefit for those around you.

It's your choice as to how much information about your life you want to disclose. I've learned in the last seven years that if one of my family members still chooses to believe I was in a big magazine for helping people (when, in reality, the article was about me being a former party girl), then so be it. Not worth the argument.

Before and after long hours at the table, it may help remember the following thoughts (I've used one or all over the years):

Pets are a good reason to excuse yourself early to go home
Going for a walk with one family member is sometimes easier than answering to twelve and fresh air never hurts
Any kind of clear soda in a glass with some fruit that you get immediately upon arrival will usually put an end to the "what are you drinking" question
Be kind to yourself, don't fall into the roles that we're assigned at birth
Remember that this day falls only once a year
There is no chance you will get pulled over on the way home
You will not be hungover on Friday
Be thankful, really thankful, that you are sober this year
Families usually fight because it's like looking in a bunch mirrors, everyone is related and similar
Watch sugar, it's a great way to become testy

After seven years, I think I am just about starting to love holidays again. The panic isn't there, I have control over my emotions when it comes to family sagas and I just really am thankful to be where I am in life.

And thanks to all of you. I'll be on http://www.mix97fm.com/ in New York on Wednesday at 730am EST. You can also listen on-line.

Have a safe and happy holiday.

Playing Cards.

2008-11-17T15:09:00.006-05:00

I was thinking the other day about what it is in life that I can and cannot control and I found great similitudes between this notion and playing a game of cards.

In life, we will rarely ever be able to control certain elements that make up our daily existence; where we came from, our overall genetic make-up, etc. These elements are similar, when looking at life through a proverbial card game, to being dealt the hand at the beginning of the game. We don't know what the cards are, but we know that there is an overall algorithm and count to the hand being dealt. Great, little control over this.

We do, however, how extraordinary control over how we play the hand. Sometimes, in sobriety and in life, the cards are inevitably stacked against us. The dealer has the advantage (I can liken this to some larger, non-seen entity) and we are forced to look at the very hand in front of us. The winning and losing is less important as the fact that we have say in the way our lives are led. We choose to take risks or not. We choose to fold the hand or persevere until all options are exhausted.

I've never been a gambler (I still don't know how I missed that addiction), but I do know that we can't blame the dealer, the deal or the cards in front of us. We need to recognize that it's our game to play. Our life to live. And our choice to make the decisions that will lead us to most optimal playing experience.

Cycles

2008-11-03T11:11:00.002-05:00

I was thinking about when I started this blog, a little over three years ago, and some of the thinking that was going on in my life. I was starting a new job, a new relationship, another chapter of my life. I felt like there were many opportunities on the horizon, doors to be open, optimism, etc.

And over the last three years, many of those elements that I wrote about in the beginning have changed, but I seem to be in a very similar emotional space that I was then. Happy, optimistic and feeling like there are opportunities around me...

It's funny how cyclical life is. We are born, we die. The economy is horrific and then, booming. We feel desperate, then jubilant. We are all part of many different life cycles. We create them. We live within them.

I find that the most important lesson from these cycles is that we need to remember that nothing stays the same. It if did, how would we evolve? And in desperate times, if we remember that things will ultimately improve, it may just alleviate some of the stress.

Today, despite the status of my 401k, the world...etc, I feel some sense that life will continue to move in a different direction. And, I'm looking forward to it.

Looking within to find your own truth: A Process

2008-10-24T10:04:00.003-04:00

Something I wrote to help assign a process to self awareness in recovery:

After you have made the commitment to recover, you begin the process. The groups, the meetings, the goals that are the core staple of any recovery program. From whatever you are recovering from in life. All this becomes slowly melds into your existence. You see differently. Your immediate need to recover subsides and the need to recover fully begins to externalize. You have begun your travels. And we begin the process of finding what is within ourselves.

When we are searching for the truth within ourselves, we are becoming self aware. This is the biggest door to unlock in recovery. It is the heaviest door and the one with the most complex locks. It can be agonizing at times to become more self aware, as we are learning to peel away the layers to our very core. However, the more self aware we become, the more balanced our core becomes. And this enables us to live and love successfully.

In finding this truth, we can categorize self awareness into five elements:

Emotional— the artistic element. When we learn to recognize our emotions and the potential and place for each, we begin to express ourselves. We may write or speak to a significant other with more clarity and purpose. We learn that emotions hold one of the largest keys to unlocking the doors within us.

Physical— Being aware of our physical presence helps to make the internal a tangible embodiment. When we strengthen ourselves physically, we are also strengthening our internal core. This physical core enables us to maintain strength when we are emotionally weak. And I have found that the stronger my core is physically, the more balanced I feel overall.

Intellectual— This is where we separate emotion and intellect. It is the parent in the parent/child equation. The strong. The rational. When we begin to listen to our intellectual side, we learn how to balance our emotions with rationality. We process those events and situations with our brain. And we are able to let go more easily.

Spiritual— And in this, we begin to find our inner serenity. Peace becomes evident within and we become aware of that safe haven we have worked so hard to create. You may look to a higher being. Or you may have a very secular spiritual guide. Through all our layers, we have beliefs that are strong and passionate.

Social—Self awareness carries. It becomes an aura around you. The energy you have found within yourself begins to exude into everyday situations. It glows. It enables you to interact with society. With friends and lovers and acquaintances.

During this process of self discovery, I found that there were a great number of things I needed to balance. I was putting too much of myself into the emotional element. I had no way of distinguishing between emotion and intellect. My physical core was weak and my burdens were heavy. I overreacted constantly. I cried. I panicked. I became angry all the time.

As I continued through my own process of creative recovery, I learned to balance the aforementioned elements. And when I see one element drying up, I know I have the power to replenish my pool of resources. My emotions became an outlet and a gift. I now utilize them to the potential that they are worthy.

Piece I found...

2008-10-16T14:03:00.002-04:00

I put this on my wall in the office a few weeks ago:

LETTING GO TAKES LOVE

To let go does not mean to stop caring,
it means I can't do it for someone else.
To let go is not to cut myself off,
it's the realization I can't control another.
To let go is not to enable,
but allow learning from natural consequences.
To let go is to admit powerlessness,
which means the outcome is not in my hands.
To let go is not to try to change or blame another,
it's to make the most of myself.
To let go is not to care for,
but to care about.
To let go is not to fix,
but to be supportive.
To let go is not to judge,
but to allow another to be a human being.
To let go is not to be in the middle arranging all the outcomes,
but to allow others to affect their destinies.
To let go is not to be protective,
it's to permit another to face reality.
To let go is not to deny,
but to accept.
To let go is not to nag, scold or argue,b
ut instead to search out my own shortcomings and correct them.

To let go is not to adjust everything to my desires,
but to take each day as it comes and cherish myself in it.
To let go is not to criticize or regulate anybody,
but to try to become what I dream I can be.
To let go is not to regret the past,
but to grow and live for the future.
To let go is to fear less and love more

Remember: The time to love is short

-Author Unknown

State of Sobriety

2008-10-09T12:05:00.004-04:00

Over the last few weeks, with all the turmoil happening in almost every aspect of daily life, I have begun to ask myself a lot of the questions. What will my retirement look like? Will I continue to have a job next year? Will this end? How much will oil cost to heat the house this winter? It's been daunting to everyone in the global community.

It seems like we are constantly faced with adversity inside and outside the home. And it's been monumentally stressful to think about all of these questions over and over, every minute of the day, while still maintaining some kind of quality of life.

There was a time I would have added sobriety and all its question to the same list. I would have looked at it as a hindrance, another stressful event to ponder over while reading the tumultuous news reports each day. I may have even considered taking all the stress I feel about life in general and justified drinking at this point. And, for some reason, I have found that in all of this inconsistency going on, sobriety is an enormous source of stability in my life.

Think about sobriety as a financial investment. The return on investments, both short term and long term, are extremely high. I invest in my own sanity, solace and well being and I am able to amply produce more. My overhead is extremely low because I no longer require an extra hundred or so dollars a week to sustain my business of getting really inebriated. The insurance may be high, but I can almost guarantee that I will not default so long as I maintain minimum payments. I am continually reassessing my equities within sobriety and there is always positive movement. I don't think there are many other avenues today that guarantee all of these things.

And, in life, if I lost my job, money, house, heat, etc. I would still have the ability to say I am sober. To me, particularly in this state of being, sobriety ranks high on my list of assets that I am proud to continually invest in.

The Night of The Gun by David Carr

2008-09-23T11:47:00.014-04:00

It had been a very long time since I thought about reading a book on addiction when I received an e-mail about reviewing The Night of the Gun, a story by NY Times writer David Carr.

So, I sat. I stared at the book for a week not knowing if I was ready to dive into someone elses personal account of addiction for fear of rehashing my own. I only knew David Carr from reading his work in The New Yorker. My knowledge was limited. Still, I did not Google him. Did not read any other reviews. I knew this book would impact a part of my life, a part that I wasn't sure I wanted to think about. And that itself scared me from picking it up. Finally, a quiet weekend on the farm came along and I began reading. Twenty hours later, after little sleep, feeble dog walks and minimal sustenance, I finished quite possibly one of the best addiction memoirs I have every read.

The premise of the book is based on David Carr's experience as a journalist intertwined with his life as an addict. He has gone back to "fact check" his former life, whether from lapsed memory or the need we have in recovery to make sense of our past experiences. The result of his fact checking leads to the telling of a man who is able to do something most of us in recovery would both love and loathe; he is confronting who he was and how he came to many different points in his life. He is connecting a murky past with his more clarified present. And in doing so, he recounts life as an addict and the lives his addictions affected with detailed honesty.

Carr writes:

Even if I had amazing recall, and I don't, recollection is often just self-fashioning. Some of it is reflexive, designed to bury truths that cannot be swallowed, but other "memories" are just redemption myths writ small. Personal narrative is not simply opening up a vein and letting the blood flow toward anyone willing to stare. The historical self is created to keep dissonance at bay and render the subject palatable in the present.

This is a primary factor in life as a recovering addict, where we look at the truths of our lives as we are able to handle them. When we suddenly realize our story is less a narrative than a complex and deeply rooted journey of self perception. Carr captures this in every chapter. The almost third party distance he keeps in the tonality of the book captures the way an addict lives their life, slightly disconnected. Yet, there is realness to the pain and suffering that after I was done reading, the emotions ran hard and deep.

I will not recap the elements or other characters within the book. They are all pivotal and well developed. But, to review them does not give justice. It unfolds with great synchronicity and the book itself is the invitation. For those in recovery, like myself, I could see my own behaviors. I could vicariously go through my own fact checking to assign some semblance to the tornado of drama that preceded the calm.

The Night of the Gun is a serious read. For those in recovery, thinking about it, out of it, around it or not in it at all. It's real. It's honest. And, while the ending is happier but not fluff, you know that Carr's life will continue to be immersed in the struggles of a recovering addict. And he conveys his thoughts, his intentions and his actions with brutal honesty, or dishonesty that comes with being who we are.

I am not an enthusiastic or adept liar. Even so, can I tell you a true story about the worst day of my life? No. To begin with, it was far from the worst day of my life. And those who were there swear it did not happen the way I recall, on that day and on many others. And if I can't tell a true story about one of the worst days of my life, what about the rest of those days, that life, this story?

This book takes the lies that we all tell in our own lives as addicts. The writing allows us a glimpse of what would happen if we could go back to every person in our past and ask them for the truth. And Carr conveys both the lies and the truth in such a way that, when finished reading, I actually forgave myself for all the people I had hurt. And that is one of the biggest accomplishments we can notch into the great big recovery belt strapped around our waists.

For more information, click on the book above, or go to http://www.simonsays.com/content/book.cfm?tab=1&pid=625091

David Carr's NY Times Magazine article, "Me and My Girls": http://www.nytimes.com/2008/07/20/magazine/20Carr-t.html

2008-09-21T10:59:00.000-04:00

How many cares one loses when one decides not to be something, but to be someone.

—Coco Chanel

The gift of letting go.

2008-09-09T20:44:00.004-04:00

I went out on my porch this evening, it's been a long few weeks and I decided to sit out in the dark air. I've felt a great deal of ambivalence lately. Almost as if I have been waiting for something to happen, movement of sorts. I feel like life has been in a holding pattern, that some things needed to be sorted out.

