Grow Up.

I have this security blanket.

Not some figurative pyschobabble.
Not some beaming aura over my head.
Not some philosphical translsation.

I own a shredded, thirty one year old blanket that embodies Ragedy Ann and Andy patterns long since past its prime. I mean, I hate the thing. I despise it. It's tattered and torn and sits in my closet with pieces of string barely holding it together. There are times I pull it out to wonder why the hell I keep it. I mean, what am I doing with this thing? There is little, if any, resemblance to the gift someone had once given me as a newborn (I can only imagine, anyway).

Fluffy, newly cleaned smell that makes your heart jump as you bury your head in sumptuos pile?

I don't think so.

The batting-so-old-it-hurts-your-cheeck cloth that I secretly attach to myself in the midst of personal drama? UGH. The thing bothers the piss out of me.

And here I am, a thirty-one year old woman living with the past stuffed in my closet. Pathetic.

The blanket is sitting on the top shelf in the form of a 3x3 representation of my past. A memento from a man I barely remember. A piece of fabric that continues to haunt me and my need to keep it close. I keep it tucked away save the most secret moments that I hold on to a tiny shred of past life.

At some point, life has to go on. The blanket has come to represent what I cannot remember. Feelings, emotions, pieces of life that were woven in the material. Times where the blanket may have been wrapped tightly around me by others. No faces. No memories. Just the vaguest recollection of another era.

And now there is a sense of forboding I feel just looking at it. It stares me down every morning as if to say, "Grow up and get on with your life". This piece of innocent tailorship is the epitome of my baggage in the most domestic form: My inability to come to terms with the loss of my father. My penchant for emotional toil and needless suffering. My constant state of recovery from just about everything addictive, drama included.

Tattered lives. Ragged edges. Softness shredded by such self propeled emotional wear and tear. It makes me angry. I loathe the sight of it. It's the bad relationship I have been looking to end. Over. Kaputz. Ciao. This part of my life that I have been SO ready to let go.

And the time has come to let go of keeping the skeletons warm. Life goes on. When we gain our own integrity, the security comes from life now, not some tattered shred of the past.

Grow-up time. Let go time. Burn Baby Burn time. Screw airing, the time has come to throw out the dirty laundry.

Happy Holidays.

Emotional Responsibility.

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 someone's 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.

Last night, my love gave me one of the best unsolicited comments of our relationship yet. He said, "You are doing really well. Doing instead of talking". He also reminded me that it's okay that it's not perfect. That 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.

A long time coming....

It's hard to believe that in two months, I have put aside my sobriety for what I considered to be "life". I spent time finding a new job, spending time with my dog and saying that "tomorrow I would blog".

Tomorrow turned into days and weeks and suddenly, months. I started to lose sight of my sobriety. Though I haven't touched alcohol in almost four years, I lapsed into laziness. My focus was blurred by my need to what many people deem normal.

Normal doesn't cut it for someone in recovery. We battle self esteem issues. We strive to please everyone but ourselves at times. There's insecurity, issues trusting ourselves and the fundamental need to uncover the truth that lies within us.

And on top of that, I believe that we are challenged to be brutally honest with ourselves. And that honesty, I have found in the last two months, is sometimes painful and difficult to comprehend.

Those are the standard issues. There is also that perpetual monkey on our backs trying to coax one back into a life of irresponsiblity. And why not? It's easy. We can avoid the truth and skate through life. We can hurt those we love, leave them and never take responsiblity for it. Life as an active alcoholic allows us the freedom to lie and deceive those in our lives. It forces us to focus on everything but ourselves, the one element that needs the most attention.

This battle between life as it was and life as it is has really struck me in the last few months, as situations have forced me to put life into perspective. My reserves that I once drew upon were no longer sufficent. My morality, my character and my integrity almost became compromised at the hand of another's insecurity. I allowed myself to believe that maybe sobriety wasn't the way to go. That simply not drinking would suffice. And in the midst of this, I was trying to start a new job, new relationship and another chapter of my life.

And as I stared at a bottle of gin not too long ago, I knew that I had to begin the process of replenishing my emotional strength. I knew that if I continued to demoralize myself, to hurt myself by not living as fully as I am capable, that I would be back to a time four years prior. My drinking dreams weaved in and out of my nights. I cried for loss. I woke up panic striken that I would pick up a drink again to numb the pain I felt. I lashed out at the one man who took the time to understand me. All for the romantic notion that I could one day drink again.

So, in some ways, I feel like I am back on my path with baby steps this time. Perhaps not so much gusto, but goals and aspirations that befit my needs. That everything is not within my control and there will always be people who do not believe in change. There will also be a time where I may not be comfortable with the decision that I have made, but nonetheless, I have made a solid committment to myself and to those who continue to show love and support.

And I renew that committment to myself and my sobriety. The truth that lies within me has been in the works for many years. The road that I have put myself on remains rocky but passable.

And I have the honesty and strength that I thought to be nonexistent.

So, sobriety continues. Life continues. There are no straight answers, but many questions that will have to be put to rest for the time being. And I walk on, leaving the insecurity and negativity behind.

Quote of the Week.

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

To My Old Friend.

With your grandeur, you see me

Flaxen hair flowing in the wind
Glaring eyes fixated on the world
Once nimble body riddled with the weight of the world

With your tenacity, you challenge me

Biting daggers that sink into supple skin
Flailing thoughts that overshadow reason
Once brilliant mind erroneously rotted

With your boisterous voice, you call me

Shrill notes that burn off the tongue
Gauging words that pierce the unconscious
Once copious soliloquies lay unspoken

With your unyielding stride, you chase me

Oppressive feet that command attention
Twisting steps that wring my very core
Once light as a breeze now still

With your impetuous soul, you leave me

Billowed body sailing through the trees
Floating, floating, floating
Omnipotence traversing above me

With my renewed strength, you left me

Journeying into the unknown
Leaving the shell behind
To repose my own natural instincts

Watching you become smaller
Watching you become less present

I wave goodbye, my friend
I wave goodbye, myself

Crossroads.

Many times in life, many times in sobriety we hit crossroads in our lives. How do we define them within our own lives? How do we decide which way to go?

I pose these questions because I have hit a major crossroad in my life. Which way I am going. Is this the right path? Will the path I chose be in my best interest as a sober woman?

Right before my sobriety, I left a fairly lucrative job. I left my macrocosm and began to weave myself tightly into a secure web. I surrounded myself with support. I left friends, lovers, and acquaintances behind. I brought my life down to a manageable scale. This enabled me to live well. To live sober. I became a large fish in a small pond. I took turns in my life I had no idea existed. I painted. I wrote. I lived through my sobriety with commanding grace and awareness. Yet, through this growth, I suddenly realized that I missed the largeness in my life. I decided I wanted to become a big fish in a big pond. And succeed where I had succeeded before. This time, sober.

And now, here I stand. At a professional and personal crossroad. My life is full. My sobriety has become part of my skin, my beauty in life. Yet, I feel as if my big world is enticing me to return.. Take bigger risks. Go back into a profession I deeply loved. Return to a world I only knew when drinking. And return sober.

Am I strong enough to return back to the pace I kept, the largeness I once embraced while drinking with now sober arms? Can I maintain the integrity and passion I feel for sobriety? Can I walk down this path with new steps?

How do we as sober women deal with the crossroads in our lives? The major decisions that help define our everyday lives? How do we successfully pick the right path without jeopardizing the time we’ve spent securing the road we are on?