I turned on the light, and sitting on the stone was a package. It was my birthday a few weeks ago, a time of end of summer celebration, and life has been quiet since then. But, now, in my solitude, was a gift within the brown box, bringing a sense of my own private celebration.

I recognized the envelope. My father's love before he passed away. A woman I admired deeply and have reconnected with after twenty two years. I knew the handwriting, I stared at it over and over. The same handwriting I had seen so many years ago. Notes I had seen her write, loving my father, me so intensely. Handwriting that was slightly flawed, like us. I ran my fingers, tracing the past. And, at that point I knew this gift was much much larger than a 6 x9 container.

My father believed, in some culmination of religious and/or philosophical beliefs, that he was going to be a hawk when he died. I have heard more versions of why, how and when he wanted to be a hawk post-life than I am able to count, including my own biased version. More important was this belief when he was alive. He was adamant about his passage. He wore a gold hawk around his neck. It symbolized his very passion for life and where his place was after. I have pictures. I have vivid memories of this very embodiment of him.

And when I opened the envelope, I knew what was in there. My hand instinctively reached in and fumbled for it. A card came, but I didn't need to open it at all. I knew that wrapped neatly inside white tissue was the sign I've been waiting for. The gift I had been hoping for the better portion of my life.

So, there I sat. Totally unprepared for what came next. I cried. Sitting on my farm with my unwrapped past in my hand. I bawled. Tears pouring down, as they do right now. Total and utter watershed. I missed my life as a child, my father, his loved one, my family. The time before I lost him. The time before we all lost him.

That's just it. We had all lost him. And here, I had suddenly found a piece of him in my hand. And that piece was given to me. She was letting go. And in that, she has given back a piece of me. A piece of my father. The very piece I had been waiting for. Her relationship with her past moves on. My life moves on. I have been giving the most amazing gift. She let go and knew that I needed this piece, this remembrance of passion and love and time where life was strong and good. And I knew it would come. I've waited. And around my neck was the missing piece to my past.

I cannot tell you the love that I feel in my heart right now. Overwhelming and beautiful. Sad and truly awe-inspiring at the same time. I swear, the wind kicked up as I sat there. I cried, but I smiled at the same time. I knew that this day would come. And I thank you so much for giving me the gift of letting go.

Lost My Way

2008-09-03T15:09:00.005-04:00

The other day I was writing an e-mail to a friend of mine that has been long removed from my life, a friend that I went to high school with. In the e-mail I wrote, I said: "You know, somewhere between then and now, I lost my way". And that phrase has been stuck in my head ever since.

And it's true. Somewhere between the time I was young and a few years ago, I really did lose my way. I liken it to walking down this long long road that we call life. Throughout my journey, I've had this backpack attached to me with the weight of myself, my emotions, my grief. There have been times when I have stopped along the way and joined others, I married young and tried my hardest to live the picket fence dream with my backpack filling with my junk each step. I walked down big roads; divorce, sobriety, death. I walked along empty barren streets, peering into windows of others lives I wanted so desperately to live in, my backpack aching from the weight. It was like window shopping, seeing all the different lives I could be living. I just kept walking until I really just got lost.

Many times, I asked directions from those who didn't know the way either or others who tried to point me in the right direction but I just didn't know HOW to ask. I faltered from the weight of my own demons. A lot of stumbling, I was desperately looking for a way home or a diversion to just let the backpack fall for awhile. There were some lonely travels along dark paths. I was unclear. Heavy, unfocused.

And while I lost my way, I didn't stop. Every time I fell, I got up. I learned about the journey. I started looking to lighten my load of baggage to help move my life along. I paused briefly and began to examine those things. Trial and error, seeing what matter and what didn't. I dug deep until I finally pulled out the one thing I needed, a shiny compass buried at the bottom of my bulging sack of useless crap.

Today, I'm navigating. Perhaps I will always be a bit of a wanderer. A bit confused, but on my own road, with direction and purpose. I got lost, changed the way I traveled and now I am finding my way back. Walking through life with the shiny compass that I found in my soul. Stopping along the way to remember why I am walking along, the adventure, the love of traveling through. I am not lost, I'm on my way.

So, my next ponderance, my next life question will be, "Where the hell am I going?"

Let go.

2008-08-26T19:29:00.004-04:00

Today I am just letting go for the next few hours. That's it. I'm not going to write about it, I'm just going to do it.

A gift for today.

Sober Balance

2008-08-19T14:58:00.003-04:00

One of the toughest things that I face in recovery is how to balance my life as someone in recovery with what I perceive as my life as a "normal" person. When I sit and take inventory of both facets, I look at each separately; sobriety and life outside of sobriety, and then figure out how to balance the two together. It's a never ending tango, to be both sober and live in a non-sober world. In reality, however, it's our perception of ourselves and our recovery that lead to the most success.

For example, in early recovery, I had great difficulty imagining life outside of the drinking bubble I had lived in. My comfort level being sober was non-existent. I was so focused on what I was missing out on, what people would think, where to avoid life. It never occurred to me that people just don't care as much as you think. That most of the stress I felt about the image of recovery was coming from within myself. Ultimately, the driving factor that kept me sober at that point was that I likely would have either ended my own life or caused irreversible emotional damage. Somewhere, somehow I knew this and made this my biggest priority, knowing that I could deal with the other aspects later.

After almost seven years, this balancing has now become the focal point of my recovery. I am secure enough to know that I will not drink again, I have tools in place within my head and life that allow me to know that when I want to drink, I just need to do x,y,z to get the thought out of my head (mostly, I just think about how fast my life would go back to being entirely destructive and unhealthy and that usually does the trick).

And for the most part, today, I am comfortable in uncomfortable situations; ie, making people feel OK that I don't drink or declining that mojito that I missed experiencing without too much of a longing face. It's just easier to simplify the situation for others, less questions and more "normal" interactions.

The real balancing act is within myself. Do I really feel comfortable with myself as a sober person? Am I taking real emotionally responsibility every day of my life? Am I doing the things I need to do to create the most healthy environment to bring out the best things about me and my recovery? These are daily questions.

In all honesty, I would sometimes rather pretend that the world doesn't care that I drink or not drink as this is likely the case. We project that people want us to act the way we did when we were not sober. I personally think I was entirely more fun and free spirited when I drank, but I don't value that as much as I value the fact that I am so much more me now. That I am able to be coherent and responsible and loving towards myself. Because, that was not the cause back when. It's about changing our perceptions about ourselves and what we value in our core being. I used to value the fun. I used to value what people thought about me to such a degree that I let my personality be dictated by it.

Today, I value fun as well. There is no doubt that I am still a blast to hang out with. I just don't get belligerent or throw up. I don't take unnecessary risks beyond what I know I can be responsible for the consequences. If I put being sober and being drunk on a balance, I would find that drinking was so much heavier in my life, and not in a positive way. It's just a matter of what the balance is measuring that we need to keep defining. It's our choice and responsibility to change the thinking behind ourselves. And, once we can do that, what we choose to balance becomes evident.

Glamour Magazine article, 2004

2008-08-11T14:56:00.004-04:00

Many requests to post the article that ran in Glamour. Please e-mail me if you would like to view a copy.

Picking up the pieces

2008-08-05T11:26:00.006-04:00

Over the course of my adult life, I have found that I am a sweeper of sorts. Frequently, I find that I am left to pick up pieces of many situations of my life. Many of these pieces that I pick up are either broken due to myself or the relationships I have with others. And for many many years, I've waited for someone else to come in and sweep up what's been broken.

Today, I know that no one carries the broom but me. It hit me the other day as I have finally started the book that needs to be written. I've been waiting for others to take responsibility for my feelings. In reality, the only person who can gain closure to any situation that has had an emotional impact is ourselves. We have to own it in order to let it go. Can I go back and ask my deceased father why he left me at such a young age? No. Can I keep wondering why such and such a relationship didn't work out? Not worth it.

All of the emotional pieces; anger, frustration, hurt, abandonment, joy, love. Those are mine to pick up and put back together the way that is the most healthy and constructive to my life.

And, I am ready to do this. I am absolutely resolved to not sweep my past under the rug. I am choosing those emotions I want to put into the larger puzzle of my life and discarding the ones that cause me the most grief.

Perfect Timing

2008-07-23T13:24:00.002-04:00

It's very easy to want to drink when things are going wrong; during stressful times, one may say "I need a drink", during times of sadness it's easy to want to self medicate ourselves to death.

What I have experienced in the last two weeks is very different. Life is not out of control. Things are fairly manageable on all fronts. I'm not in self destruct mode. And a funny thing has happened. I keep questioning the fact that things are so normal that I could likely manage any kind of moderation when it comes to alcohol.

And, as soon as I think this, I slap myself in the head and think, "It would take two weeks to go back to the way things were before the almost seven years you have been sober". And that reality is one of the only things, albeit a strong dose of reality, that keeps me sober during these occurrences.

We work very hard in the beginning of sobriety. We've changed so dramatically that it's very easy to see the elements that did not work and that now work in our lives. It's likely, in early sobriety, that we've drastically changed behavior. I mean, getting sober is drastic in itself. It's when that "pink cloud" begins to dissipate that we become the most vulnerable to tumbling back into old habits.

And, in my six and a half years of sobriety, that "pink cloud" appears and disappears all the time. It's normal. It's part of the process. We get to a point where we are in a good place in life, in our recovery. We think, "Why not?". I can tell you in my experience that you need to dredge up ALL of the reasons why you got sober in the first place and cut out the romantic notions of alcohol.

The other day on the train, I really was thinking that I could likely handle it again. And then I decided to make a list of all of things that didn't work in my life because I was drinking. All of them would still apply if I were to drink tomorrow. I truly believe, when hearing someone tell me once about the two week rule, that it wouldn't take long to travel back down a path I am not destine to be on. I am not normal when it comes to alcohol. I am recovering for a reason. I am sober because my emotional health and overall well being depends on it.

So, after I slapped myself upon the head for thinking such thoughts, I realized that it's a good thing that I feel like life is normalized a bit. And I also realize that it would be detrimental, at any point, to give up all of the work and commitments I have made to myself. It's just not worth it at any point in recovery to go back to a place that caused so much angst.

Today, I appreciate my sobriety. I just hope that pink cloud sticks around for a brief moment, it's refreshing to understand how important and sustaining being sober can be.

The Last Glass.

2008-07-21T08:56:00.002-04:00

Again, I am getting a lot of requests to post this again, I wrote this story years ago.....

I started with twenty-four. Twenty-four Waterford wine glasses. It was weeks before my wedding to the man I so arduously loved. Some were gifts from my family. Many were gifts from our friends. The blue boxes with white ribbon poured in like the wine collection I so astutely built. I took each one out of the box, unwrapping their delicate tissue. The chardonnay glasses with their spindled stems- as if ready to be caressed by the sophisticated hand. Waiting for the candlelight to pour through, reflecting romantic evenings. The cabernet glasses with their wide mouths waiting for a supple reward. I could tilt the glass back to meet the succulence in my lips. Finally, my most cherished eight..the Bordeaux glasses. They were the generals in my army. The glasses were heavier in weight yet far more elegant than the rest. I sat waiting for the right vintage to begin my revolution.

I whimpered when I broke the first six. Three months after my nuptials to the man I thought I loved. The expensive vintage collection began to dwindle. In its place came the bottles that I found at a local winery. Not a bottle from Georges Duboeuf, but some fine wine. A large soiree, friends mingling around the fire. Forbidden fruit poured endlessly by the gracious host, who was subsequently in the Garden of Eden herself. Words began to unfold and emotions began to erupt. First went the chardonnays. Thrown with such vigilance. Aimed right at my beloveds head. There went two hundred dollars towards the refrigerator door. Tearfully, I swept up the shards of glass. But, alas there were eighteen more. I still had the reds. In my battle, I had lost a troupe but still had soldiers.

I cried when I broke the next four. In the early light of spring, I reached for a glass. My coordination stifled by my constant imbibing. I poured a bottle of inexpensive cabernet into my tall glass. I no longer took trips to the winery anymore. I had been there far too often; my face was beginning to be recognized by the patrons. I searched for replacements and conjured up my imaginary wineries in Southern France. I could pretend. I could pretend that my wine rack was not empty. I could pretend that I was not alone. I was drinking away the grief that his silence caused. The grace of the Waterford could not still my shaking hands. I dropped them. Four of my best friends dropped in one evening. With such ferocity, I tried to save them. I had my own personal drunken funeral for my glasses. Tossed into the trash compactor.

I sobbed when he took the next eight. Fall had come. He left with the decanter. The wonderful Waterford decanter. With it etchings so meticulously set in the glass. He lovingly wrapped up the reds and left me with six. He continued the romance, the love affair with elegance and sonnets. Only, my glasses were now empty on the shelf. No life seeped into them. No reflection from candles would burn again. Dust began to choke my thirst. And the flames had been extinguished. Candlelight would no longer pour through the same glass. The wine bottles taken to a new place. To begin a new life. Without me. I panicked when I broke the next five. One more left. I no longer looked at the glasses with a fervent eye. I used them for anything that could numb the pain. Vineyards had stopped producing the fruit of my garden. In its place found the weeds of alcohols existence. I could only bring myself to lift the glass if it contained venom. I had begun to despise the glasses for the life that used to be contained in them. Glamour had ceased to exist. The clanging of glasses was not in toast but in concerted effort to forget celebration. If the glass was not full, I panicked. Pouring into the loneliest, endless black hole. But not even the last of the glasses could sustain the ache. I threw them in angst. Threw them into the floor as if I could demolish my past. As if I could break this state of destruction. Angry rants begot sophisticated conversation. The stems became daggers into my own heart. One final glass remained.

I rejoiced when the last one broke. It stood on the shelf. An icon to my former life. I worshipped the last glass as if it was on a pedestal. Like a far removed screen star. I looked lovingly at the shining reflection every evening. Yet, I hadnt touched it in months. Hadnt caressed its sleek, smooth body. A friend from my old life came. She let it go. It slipped out of her hand. I watched it. I saw its demise. Falling, falling, it shattered into tiny pieces. The stem no longer recognizable. The body marred. Suddenly in one moment, the pieces were gone in the trash. I had scraped them up and thrown them into the past.

I looked up. My heart lifted. The war was over. The Waterford was gone. The whites, the reds gone from my life. The wine defeated. Swept up into a pile and discarded into the past. I smiled. My glass was empty. My life was full.

copyright, kjpartstudio 2008

Change.

2008-07-14T09:19:00.003-04:00

In all the years I have been sober, change has been constant throughout my recovery process. Some of the changes I have made have been apparent; I stopped drinking, I weeded out the toxicity in my life. Other changes have crept up on me.

Over the last few weeks, I have come to terms with a lot of my past. I expect the catalyst has been that I've just grown tired of focusing so much energy on what I have carried around with me most of my life. It hasn't done anything for emotional growth except hinder my ability to see where the future is going. And frankly, I'm just done with the elements in my life that don't work.

Because of this, I am changing quite profoundly. It's not that life is easier...because it's not. It's not that there is this sudden "Aha" moment. I have just been moving myself into the emotional and physical space I want to be in. I see it. I feel it. And it all stems from the fact that there are so many more important things in life than stale memories.

My motto in the last two weeks, one that I derived with a friend on vacation last week: "If you don't see it in your future, it shouldn't be in your present".

And I never knew how true that really has become.

Happy Monday.

Emotional Responsibility

2008-07-08T11:13:00.000-04:00

Responsibility seems to be the buzzword in life lately. Yes, being responsible entails going to work, taking care of ourselves, paying bills on time, making sure the dog is fed.I find that making sure that the bills are paid is getting easier. Feeding the dog is necessary. Getting up and going to work is a given (though I am still always prone to think about picking up the phone when it's a beautiful day out and calling in sick, something that I don't even do anymore). But, when it comes to emotional responsibility, that requires more attention.

Emotional responsibility is one of those gray areas. We are accountable for our actions. We are responsible to ourselves and in turn, we are able to give ourselves more freely to others. When we are wrong, we should admit it, without excuses or blame. Many times we take responsibility for other people's actions so that we do not have to focus on our own. I know that I have taken on many circumstances in my life that did not belong to me. I did not have the ability to create necessary healthy boundaries to enable relationships to grow. I simply took on someone else or someones issues and made them my own. This, along with undue stress, caused me to expend far too much energy in places I had no business.

Two days ago I realized that I am becoming more emotionally responsible each day. I let go of anger and rationalize. I think more before I react. I try to speak from reason and not from the seat of my pants. And in turn, I feel as if I have taken small steps forward in my own process. I own up to my emotions and try to be completely honest. Something that was always inconsistent.It's a difficult process, however.

Personally speaking, I had spent years shunning responsibility on a whole for the easy road. I skated through life blaming and speaking about change without ever really changing. I stopped drinking, yes, but the issues and emotions that came with that eventually overwhelmed me to the point of several confrontations and conflicts within myself.I have accepted the fact that I may be emotionally challenged at times, but I am far from irresponsible. I understand what I am able to control what I am solely responsible for. And, I make mistakes. I falter occasionally. We all do.

I look at my emotional life in terms of a bank account these days (and why wouldn't I? I didn't have a bank account for almost four years because of my prior actions and now I have those silly checks with cartoons again). I have gotten out of emotional debt and am now working on replenishing my "savings" account. While I still worry about bouncing "emotional" checks, I've allowed myself some overdraft protection. I save, I spend, but I keep it as balanced as possible. I am allowed to ask for help when balancing my emotional checkbook.

And to me, that again solidifies my need to be honest with myself. It's easier than blame. It allows me to contain my own life and do what's best for me, and in turn, continue to do what's best for those I love.

Adversity

2008-06-24T09:04:00.003-04:00

Throughout life, I find that the most adverse situations sparks the most intense creativity. I don't mean that when something is upsetting, wielding a paintbrush and canvas will solve the issue at hand. Nor do I find that creativity has to be purely artistic in nature during tumultuous periods.

It's as if, when facing emotional distress, one can take that overwhelming feeling and begin to look at it from another perspective. For example, one time I was unable to be persent in certain relationships in my life for one reason or another. I was heartbroken, hurt and devastated by the notion that I was absent and unable to watch the relationship grow. I decided that I would create a journal and write an entry every single day until I was able to repair the relationship. Nothing emotionally earth shattering, just simple thoughts so that they knew I was thinking and caring every day. And while the relationship repaired itself, I've kept the journal for a day long in the future should the questions ever arise of that very sad time.

There are times when I feel so much sorrow and pain that picking up a paintbrush or actually acknowledging those feelings is the last thing I want to do. It's so easy to remain ambivalent about it and let negativity bottle up inside. I have to fight myself kicking and screaming to actually deal with the issues at hand. When I feel my worst, I drag out something that will let me release a bit of emotional pressure; A pencil, pen or even a crossword that will engage a different thought process.

It helps. It lightens the load for a brief moment. And at times, it lends itself to some seriously amazing self realization.

Acceptance

2008-06-18T10:25:00.003-04:00

I've written many times over the years about the overwhelming need in our society to accept those people in recovery.

Today, I have been thinking on a much smaller scale. In recent months, I have found myself facing many personal challenges that have little to do with recovery itself. These challenges have been across the gamut of emotions; from losing relationships to dealing with everyday occurrences in the workplace. I've had people tell me I should change who I am, that I should live my life differently. I shouldn't be so blunt, I should be humble, etc etc. And, while I take all of this to heart on so many levels, it's just about irked me to the point that I feel like locking the gate to my house and just existing as a hermit.

On second thought, that will never happen.

Throughout just about my entire adult life, I have always asked to be accepted for who I am as the unique individual that I believe exists. This is not to say that there are behaviors that need modification. Should I pick up the phone more often? Yes. Should I live within my means? Probably. When I argue, is it advantageous to me in any way to have a hissy fit? Not at all. To me, a lot of the frustration I feel in my life is not being accepted as myself. And this frustration leads me to behave in a negative way. I accept me. I know that I will spend the rest of my life in recovery. I know that being over emotional isn't always appropriate. However, I also know that I love people and life with a uniqueness that is not questioned in my mind. I've forgiven myself for my past and I look forward to what will come in the future.

It has always been my hope that one day, I am able to separate those people who will appreciate the idiosyncrasies from those who condemn them. That I will give little thought to those people who see my sobriety, my life and my quirks as something less than stellar. Because, I know who I am. I know how much passion I have for my life. And convincing those people who question my core integrity doesn't really matter as much as they did. I truly believe, if I keep tweaking elements in my life, that who I am will shine through.

Perfectly Flawed.

2008-06-10T10:48:00.004-04:00

PERFECT

Part of Speech:
adjective
Definition:
Supremely excellent in quality or nature.
Synonyms:
absolute, consummate, faultless, flawless, impeccable, indefectible, unflawed

This morning, I decided to look up the many synonyms for the word perfect in hopes that I may find one that would accurately describe any part of my life. I know, needle in a haystack. I kept thinking: "What is perfection? What is the perfect situation, the perfect life, the perfect moment?" I was hopelessly curious how I measured up. Perhaps trying to counter all the reasons why I am not perfect that I have been furiously writing in my journal of late. Or maybe I have been looking to sell the idea that perfection, in any situation, rarely exists.

If you look at the aforementioned synonyms; words like absolute, impeccable, indefectible come across as so very definitive. I will never be completely impeccable in my life, I never fail to have a small stain or two pop out right before a client meeting. Absolute? The word itself reminds me too much of the drink. Faultless? Egads. Flawless? Only on a good hair day with no client meeting.

But it's more than that. I think there are times when we expect that life is supposed to be perfect, in a sense. We look for things to fit a certain mold. We expect that life will one day be flaw free. And in this thinking, our expectations become unreasonable and ultimately led to having to deal with reality.

When I was young, I expected my life to be perfect. The reality of my life, even as I was conjuring up these fantasies, was that it was far from perfect. It was sad and dark for many many years. And my frustration and conflict would grow to unprecedented levels because no matter how I felt or what I did, life just would not conform.

Today, I walk around thinking that I am perfectly flawed. I am striving to accept life for it's IMPERFECTIONS because those are the most beautiful aspects.

When I imagine myself, I see flaws. I also see where I want to be, flaws included. I make mistakes like crazy-I scream and yell when I am upset at times because I am truly an emotionally intense woman. I'm okay with this as long as I really try to contain myself for five minutes before to think it out. I don't always say or do the right things. This too, I am okay with.

Perfection, to me, does not allow for growth. And life is all about evolving, growing and realizing that our flaws are part of the whole life package.

When life hurts.

2008-06-09T13:56:00.006-04:00

Over the last five days, I have felt a tremendous amount of stress. The car broke down to the tune of $5,000. Dating is ridiculous. People bother me. Others lie. I felt hurt. It's hot and miserable. The economy is getting worse. I'm feeling angst on just about every level, in every way.

All of these things seem to snowball and create MORE stress because I let it. It's hard to rationalize all of the emotions and particulars when you just feel like you've been beaten down by just about everything and everyone.

AND, all of these stress events typically make me dig really deep into the hole that I find remarkably safe and dark. I will ignore everyone until I can get it straight. I do not return phone calls. I just exist in my own little world feeling absolutely pathetic. Today, I've never wanted to get out of this hole more in my life. I'm tired of letting my emotions get the better of me. The self deprecation. The serious self loathing that I feel because of things I cannot control. The whole process is truly daunting.

The funny thing is that during some of this stress, I overlooked one of the greatest days I've had in a long time. I was so inside myself, I barely saw the nature that surrounds me. I could only muster simple conversation with someone I care about. I just felt numb.

So, my thought today is that there comes a time to get out of the hole, even when things are at their worst. We are alive. We sometimes have to OVERLOOK the small stuff and realize that life is so much bigger and better. I have this picture below, to remind me that I had a wonderful time yesterday. That all the stress will work itself out.

And today, I am trying so hard to do so.

Addiction in Public

2008-06-04T09:47:00.002-04:00

After being on vacation and removing myself almost completely from any mainstream media, I picked up our daily NY newspaper yesterday to read the cover story of Tatum O Neal and her recent alleged drug buying woes.

With all the media outlets today, it's easy to be judgemental toward people who are very public and suffering the same addiction problems that afflict millions of people in the privacy of their own homes. One reads about young and old celebrities who are out of control and publicly battling their own demons. And we, as readers, are privy to journalistic slants and bias towards these over exposed figures. The media and our entertainment centric culture seem to blow out these addictions. For example, the article I read regarding Tatum cites her unstable upbringing and faulty marriage. It goes on to write about how she lied to the police about playing a movie part. Drama. Drama Drama. All I know is that when I read this article, I saw a person who made a wrong choice during the on-going daily (and sometimes hourly) battle to stay sober. Chances are, any person who suffers sustained addiction problems has lived in remarkable dysfunction on many levels. To be sober and clean is the most personal struggle there is.

And that is what, if there a need to cover these people in the news, should be the focal point of the article. Yes, she is a public figure. Yes, there are consequences to being famous in an all consuming media society. But, there is a real need for someone to stop and say, "here is a person who battles EVERY day and right now she's losing", how do we address this in the most altruistic and constructive way possible for the millions of readers who suffer the SAME problems privately? Couldn't one outlet write something supportive? To any of these people, famous or not?

Again, I read the antics of the young celebrities and cringe. It's easy to fault them when the information is in front of you. But, those antics often lead to worse issues that eventually manifest themselves into real addiction problems. And people vicariously live through their failures reassuring themselves that they are okay. When one goes to rehab, the articles and news focus on what they ate and how horrible it is that they are there. In reality, famous or not, this is a never ending battle. What we go through and how we deal with our demons is so very subjective. And no one knows what happens behind closed doors, famous or not.

The next time you read one of these crazy stories about a public figure, think about what they may be going through. Think about what all the people you DON'T read about must go through. Anonymity is a luxury these days and the more addiction is publicly accepted and understood, the easier it may be for one person, famous or non-famous, to get help.

Perception

2008-06-02T10:35:00.003-04:00

No matter what you do or how hard you work on your life, people will always have perceptions of you that may or may not be true. I found this out this weekend when a friend of mine voiced his opinion on my life. The problem with this was that the facts leading to this opinion were not accurate. I found myself remarkably defensive in the situation and I walked away feeling angry and frustrated.

Then the thought process:

While it matters what people think to a degree, the way one lives their life can only be accurately judged by the person in it. And our responsibility is to live life in the most honest and real way we know how.

And as much as this opinion hurt, and it hurt, I have spent the last twelve hours trying to figure out how to move on from it and realized that this person isn't in my life on a daily and barely a weekly basis. I found myself re-reading the Four Agreements, by Don Miguel Ruiz and realizing that the only thing I can do is hope that one day his opinion changes to match the way my life is actually led:

1. Be Impeccable with your Word
Speak with integrity. Say only what you mean. Avoid using the Word to speak against yourself or to gossip about others. Use the power of your Word in the direction of truth and love.

2. Don't Take Anything Personally
Nothing others do is because of you. What others say and do is a projection of their own reality, their own dream. When you are immune to the opinions and actions of others, you won't be the victim of needless suffering.

3. Don't Make Assumptions
Find the courage to ask questions and to express what you really want. Communicate with others as clearly as you can to avoid misunderstandings, sadness and drama. With just this one agreement, you can completely transform your life.

4. Always Do Your Best
Your best is going to change from moment to moment; it will be different when you are healthy as opposed to sick. Under any circumstance, simply do your best, and you will avoid self-judgment, self-abuse, and regret.

Self Medication.

2008-05-19T20:05:00.003-04:00

There are times in my life where I do not question my decision to be sober. I would say this is about 99% of the time, to be honest. The beauty and decisiveness in my life has become apparent due to the decisions I have made. Overall, I am absolutely in agreement with my heart and intellect.

The 1% of the time, however, can bowl me over like an emotional steamroller. One that generally comes without any kind of warning. I may be sitting at work and suddenly I am besieged by feelings of regret for the decisions I have made, including being sober. There are times the feeling of utter despair accompanies my questions about being sober. Why did I do this? Why did I commit not knowing how much emotional work this was going to be?

I have to take a breathe and take a moment to get over myself. I say to myself that it’s the irresponsibility that comes back to haunt me not so much the actual decision to be in recovery. I truly believe that being an alcoholic is more the result of needing desperately to self medicate, to escape or try to diminish feelings and actions that have proved too painful to deal with.

For me, I have been self medicating almost my entire life. Before alcohol, I made up scenarios and stories to escape the pain I felt. I ran away emotionally.I could pacify myself doing some deeds of self deprecation at a young age. My dreams consisted of more funerals than I will actually have because funerals for myself meant that someone was actually paying attention to me. And these dreams always entailed those people, from a very young age, who had ever abandoned me. I know what I have done to self medicate, but I struggle endlessly with the why and what caused me to do this. And I know this is universal on some level. There are people who feel that the why’s aren’t important. That it is the present that matters. I believe this as well on some level, but the overwhelming need to understand how I got to a place of such desperate measures comes from years of being overly inquisitive and largely ignored. In my own life, I find it’s understanding the past that allows the present and ultimately the future to be shaped.

The entire science of Neurology and addiction, coupled with behavioral psychology on some level fascinate me. Have the feelings and consistent acts of self deprecation come from somewhere environmental? Was it ingrained as early as birth? These intangible answers that I seek cause such conflict between my emotional and rational minds, that it causes regular distress and curiosity mixed together.

For example, as a very young child, I experienced a great deal of domestic instability. As a result of this, I believe I wanted to belong to everyone and anyone who would pay attention to me. I was desperate for a life other than mine because I felt so shattered. I distinctly remember having these feelings at age 5. I was heartbroken that my family was splitting up, as any young child would be. The reality of the situation was that my family could not stay together to salvage any means of normalcy. Damage had been done. And the split divided us considerably.

As a young girl, I clung to people. I acted out in every fashion I knew how. I was just simply emotionally devestated on so many levels. Today, my question here is whether this was a reaction to my environment; abandonment, despair, parents arguing constantly leading to divorce when the definition hadn’t been flushed out yet. Anger. Rage. Pain. Or was it simply my reaction to traumatic events given my propensity for emotionality. It’s these scenarios that I question on a daily basis. And then I question whether I just do not have the ability to see the situation with any objection. That, in my own ability to blame myself, I have missed the real meat of what transpired.

On top of this, add in some head trauma (concussions galore due to little parental guidance at most stages of childhood and a father inflicted car accident), it brings in the neurologic aspect. Did I suffer some kind of frontal lobe damage that caused me to lost the ability to reasonably categorize my emotions? Again, constant state of questions.

A few years later, in the prime of my emotional development, my father died tragically when I was twelve. I had divorce under my belt, but the death of my father was not something I expected...secretly hoped at times in my childhood as any child may imagine when someone causes them any kind of pain, but when I was told of his death, the reality was hard and cold. This was a major catalyst to my drinking career. In my underdeveloped ability to reason, I had been permanently abandoned by the man I adored and hated all at the same time.

Sadly, I still struggle with this on many levels. Being sober has increased the emotional accountability factor, thus making it harder to deny that I am not completely over the death of my father twenty two years ago.

Even now, I sit here and it rattles me. The pain is sometimes like an streak of electricity that runs deep within my core. I am strangely drawn to intensity I feel but instantly repulsed at the devastation that is still very present with my heart. So much so, the prime motivation for my self medication was because I simply did not know how to deal with the inability to control the events in my life. But, I was able to control my out of control behavior (it makes sense). I lived in denial on a daily basis. This became my safe haven from needing to allow myself to grieve immensely.

And today, when I have question regarding where I am in my sober life, the issue always seems to come down to the fact that I am still learning to cope and release myself from the heart wreching guilt I feel for being alive while my father is dead.

Right now, I am on an airplane. I am writing this and looking at a picture of my father while I type. And, as I keep reading the words I have written over, I feel a sense of accomplishment with the slightest twinge of degradation. My self medicating looks more like an antibiotic regimen than a heroin habit. I question, yes, but it is because I can at this point. If you seek answers and you don't ask, even if it's a question to yourself, you'll never find the truth you are searching for.

I sit here at 31,00 ft and I am figuratively the closest to my father than I will ever be, given his propensity for flying and jumping out of planes. True, I miss flying around the sky with him (again, on so many different levels) but today, I'm really glad to be landing on the ground. Passed on the free cocktails, ate the snacks and realize that this whole sobriety thing, after six and a half years and counting, may actually work.

And may actually work really well.

Thank you.

2008-05-15T09:00:00.002-04:00

Thank you for all the e-mails, comments and support for the Stigma of Being Sober article and subsequent radio interview.

Here's the link to the interview:

http://www.poughkeepsiejournal.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/20080509/BLOG/80509034

The Smell of Alcohol

2008-05-07T09:49:00.002-04:00

Last night, one of my oldest and dearest friends came to visit from the UK. Right now, he's going through a tough divorce, is in his third year of medical school and came back to the states for a reprieve from his hectic life. Regardless, he was drunk the entire twelve hours we spent together.

What amazed me the most, seeing that I am rarely around people who consume any more than a drink or two, was this retched smell of alcohol/stress/smoke that emanated from him. It broke my heart. Here is a friend that I've had since early high school. A very smart, articulate and seemingly together person who would carry me home in my own stupor in our young adulthood. But, the smell of his entire struggle was so powerful, so familiar from a time ago, I could not believe the power it had over my emotions.

Last night, it was role reversal. I was looking at myself a long time ago. I saw this person desperate and out of control. This morning, I witnessed the shakes once again. To see someone you were so close to, for so long, in the most downward spiral is almost as debilitating as going through it.

And for the first time, in many years, I am at a loss. A loss because I know that people who are going through this have to make the decision to get help. He will have to be the one to decide to change the variables that are causing him such destructive pain. I can only be there, letting him know I care and providing space for him to heal. And it is worse than going through it yourself, in a sense, because you know where it leads and how very hard the journey is to get back to yourself.

So, this morning, I gave him a long squeeze, smell and all. He's a big part of my life, past and present. Letting go felt like I was sending off my former self but I have faith that he'll do the right thing. And today, I am keeping him close in my heart and in my thoughts.

Solitude

2008-05-05T11:36:00.002-04:00

Over the few months, I have enjoyed a great deal of solitude in my daily life. This is never something that I have been comfortable with as being alone for any length of time causes anxiety within me. As I sit on the train during my long commute home, I feel trapped within the confines of my own thoughts...not good for someone who dissects every aspect of their existence.

Being in recovery has taught me that being alone is not an emotional jail sentence. I have gotten to know myself pretty well over the last few years and spending time alone is a lot more content without the drama going on inside my head. And spending time with oneself is essential, particularly in recovery. It means making time to nurture and love yourself. This weekend, I painted. I planted tomatoes. I cooked breakfast for myself and read the paper. I wrote a long entry in my journal. And while I had a bit of socializing, I was mainly solo for the entire weekend. And it was blissful.

These are all little things we tend to forget about in the craziness of daily life. Take time for yourself. Five minutes or five hours, it's making a concerted effort to do one thing that involves only you. And it works wonders.

The Stigma of Being Sober.

2008-05-02T10:56:00.006-04:00

The following are actual snippets over the last six years from people reacting to the fact that I don't drink:

"Are you boring?"

"When are you due?" (I'm not)

"I can't BELIEVE you don't drink, what's wrong with you?"

"I'm sorry"

"So, when do you think you'll drink again?"

"That sucks....." (said person ignoring me for the rest of the evening)

"Come on, you don't have a problem"

"Wow, you must hate your life"

In the last six and a half years, because of my decision to be sober...and publicly sober, I have had the interesting experience of mentally collecting people's reactions to my recovery. And in doing so, I have become too aware of how people react when I tell them I don't drink.

When I first became sober, I was twenty seven. In the world today, particularly in our society, there are not many twenty seven year old women who can manage sobriety and being social without feeling the wrath of discrimination. Even twenty something starlets have a difficult time in the celebrity obsessed media realm handling their own recovery. At that age, it was difficult. I was newly single after my divorce. I wanted to maintain my social life, but being sober was my first priority. To do this successfully, I cut out many of the old haunts and the majority of my toxic friends. Even still, I found there to be a great stigma suddenly attached to who I was.

People wanted to know what made me like this. What possibly could have happened to me to cause such a drastic change in my life. Had I gotten a disease? There were times I flat out lied....."I'm training for something" or "I am taking a break". It was as if there needed to be a horrible, melodramatic explanation to cause me to cease a life of total irresponsibility.

There were some people, and still are, that would look at me sideways. I have gotten high fives to looks of disgust. I have had to answer questions, tell my life story, dodge out of places and look to other people for conversation. "Oh, you must have had a difficult childhood" or "You graduated from college and are an alcoholic?" I cannot tell you some of the crazy questions and perceptions that I have gathered over the years. It blows my mind.

Six years later, aside from battling the fact that every day of my life I would like to drink, I battle my own insecurities about being sober with the perception that others have of my choice. It's no longer as easy as early sobriety because I am fully integrated back into my life. I work in the advertising industry, with all its bells and whistles. I travel to hotels with mini-bars (I call and have it restocked with Diet Coke). I allow myself to go out where alcohol is served. I date men that drink normally. These are all choices that I have made to allow myself the freedom of living responsibly in the life that I want.

And with this, I live with discrimination every day. There are still parties that I am not invited to for fear that I may relapse (I don't plan on it, but telling that to some bigwig throwing a high end party doesn't work). I find that it has become my task to ensure that other people are comfortable with my decision at times.

In all of this turmoil, however, there is a drive that being sober has instilled within my core being. I am public about being sober and this works for me. I am convinced that I can change the perceptions of the people I meet. And I am determined to exist in this very hyped drinking world and remain a pillar in my own recovery beliefs.

It's not a stigma. If something doesn't work in life, one generally tries to fix it. Same with being an alcoholic. I was a broken, shattered twenty seven year old woman that would have either lost all my marbles or died if I didn't change the variables. So, I became the proverbial tool girl and gave myself the resources and strength I needed to stop.

While I live with all the conversations, perceptions and stigmas, I knowthat I am the only one who is responsible for my happiness. And to be happy, I cannot drink. I believe that being sober is a great existence. The self awareness and love for my life overcome most of the difficulties associated with being sober. The people I've met on my recovery journey are some of the most creative, articulate, passionate and successful people in the world.

And the resources and publicity that surround recovery, if it keeps gaining more respect to be sober, will overcome the negativity that people associate with the choice to be sober. At some point, I am hopeful and optimistic, being sober will be viewed by those people who still drink, as simply a good, healthy choice.

If not, I will personally continue to crusade the fact that recovery is amazing and very very cool. And I will continue to listen to the ridiculous reactions from people in hopes of compiling one of the funniest anecdotal books ever. And when I make my first million off of it, I will laugh.

Radio Appearance

2008-04-30T11:27:00.002-04:00

I will be on the radio May 9th @ 7:35am. The link to the site is http://www.mix97fm.com/PAGES/morningmix.htm. Bob Miller is a great morning host!

Enough is enough.

2008-04-22T12:53:00.003-04:00

One of the many things that I found dysfunctional in my life as an active alcoholic was the serious inability I had to decipher when it was simply time to let go of a negative situation.

In the past, I clung with all my might to maintain and keep close those elements in my life that weren't working. My marriage? I knew it was over so long before and did nothing but live in misery. My toxic friends and relationships? Held them around for as long as possible. It's as if I needed the self-deprecation and pain in my life. It's familiar. And it's a comfort zone that I very rarely traveled from.

When I became sober, it was very obvious to see which of these relationships and situations I needed to shed. I was beginning recovery and everything had that "new car" smell to it. I changed my life with one drastic measure, so dumping all the toxicity was easy at the time. I was on a serious mission to rid my life of all the negativity.

Years later, the "pink cloud" that is analogous to the "new car" smell has dissipated significantly. The benchmarks of what I accomplish are no longer measured in leaps and bounds. And I have found it very easy for old emotional habits to come creeping back into life when least expected.

However, while old habits do creep through, I have learned to move out of that dismal comfort zone in which I have lived so much of my life. If a relationship is no longer healthy, I will eventually let it go. If I feel self destruction coming around the bend, I do my best to counter it with something that is constructive.

This weekend, it happened. I stood ground for what could evolve into unhealthiness. I made a decision and will stick by it, for the good of myself and necessity of successful recovery. And in the process, the feelings of sadness carry only the weight of loss. There is no weight of maintaining the dysfunction, no weight to carry knowing that I could not control my own situation and ultimate goal of happiness.

And to recognize this has allowed a variation of that early "pink cloud" I once felt. And it's good to know that being sober has given me the tools to process, grieve and let it go.

A new painting.

2008-04-19T21:59:00.008-04:00

It's been two years since I have painted anything more than a small watercolor.

Today, I finally got my paintbrush out and just let emotion flow through the brush. These are the times I thank being sober.

When is it drama?

2008-04-16T10:43:00.007-04:00

Last night I was sitting in an airport waiting to fly home from an exhausting business trip. I had traveled on four planes in less than twenty four hours. I had been to nine meetings, two time zones, dinner, work and more work. I was spent.

As I sat waiting for the inevitable delay on my last leg of the journey, I became extremely emotional. Tears were flowing and I started conjuring up self deprecating thoughts...making myself feel even more exhausted.

Then I thought, why do I do this? What is causing me to sit in this airport drudging up things past? Did it matter that when I was twelve, I sat on a plane traveling alone, crying for hours because I was flying away from my best friend? Did it really need to affect me over twenty years later?

I was, emotionally, all over the place. From getting ready to rage on the person listening to their ipod next to me, to feeling wistful for some time in my childhood.

So, I decided to be rational and think about why I was creating even more drama for myself. I mean, I had just had enough with all the business and travel I was doing. Why would I want to subject myself to any further frustration?

Years ago, I would have thrived on this. I would have gone into full "feel sorry for myself" mode and began the arduous process of serious self deprecation. A place I was brink of going last evening. For some reason, I just didn't feeling like allowing myself to go there. It seemed tortuous. In some moment of sheer revelation, I decided to stop and think for a moment instead of running full steam into my internal diatribe.

First, I took inventory of all the physiological; I was tired. Hungry. Aching from seats too small and multiple flight segments. These alone are cause to feel oversensitive.

Second, I looked at my emotions and how they related to the above. I was angry because I was tired. I was frustrated because I was hungry. I was conjuring up the past because all my senses were overwhelmed.

Finally, I decided to figure out which things I could control. The flight delay? No way. The hunger...hello? I needed to find food. The exhaustion and frustration? I needed to do something calm. So, I bought a cooking magazine and turned OFF my blackberry. Easily controlled.

As for the conjuring up the past? It happens. It's not that dramatic if you are able to handle the other variables that cause you grief or frustration. I was able to understand that crying about a childhood friend twenty years later does not mean that I haven't made strides in my life or that I am back to square one. In reality, triggers happen all the time. I also made that trip two weeks after my father had passed away. I had spent most of my childhood in small planes such as the one I was desperately hoping to board. So, I knew there was significance to remembering the event and I just let it go.

My takeway from this:

Be conscious of the things that can be controlled like hunger or sleep.

Realize that triggers exist, let them fire off, put them in their place and let it go.

And, give yourself a break once in a while from the self imposed drama. It's worth it.

It's nice to be home and traveling by train.

Renewal

2008-04-08T10:39:00.003-04:00

The long awaited spring is starting to finally arrive in the Hudson Valley. I commute home on the train along the Hudson river and am happy to see it's no longer dark when we pull into the station. Spring fever is running rampant. The cows on my farm are crazy, the dog, virtually everyone I know.....all the pent up energy from a very long winter in the NorthEast.

This weekend, I felt a sense of massive relief. The months of being introspective and cold are making room for the experience of warmth and free spirited-ness.

And with that, in my own recovery, I have to remind myself that being a free spirit can happen without the lures of being intoxicated (from alcohol at least).

This year, I think the intoxication of the flowers starting to bloom, the wind being warm and the joys of throwing tattered Uggs in the closet are enough.

It's a lucky time in life. I don't think I have ever remembered being this impressed with the renewal that comes with Spring. I used to dread this time as it began the season of being more social....more opportunities to feel sorry for myself that drinking was no longer an option.

Today, I'm happy that when I leave work, I can watch the sunset along one of the coolest rivers around....and still have a few precious minutes of daylight to see spring happening in all its simple glory.

the last glass.

2008-04-04T08:57:00.002-04:00

People have requested that I post this again, I wrote this story years ago.....

I started with twenty-four. Twenty-four Waterford wine glasses. It was weeks before my wedding to the man I so arduously loved. Some were gifts from my family. Many were gifts from our friends. The blue boxes with white ribbon poured in like the wine collection I so astutely built. I took each one out of the box, unwrapping their delicate tissue. The chardonnay glasses with their spindled stems- as if ready to be caressed by the sophisticated hand. Waiting for the candlelight to pour through, reflecting romantic evenings. The cabernet glasses with their wide mouths waiting for a supple reward. I could tilt the glass back to meet the succulence in my lips. Finally, my most cherished eight..the Bordeaux glasses. They were the generals in my army. The glasses were heavier in weight yet far more elegant than the rest. I sat waiting for the right vintage to begin my revolution.

I whimpered when I broke the first six. Three months after my nuptials to the man I thought I loved. The expensive vintage collection began to dwindle. In its place came the bottles that I found at a local winery. Not a bottle from Georges Duboeuf, but some fine wine. A large soiree, friends mingling around the fire. Forbidden fruit poured endlessly by the gracious host, who was subsequently in the Garden of Eden herself. Words began to unfold and emotions began to erupt. First went the chardonnays. Thrown with such vigilance. Aimed right at my beloveds head. There went two hundred dollars towards the refrigerator door. Tearfully, I swept up the shards of glass. But, alas there were eighteen more. I still had the reds. In my battle, I had lost a troupe but still had soldiers.

I cried when I broke the next four. In the early light of spring, I reached for a glass. My coordination stifled by my constant imbibing. I poured a bottle of inexpensive cabernet into my tall glass. I no longer took trips to the winery anymore. I had been there far too often; my face was beginning to be recognized by the patrons. I searched for replacements and conjured up my imaginary wineries in Southern France. I could pretend. I could pretend that my wine rack was not empty. I could pretend that I was not alone. I was drinking away the grief that his silence caused. The grace of the Waterford could not still my shaking hands. I dropped them. Four of my best friends dropped in one evening. With such ferocity, I tried to save them. I had my own personal drunken funeral for my glasses. Tossed into the trash compactor.

I sobbed when he took the next eight. Fall had come. He left with the decanter. The wonderful Waterford decanter. With it etchings so meticulously set in the glass. He lovingly wrapped up the reds and left me with six. He continued the romance, the love affair with elegance and sonnets. Only, my glasses were now empty on the shelf. No life seeped into them. No reflection from candles would burn again. Dust began to choke my thirst. And the flames had been extinguished. Candlelight would no longer pour through the same glass. The wine bottles taken to a new place. To begin a new life. Without me.

I panicked when I broke the next five. One more left. I no longer looked at the glasses with a fervent eye. I used them for anything that could numb the pain. Vineyards had stopped producing the fruit of my garden. In its place found the weeds of alcohols existence. I could only bring myself to lift the glass if it contained venom. I had begun to despise the glasses for the life that used to be contained in them. Glamour had ceased to exist. The clanging of glasses was not in toast but in concerted effort to forget celebration. If the glass was not full, I panicked. Pouring into the loneliest, endless black hole. But not even the last of the glasses could sustain the ache. I threw them in angst. Threw them into the floor as if I could demolish my past. As if I could break this state of destruction. Angry rants begot sophisticated conversation. The stems became daggers into my own heart. One final glass remained.

I rejoiced when the last one broke. It stood on the shelf. An icon to my former life. I worshipped the last glass as if it was on a pedestal. Like a far removed screen star. I looked lovingly at the shining reflection every evening. Yet, I hadnt touched it in months. Hadnt caressed its sleek, smooth body. A friend from my old life came. She let it go. It slipped out of her hand. I watched it. I saw its demise. Falling, falling, it shattered into tiny pieces. The stem no longer recognizable. The body marred. Suddenly in one moment, the pieces were gone in the trash. I had scraped them up and thrown them into the past. I looked up. My heart lifted. The war was over. The Waterford was gone. The whites, the reds gone from my life. The wine defeated. Swept up into a pile and discarded into the past. I smiled.

My glass was empty. My life was full.

copyright, kjpartstudio 2008

Artwork

2008-03-27T11:36:00.001-04:00

I'm finally getting my artwork together and have added an album on facebook:

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=100616&l=00cef&id=759620569

Life Ahead

2008-03-25T19:58:00.003-04:00

At this very moment, I am sitting here truly feeling a sense of self awareness. The emotions I feel are mixed at this point; Past failures, present life and the future that is before me.

All the pieces are there, it's a matter of allowing them to fall into place. Life is ahead, not behind.

Right now, I am ready for the things that are infinitely possible. Available. There for those who choose to move forward.

I am feeling grateful and my faith is creeping back into my heart.

Thank you.

One foot in the past.....

2008-03-06T14:18:00.002-05:00

For as long as I can remember, I have always kept one foot in the past, while trying to walk forward in my life.

Given, many of the anchors in our past are good memories, significant events and life lessons. These are things we tend to incorporate into our core being. We thrive on those memories and life events. We smile or laugh.

But, there are times when keeping the past close is more detrimental than character building. I'm guilty. When things get tough, I tend to crawl into the hole of bad memories and pain that I should have left behind years ago. It's always been a comfortable place for me. But, the side effects from this are far reaching. Dwelling, self deprecation, negativity, hindrance.

Not long after I left my ex, a few months ago, I decided that I was moving on...in more ways than one. If I wanted a healthy relationship, I had to let go. If I wanted to be happy, I had to let go. If I didn't, I felt as if I would keep repeating all the patterns in my life, regardless of the fact that I was sober.

And so, I made the decision to take my damn foot out of the past and start moving, I mean really moving, into the future.

Here I am, three months later, in a completely different life emotionally. It's strange how you can make a commitment like that and if followed, actually works! I still have to drag the foot out, particularly when life becomes stressful. But, it's worth it. It's liberating.

So, instead of anchoring life, set it free. Move on, walk on and keep moving forward is my mantra of the week.

Winter Blahs

2008-02-25T12:39:00.003-05:00

On top of on-going recovery, life, work and any other variables that contribute to ones happiness or frustration, I find that this time of year is particularly stressful.

Personally, I've been sick for the last three weeks. At times, really sick. Other times, partially sick. There is no movement, anywhere it seems. It's cold and dark. Snow keeps piling up. Heating bills pile up even quicker. And it seems that it's all just depressed, everywhere.

And there are times that I just feel like crawling in a hole until spring comes.

In reality, even the winter blahs have their advantages. I find this to be a fairly creative time in life. While everything is dormant, we are able to allow ourselves a brief moment of respite from the world. I stay in. I eat comfort food. I raid all my drawers for things to purge. I catch up on all the TV I never watch.

All of this in preparation for a warmer, lighter season. At least in the winter, there are no barbecues to worry about toting along the diet coke. At least now is a time to focus on intimate relationships instead of the roaring days of summer socializing. Walks in the snow can be invigorating. Winter does have some advantages.

And sometimes being near that darkness we feel isn't necessarily a bad thing. It reminds us that we are human. That we have conflict and doubt.

It just allows being sober, being human to seem real.

Now, if it would just get warmer, I could delete this pessimistic post.

Quote of the day.

2008-02-11T10:56:00.000-05:00

"When you love someone, all your saved-up wishes start coming out."

- Elizabeth Bowen (1899-1973)

Six Years

2008-02-08T09:47:00.000-05:00

Today, I have hit another milestone in my life. Without much fanfare, without much to do, today is the day six years ago that I changed every aspect of my life.

There is a certain amount of contentment that has begun to creep into my life. I celebrate this day by allowing myself to realize that I have and have had the capability to drastically change variables in my life to live fully and freely of the darkness I have felt.

I believe that the problems, the tragedies and the issues that have always been present in my life, truly manifested themselves into my need to drink. I don't believe that drinking was as much the problem as my need to escape the reality I was fearful of.

Simply, I could not deal with myself. The consequences of this were at times, dire and so deeply self deprecating. So, I drank. And that led to the weeded path of irresponsibility.

Today, after six years, the problems, the issues and the tragedies, still exist. My insecurities and my fears are still present in my life. But, it has been over the last years that I have finally begun allowing them their places in my life and letting go of the pain that I could previously not disassociate.

I am happy. I am content. I am so proud of the awareness that surrounds me. This has come from six years of hard, insightful work to bring out who I fully believe I am and who I continue to aspire to be.

The people in my life who have stood with me, walked with me, tripped with me that make this journey so amazing. I am no longer overwhelmed with sadness, I am truly overwhelmed by appreciation for the life I now live.

Thank you.

Awakening

2008-01-29T20:05:00.001-05:00

I have had this dormant part of my core, my soul.. that comes from a long life of self deprecation, sadness and sabotages. It's been layered with fear and insecurity. Almost so dormant, I had forgotten those emotions that touch your soul.

And in my recovery, I have become very aware of this missing piece of me. The piece of me that allows happiness and love to flow back and forth, with smalls ebbs instead of tidal waves. The part of me that loves myself first and recognizes the qualities that make me tick. Simply, the dormant part of my core is the true and honest feelings of love.

For the last few years, I have seen myself grow with tremendous leaps and bounds. Yet, I had been living in a state of maintenance, allowing myself to become numb to the true touch of love inside me and the love that comes from others. I needed to hibernate from the emotional intensity I sometimes feel.

Today, I see this awakening. It's a faint glimpse, but the dormancy is dissipating slowly before my eyes. My ability to live my life in love. My ability to leave my life of maintenance for the touch of my own soul. I am truly amazed. And I feel a glimmer of happiness. It makes me smile ever so slighty. I am learning that to love is to touch one's soul and awake everything good and brilliantly alive.

Fireside

2008-01-25T17:10:00.000-05:00

For the first time in a long time, I have made myself a fire for the evening. I am allowing myself to relax and be content, even if for one night!

And, it's Friday night. Life is good. Have a relaxing weekend.

Quote of the day.

2008-01-24T12:03:00.000-05:00

"Have patience with everything unresolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves as if they were locked rooms or books written in a very foreign language.

Live the questions now. Perhaps then, someday far in the future you will gradually , without even noticing it, live your way into the answer..."

-Ranier Maria Rilke

The Power of One.

2008-01-22T12:22:00.001-05:00

Close to six years ago, I was at this crossroad in my life. I had been begged, asked and demanded by many people around me to get sober. At the time, I didn't believe I had the strength to do it. I opted for the easy road of continuing my life of unhappiness and irresponsibility. I mulled over getting sober, but it was so much easier to make excuses as to why being sober wouldn't work for me. "My friends will ditch me" "I will be boring" "I don't want to know who I am sober" were some of the thoughts that ran through my head.

Aside from the obvious benefits of being sober, I reached very deeply within myself and made the decision to change my life. I bounded into the unknown and suddenly, I was facing a woman I knew very little about.

And over the last six years, since the beginning of my sobriety, I have had to face many similar decisions where I knew my life would completely change as a result of these decisions. And every time this comes up, I remember the one day I decided to get sober.

For the last two years, I knew I had to make another monumental change. I was scared. I was comfortable in the monotony of life. Comfortable being exactly where I was. And then, again, I reached into my heart and changed the circumstances of my life.

And here I am, still standing. Still strong. Still me. I very often take this power I have for granted. In reality, the power of our heart, the power of our will, is truly amazing. When we stand up for what we believe, what will make us the person we so want to be, we are allowing ourselves to open up to new opportunities in life.

Right now, I am so thankful I had the power in myself to move on. To be sober, be me and live exactly the life I want to.

Dreams

2008-01-15T12:49:00.000-05:00

The other night, I had one of the most vivid dreams about drinking. It was intense. I could taste the alcohol in my semi-conscious state and actually woke up thinking that I was intoxicated.

It was so very strange, considering I don't necessarily remember what it feels like to be drunk. There were people around me and I was acting very much like I did as a drinking person.

So, I have been attempting to analyze WHY I was having such a vivid recollection of a time long gone and I came up with some key points.

When we are sober and we undergo any kind of life change, such as I did this weekend, moving and ending a long relationship, there are times when our dreams serve as a kind of subconscious therapist. I feared the move, I feared the break-up and was honestly scared of being alone again. In my dream, I was with my ex and acting out desperately to try and fix our relationship. Of course, in my dream, he was having no part of this due to my behavior. In reality, it was me who made the decision to leave. But, I still feel very responsible for a lot of the demise and I think this guilt may have manifested itself into such vivid images.

When we are sober, dreaming about drinking or being intoxicated is quite common. You've made the decision to stop drinking but the fact that being sober or alcohol is on the brain 24/7 may be a contributing factor.

We're human. Most of us dream. If I drink coffee before I go to bed, I am sure to have tumultuous dream. Perhaps its something chemical in the brain.

I was really spooked when I woke up. For a brief moment, my stress culminated into my past and it scared me awake. Plus, I was in a new house...new surroundings, new bed, new smells.

I've decided to write out the dream in my journal to keep a record of when events like this happen, it intrigues me. It's one of those things we can't control but can use to have yet another perspective on being sober.

The Company Party.

2008-01-10T14:06:00.000-05:00

Last night was our holiday party (we are an ad agency that likes to do things differently and have our party AFTER the holiday) and for the first time in many, many years I decided to go.

To be honest, I was dreading it all week. I am moving, I am in the process of ending a long, drawn out relationship that has been taxing for years and I generally feel more comfortable in a pair of jeans than heels. I've been feeling overwhelmed and going to a big party at a NYC hotspot sounded less enticing than sitting in front of the television moping.

BUT, it was work. AND, I decided I needed to do something to celebrate my newly single status.

I have to say, for the first time in many years, I had a fantastic time. At first, I was in my usual sober panic mode. I grabbed my diet coke in a martini glass and finished it before it left the bar. I returned for a highball glass with more caffeine. The only ones who really noticed were the bartenders who thought I was one of those quirky people who order things just to be a pain or pregnant with a penchant for high maintenance. However, I went through all my usual machinations about being sober in a place filled with people drinking and standing out like a sore thumb.

I think people were more struck by the fact that I was actually wearing a dress and full make-up more so than they were about the fact that I was not drinking. So, I had nothing to fall back on. My panic was unfounded. I was not alone in my sobriety, I was just uncomfortable for a hour or so.

And then I found the dance floor. I danced. I started a conga line. I shook and shimmied and did my finest roger rabbit from the '80s. It was pure elation.

From there, it got better. I decided to stop focusing on my comfort level and just enjoyed myself. A strange concept for one who looks for all reasons to skip out the door. I chatted and socialized with everyone, drinking or not drinking.

Towards the end of the party, I began to see the line blurring. Suddenly, the love between everyone grew like wildfire. Inhibitions were being lost. I was hysterical. I laughed so hard, I felt vicariously drunk. But, not a sappy "You are my best friend even though I've never seen you in office" came out of my mouth. I enjoyed everyone and even their transformations were slightly amusing.

I felt so happy and so proud. I maintained a sober dignity that had been hours lost by most. I was composed enough to slip out, get a cab and watch the last of Project Runway by 10pm.

Today, I am slightly enjoying the fact that I was here at 8am with no hangover and vivid, clear memories of one of the best nights out I've had in a long time.

Quote of the day.

2008-01-07T17:02:00.001-05:00

"A break up is like a broken mirror. It is better to leave it broken than hurt yourself trying to fix it."
-Author unknown

Phew....

2008-01-02T11:02:00.000-05:00

I think every year when the holidays end, I breathe a large exasperated sigh of relief. Don't get me wrong, I was off for almost two weeks. I cooked, I cleaned, I wrapped gifts with as much zeal as one could muster when the holidays remind them of days gone by. I watched all the TV I need for the year and tried to remind myself that 2008 was quickly approaching.

I even went to the Emergency room for a busted ankle and rode the halls up and down in a wheelchair, letting everyone know that this was an accident not caused by alcohol (the looks I got were indeed strange). This lay up is the reason I was so remiss about posting.

And I was able to meet the great folks at 97.7 (thanks guys) and run them ragged with my chatter at 715am. I had a great time speaking before New Years and the interview is actually at http://www.poughkeepsiejournal.com/apps/pbcs.dll/artikkel?Dato=20071231&Kategori=VIDEO01&Lopenr=312310002&Ref=AR if you'd like to hear what was discussed.

So, as always at the beginning of the year, I set my goals for the next twelve months. This started when I decided that I had a better shot at attaining goals that I set than sticking to any resolution I may have made. This year, I have set my goals for sobriety, my health and well being and where I think I should be emotionally, physically and spiritually.

Each time I set a goal I write two actionable statements below the goal. For instance, my first goal is to be sober in 2008 (a fulfilled goal for the last six years). Two actions that will help me achieve this were: 1. Maintain blog and write book 2. Remind yourself everyday that you deserve to be sober.

I will post an article I wrote years ago on goal setting in early sobriety this evening when I am home. I have finally transferred all of my writings from an old Dell to a new Mac.

Happy New Year to everyone. Thank you for being here in 2008.

Kim

97.7 FM Interview Friday, December 28th

2007-12-27T13:08:00.001-05:00

I am being interviewed for my sobriety work tomorrow morning at 735am on Adult Contemporary station 97.7 FM in the Hudson Valley. I will be speaking about tips for New Years as well.

Click here to go to their home page and listen live tomorrow morning:

http://www.mix97fm.com/

See you then!

A gift.

2007-12-19T09:36:00.000-05:00

In the midst of trying to trying to deal with the immense end of the year crunch at work, dealing with parties I keep lugging my diet soda to, painting pictures for friends & family and the general hoopla that surrounds the holiday season, I realized that I forgot to give one gift.

It's not anything to wear or keep your head warm. It's not candy or food or some fine tea that I have given. It's not a gift card or purchase from a major department store.

This year, I have decided to wrap up an extra box and put it under my tree. Inside, a piece of paper with one word: SOBRIETY.

So often, we forget that being in recovery, being sober is a choice and it is indeed one of the greatest gifts we are able to give ourselves. There are times during the year where I am ready to throw in the towel, where frustration at being sober overrides the choice I made so many years ago.

In reality, being sober is what keeps me here. Being sober is what has shaped my life and allowed me to pursue the many aspriations I have. And being sober has given me so many other gifts; the people I meet, the e-mails, the support from so many and the knowledge that I wake up each morning again choosing to live my life in its true capacity.

Thank you all for sharing this gift with me. Thank you for allowing me to share my gift. And I truly hope that this year, you may open the same box as I.

This is what the holidays really mean to me. A box with the best present ever. Happy Holidays.

See you next week!

"The Conflict" Intellect v. Emotion

2007-12-16T15:18:00.001-05:00

Intellect is defined as many things; knowledge, the capacity to understand, reason.

How does intellect differ from emotion? Do we think about feeling? Or do we simply think and feel as separate entities. This has always been a source on such conflict for me in my relationships with others.

Which rules? Intellect or emotion?

In my own intellect, I can rationalize so many elements and they all work. We fit. We are friends. Our goals are relatively simple within confounds of our connection. And I think about the relationship in logistics and the elements are all there.

e·mo·tion

–noun

1.	an affective state of consciousness in which joy, sorrow, fear, hate, or the like, is experienced, as distinguished from cognitive and volitional states of consciousness.

2.	any of the feelings of joy, sorrow, fear, hate, love, etc.

3.	any strong agitation of the feelings actuated by experiencing love, hate, fear, etc., and usually accompanied by certain physiological changes, as increased heartbeat or respiration, and often overt manifestation, as crying or shaking.

4.	an instance of this.

5.	something that causes such a reaction: the powerful emotion of a great symphony.

In my emotion, I feel such power I run. I am unable to process emotion with an intellectual stronghold. I am able to think about the feeling, but I am unable to live within that emotion free of irrationality.

And thus the complication.

I think with such intensity. Thoughts about life run rampant through an already overzealous brain. I ponder. I analyze. Intellect is ingrained into the core of my body. But what about the feelings? Where do they play into an overactive mind? Are emotions compromised because of the intensity with which one thinks? Who wins within my heart, intellect or emotion? There is no compromise. No gray in a heart shaded in severity. Each battles and stands on firm ground with an army of reasons to win.

My relationships are a mess of all of these aforementioned proverbially posed questions. I believe that being in recovery sometimes blur the lines between the emotion and intellectual battle war waging in my head. Each interaction in my various relationships have posed this question. Am I allowing the right people in my life that these should not be questions but balances?

Hmm, I wonder at times. Emotions take the alpha position in my life and I accept that. The questions I now struggle with are how to have a successful relationship, on any level, by allowing intellect to play a larger role in my decisions.

The Journey

2007-12-06T09:11:00.000-05:00

Another article that I have pulled out of the vault. I find it hard to believe that this was over three years ago when I wrote this. And how much the journey remains in tact.

Journeys
Over two and a half years ago, I started my journey into a new life.The beginning was the easiest leg of my journey. Results were tangible. Everyday I didn't drink, I was one step ahead of my life for the previous fifteen years. I went through physical changes; losing weight, my body detoxing, and patterns in my sleep changed significantly. The first few months I was able to see that my choice was a good one. Not drinking was the ONLY road I traveled on at that point.

After a few months, drinking was no longer the focus of my journey. The reality of my journey began to set in. I started walking through the weeds and bumbles of my life. I felt uprooted. Pieces of my past sprouted up along the way. I had to hack at them with all my strength to continue walking down the path I wanted to create. I was learning how to be sober.Being sober entails a bit more than not drinking. It means changing all things that are comfortable. It means leaving people who are harmful. Leaving old behaviours for new ones. Being sober means that you have left one life and began a new one. And at times, this decision that I had made weighed heavily on my heart.

Did I really want this life? Did I really want the stigma I thought was attached to being sober? I wrestled with my decisions every day of my life. Every step I made in one direction meant I was leaving a familiar place.

And the grieving began. I mourned the loss of my old life. I was waving goodbye to all those esoteric things that I had known for so long. Visions of my life before flooded my dreams. I was anxious. Guilty. Angry. But I muddled through this tumultuous part of the journey. I missed my old self. Missed the drama and dysfunction that I had deeply rooted myself in. But, somehow, I just kept moving forward until my pathway was free of past weeds. Suddenly, after a long period of mourning, I was walking with a lighter step.

After my first year, I started the next leg of my journey. Sobriety was easier. Not drinking was no longer an issue. Finding out who I was became the task. In doing this, I have walked down several paths. I have tested some directions that were unsuccessful. I used my art to help my find out what needed working on. I wrote and wrote until I was blue in the face. I read every book I could get my hands on. I diligently went to therapy. I asked questions. I was introspective. I looked for my spirituality. I posted. I chatted. All these things to find out who that person I had hidden away really was.

And for some reason, I hit a major roadblock. No longer was sobriety the focus on my life. I was just Kim. And that scared me so much, I almost faltered. I thought about sabotaging the work that I had done so I wouldn't find out who I was. I was petrified to peel the layers of my life. I had dreams that I was drinking again. I had thoughts of drinking all day and night. Anything, ANYTHING to keep myself from really knowing who I was. I did not believe I deserved the life I was living. It was a very painful leg of my journey. But, in the end, some strength inside of me took over. I never stepped off the path. I kept going in spite of the immense fear I felt.

And that brings me to now. Today, it's a slightly different story. I am on the journey to discover myself in the most pure and real form. I look forward to who I am and where I am meant to be. I live life with so much passion, I am exhausted at the end of the day. I kiss my nieces and nephews. I smile at the Gas Station guy. I no longer feel the need to escape myself and the choices I have made. Every choice I make is grounded in my new life. Believe me, I struggle still. But, it's such a real struggle that it feels so good when it's resolved with a clear mind and spirit. I am on the path to reformulating those things that are most important to me. I am walking towards the life I want. And my sneakers bear the brand of sobriety.

So, my journey may or may not be like yours. You maybe on Day one or Day one thousand. Everyday, it's a new path. New steps. And it's amazing to be able to say that we are able to see the changes and growth. We are fully aware, at every stage of this journey.

Checklist for Early Sobriety

2007-11-29T14:43:00.001-05:00

Ok, you've made the decision to get sober. Beside the obvious of not drinking, there are many things to think about to help in early recovery. Below, I've listed a checklist that may help with some ideas. Feel free to add any additional items.

Find a recovery program to help in the earliest days. Whatever program you follow, just allowing yourself to learn about being sober and surrounding yourself with sober people can be a big help.
Create a resource list. Write out a list of people who you can call when you need someone to talk to, support or just a diversion from your old ways.
Look for a good therapist or counselor if you feel it will help.
Browse the bookstore and stock up on some good sober books for inspiration.
Do an emotional inventory and record how you are feeling each day.
Find a new hobby, activity or anything that will keep you out of the bar scene, you'll be amazed at how many things there are to do besides sit at a bar!
Find another person in recovery and buddy up with them for support.
Journal, journal, journal. I cannot stress how much this helps in early sobriety. I used to write fifteen pages a day, just pouring things out.
Grab a paintbrush and be creative. Painting out your emotions is refreshing.
Forgive yourself for the past. It's gone, over and you can only move forward at this point.
Find some IM buddies from a sober site or group and utilize them as resources (Mine is Yahoo: kjpartstudio)
Write down all the things you can do now that you are sober. Pick one each week and do it.
Eat well, exercise and watch your sugar during the earliest part of sobriety.
Finally, be gentle on yourself. It's a long process, one that is constantly evolving and changing. It's worth it.

The Point of Letting Go

2007-11-27T09:38:00.001-05:00

I don't really know if my inability to let go completely came early in my childhood or whether it's been formulated from so many years of being emotionally irresponsible. Lately, though, it's another one of those elements in my life that is not so satisfying in its current state.

I keep going back...way back. Was I overly attached to any tangible object? My baby blanket that took me thirty years to finally get rid of? The pictures of people that are no longer in my life stacked in drawers waiting for a moment of weakness to be drearily thumbed through? Or was it losing my family to divorce and my father passing away at the age of 12?

No matter, this inability to let go has absolutely hindered so many opportunities in my life. Relationships that don't work but give me enough peace of mind to hold on to a tiny shred of hope. Thoughts that clutter my already busy head. Feelings of inadequacy and insecurity that stem from my need to squash whatever happiness is around me. I feel as if all of these emotions and actions directly stem from this desire I have to keep negativity grounded within me.

And it's driving me bonkers because as much as I want to let go of all these hindrances, there is a great security in holding everything as tight as possible.

So, what is the secret? Writing it out? I've made my lists. Reading another book? Been there. I think that the secret is really, honestly just letting it go knowing that you can only control yourself. That I am teetering on making a huge life change can only be done if I truly want to and then taking the steps to get EXACTLY what I am after.

I think this may be the mantra for the day since happiness really only does come from within first.

A sigh of relief.....

2007-11-26T09:21:00.000-05:00

I have to say, I am thankful that Thanksgiving is over. Made it through unscathed, once again....Hope everyone had a good one.

Thankful for....

2007-11-20T08:49:00.001-05:00

Each day, I try to write five things that I am grateful for in my journal. It's one of those exercises that someone suggested about five years ago and amazingly, I have stuck with it and have learned to recognize and appreciate the good things in my life.

Now that Thanksgiving is right around the corner and everything gets a bit more hectic in life, I took a moment this morning to write five things that I am not only grateful for, I am genuinely thankful for.

1. I am sober
2. My brown dog that greets me with the same wagging tail and wet kisses every night
3. My family, those here and not here.
4. That I continue down this path called life with a backpack full of support and creativity
5. The people who are on this journey with me, there are a lot!

I am off for the next few days, so have a happy, sober and wonderful holiday.

Emotional Baggage

2007-11-13T09:54:00.001-05:00

Over the last few weeks, I have begun to see the amount of emotional angst that I carry for what it is.

Serious Baggage.

As someone who turned to self medicating at age 12, these unresolved feelings and memories have stayed with me with remarkable clarity over the last 22 years. I feel like I am an emotional pack rat at times as my head is constantly filled with unresolved issues or emotions that I would do anything to carry with me instead of allowing myself to let go. And these conflicting emotions have always been a source of comfort for me. Each time happiness would creep into my life, I've been able to dissipate the joy I may have felt with feelings of inadequacy or self deprecation.

And suddenly, I am tired of it. The boyfriend I dumped in high school who probably was the most stable person I've ever met. The ex husband who lurks around trying to amend a marriage long over. The death of my father. The pain and anguish I caused all the years I was an emotional mess. I swear, I can recall conversations, feelings and even the smells associated with these instances that I very often feel trapped.

But the comfort in these vivid recollections is waning. I have found over the last six years that I have to lose the baggage to be able to start living in reality, because living in the past with all these loose ends isn't conducive to happiness. It's limiting. It's non-essential. And it's just emotional baggage that I need desperately to lighten.

So, today I start my quest in letting go issue by issue. I'm making a list of all the events and unresolved feelings that have accumulated over two decades. I can imagine it will take me a long time and that this list will never end. I'm okay with that. And after I make the list, I'm going to mark down those issues or feelings that are worth resolving or if I just need to acknowledge them, forgive and let go.

I'm starting with a big one. A long overdue letter. I'm sad and it is going to be a painful letter to write. But, life changes and we are the only ones who can dictate where we go...or if we stay in one place, emotionally.

We clean our houses every season to allow for a new perspective. This time, I'm cleaning out the crap so that I am able to allow new experiences and emotions to come in.

And I have great faith that this will work.

Quote of the day.

2007-11-12T09:56:00.000-05:00

"You gain strength, courage, and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face. You must do the thing which you think you cannot do."
Eleanor Roosevelt

Some Holiday Shortcuts

2007-11-07T11:07:00.000-05:00

As the holiday season comes in a whirlwind, I just wanted to share some tips, shortcuts and ramblings, particularly regarding alcohol, over this time. If you have an additional tips, please feel free to comment.

Be thankful you won't have to worry about being pulled over. It's primetime for checkpoints! I usually volunteer to drive to one holiday party and have even been known to throw a tip cup out for laughs (and dollars!).

I keep a small list of the five reasons why I am sober in my wallet. Anytime I am faced with a "Sobriety Crisis", I pull it out and read through it.
Keep a list of your closest resources handy; friends, relatives, sponsors, etc. Just in case you need to make a phone call

A beverage in a wine glass or, even better, a martini glass, makes life a little easier when attending holiday parties and actually leads to less questions.

Waking up with no hangover during the holidays means more time to actually enjoy them.

For every cash bar you have to attend, put money in a jar that you would have spent and treat yourself to an extra gift.

If the family scene is too much, or you generally have angst around the holidays, volunteering during this time is a great way to appreciate where you are.

If you are nervous about telling people you are sober, just say "I'm not drinking this evening" Most people don't really care.

Stash non-alcoholic beverages in your trunk. I never leave home without Diet Coke.

Take a breather, often.

And last, allow yourself an out. If you need to leave, just do it. It's ultimately about your well being.

The Burden of Sobriety

2007-11-05T08:44:00.000-05:00

I was reading an article in Vanity Fair this weekend regarding a former child star's take of being sober. In a Q&A, Justin Bateman answers a question posed by the reporter:

"Not even a glass of wine?"
"No, not even a little bit. I am just not good at it. Now I run like I am being chased every morning. I don't know what the hell I have become, but it's starting to annoy me. "
http://www.vanityfair.com/fame/features/2007/11/wayne_bateman200711

That last phrase has been ringing in my ears all weekend. "I don't know what the hell I have become, but it's starting to annoy me."

I feel like that often now that the pink cloud of euphoria that comes with early sobriety has lifted.

I constantly question my role in the sober world. I feel like my old life was more reckless, less "heavy" and a bit more carefree. Because, today, my mind rarely gets a break from thinking sober. I live it, write it and breathe all things sober.

And while it is the best thing for me, the best choice I have ever made...it can piss me off on occasion.

Last week, I was at a great event at the Tavern of the Green. Lots of advertising people. Lots of black ties and drinks clinking. In the sea of people drinking red and white wine (they only thing on the tables beside water), I felt as if I were on a different party boat. I watched the bottles being poured. I was very conscious of everyone beginning to loosen up. And I sometimes felt compelled to be even more gregarious or stealth with my diet coke in a wine glass. The funny thing, it's all in my mind. I've created the burden of my own sobriety. People rarely notice what you are drinking or why. It's the ones that become overly intoxicated that make conversation. No one noticed or cared that I didn't drink...but I did, even with years under my belt. And when I got on my train late in the evening, I felt such relief to be done with my bout of fitting in.

And these occasions happen all the time. I have to remind myself that alcohol is not some long lost romance I pine for. That the decisions I have made today will allow me to live a healthy and emotionally gratifying life. Even if that means sacrificing that bit of irresponsibility that could turn a mellow Friday evening into a wild escapade.

There is solace in living life with this burden, it could be worse, it could be the burden of being drunk all the time, which is worse.

But, there are just few times in my week or month, where I have to remind myself that being sober isn't a jail sentence...it's a choice.

And I think I need to take my choices, difficult or not, and learn to laugh the burden off my back every once in a while.

Quote of the day.

2007-10-30T08:53:00.001-04:00

"When one door of happiness closes, another opens, but often we look so long at the closed door that we do not see the one that has been opened for us."

-Helen Keller

It's not all about me?

2007-10-25T09:00:00.000-04:00

When we are drinking, the world tends to revolve around us. It's about our problems, our insecurities, our irresponsibility. Many times, we are so deep into ourselves that the impact of our alcoholism on those around us tends to become trivialized.

I remember being told by friends and particular family members that they thought I may have a drinking problem early on. One example, in college, when a group of friends got me in a room and pressed me to curb my wildness. I did not comply. Another time, a family member threatened to oust me if I did not seek help. Again, I did not comply. I simply blew them off. What did they know? They couldn't POSSIBLY understand my needs and turmoil. My thinking was that no one person understood my desperate attempts to avoid my life. As my addiction progressed, my failure to heed any advice became more apparent and I simply avoided anyone who tried to help.

Toward the very end of my drinking life, I found myself secluding myself completely. I was angry at everyone and trusted no one, including myself. And, in alcoholism, it was about me. It was entirely up to me to end my life as an irresponsible woman. It was entirely my choice to stop drinking, because I finally saw what everyone else had been seeing for years. A confused, angry, depressed child who never let go of her past mistakes and misgivings. And that realization is what caused me to move my life in a different direction.

So many times, people who are close to or live with an alcoholic ask me "What can I do to get him or her to stop?" or "What can I do differently?" and "I feel so responsible".

In reality, the person who is responsible for his or her drinking is also the person responsible for getting sober. As someone close to him or her, it is easy to confuse enabling an alcoholic with helping them. It affects every one's life and it is so difficult to know that someone is going through such tumultuous cycles and there is little the outside person can do. There are ways to cope, however. Support groups, on-line resources and books to just help the non-alcoholic deal with the alcoholic. And those resources are for you to know that you are not alone.

From this side, I wish I had listened to all the people that had told me. I regret it every day of my life. I regret the pain and anguish I caused so many different relationships throughout the years. And I cringe at times at all the worry and stress I inflicted on those who loved me so much. But I also know that nothing mattered to me but erasing everyone from my addictive mind. I was so desperate to be helped but so deep into myself that I didn't know how to get out.

From your side, it becomes a matter of providing as much support as you are able. If an alcoholic is all about them, they may take your advice but the denial may be too great.

Today, I have someone in my life who has a drinking problem and I am now on this side. I worry and think about this person every day, hearing reports about a stint with sobriety that usually doesn't last very long. I go to sleep at night and pray that I will not have a message on my phone. I comb the papers everyday to ensure this person is still alive. And the emotional toll is great because I caused pain to this person in my days of drinking, leading to the demise in our relationship. But, there is a point in which I had to understand that everyone makes their own choices. As much time as I spend worrying, this person is where I was a long time ago....inside their own addiction. Ideally, if this person approached me, I would be there. If this person needed anything, I would be there. The only thing I can do is keep that door open, hold this to my heart and hope that the day will come when life begins for this person as well.

Hope and faith in people's strength is amazing. We know that change needs to come, at times, we just need to find the strength within ourselves.

Greetings From the Bottom

2007-10-22T14:00:00.000-04:00

I wrote this a few years ago, but someone asked me to repost.

Greetings from the Bottom.

My entire life has been a cycle of wanting to live with vengeance and needing to numb the constant pain I feel. Pain that I found unbearable. Numbing entailed irresponsibility. Denial. Aloofness. Any way to keep myself from feeling fledging terror and anger has been my modus operandi. The hurt. The pain. All these things exist in depression.

So, I began the arduous task of researching the label for this pain I have been feeling since I can remember:

Adversity, anguish, calamity, cross, crux, difficulty, disease, disorder, distress, grief, hardship, illness, infirmity, misery, misfortune, ordeal, pain, plague, plight, scourge, sickness, sorrow, suffering, torment, trial, tribulation, trouble, woe

It's astounding that all of the aforementioned synonyms can be applied to an emotional process. Some of you think of it as drama. I think of it as my daily existence. I cannot distinguish between what is truly detrimental and what simply exists as life. I cannot express my anger and rage towards the people who cause it. Instead, I have turned inward. What you see when you are hurt is what I see each hour of my day. The sense of impending doom hinders my ability to live in a moment. I retreat. I create fantasies to ease my sense of reality.And in doing this, my life illustratively becomes vast acreage. A pliable bit of earth in which I call home.

I live on my expansive piece of proverbial property and see the many holes I have dug over the last thirty years. The holes I bury my emotions. The holes I bury the hatred and anger that I am afraid to set free. The hole I must dig to feel protected from my own enraging heart.The holes in which I dig are not unique. They are the same holes you may dig when you feel panic. Or grief. In your world, these are smalconceiveses. The difference is that I live in these holes. I rarely find myself on the outside looking in. Instead, I am constantly on the inside looking out. Watching lives being led with true zeal for happiness. While I sit underneath life, enveloped in angst.

Three weeks ago I dug one of my holes so deep, I thought I might not make it out intact. I was in such conflicting darkness that my eyes could barely distinguish any light. When I dove in, I forgot to bring my tools. My flashlight. My shovel. I simply dug and dug with raw, aching fingers. And this is where I remained. Time passed so slowly, I was unable to calculate just how long I had been underground. Nothing sustained like the darkness I felt. I withdrew from reality and sat in a quiet numbness that only one suffering this affliction can feel. I mourned. I grieved. I panicked. Yet these feelings seemed to pass in front of me in those shadows. I was unable to feel anything but my own self-pity. My emotions so raw that I worried that I may bleed to death. I was a product of my own rigorous self-deprecation. Constantly berating myself for feeling so deeply.My hand reached out. My raw, tormented fingers barely reached out of the hole.

I found a sliver of light that was able to help me regain some awareness. Suddenly the darkness became scarier than the life that was waiting for me. I reached and reached. I was waiting for someone to grab my hand. And, someone did. He inadvertently put his hand out and I grabbed it. I used it to hoist me from deep within the confines of my misery. A tiny move upward saved me from burying myself completely. I was given the opportunity to start the climb back up from the bottom.And this climb entails a considerable amount of recognition. Recognizing that this darkness is a disease within itself. That the feelings I possess are not simple figments of my overactive imagination. They are real and validated. What you feel is different than those feelings I have.

I walk along life scared. Scared to feel. Scared to be hurt and rejected. I tread heavily on my property, searching the parameters for a way out. A path. An exit. You may or nay not live near me. You may have holes, but they are not similar to the deep depressions in life.So, I say: Greetings from the bottom. Where I have begun to unearth those emotions that have been buried so long. I am no longer digging downward. I have begun the laborious task of filling in the holes that are no longer part of my present. I move dirt to make way for acknowledgement. I find that I am throwing seeds over to begin the new growth. I am extending my hand to those who will take it. I am the caretaker of my property.

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