Let go.

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

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.

There are many times in the last almost seven years that I find myself trying to define the word sober. Sober. Sobriety. Not drinking. Recovery. Change in life. T

he dictionary defines sober: * Habitually abstemious in the use of alcoholic liquors or drugs; temperate.* Not intoxicated or affected by the use of drugs.* Plain or subdued: sober attire.* Devoid of frivolity, excess, exaggeration, or speculative imagination; straightforward: gave a sober assessment of the situation.* Marked by seriousness, gravity, or solemnity of conduct or character. See Synonyms at serious.* Marked by circumspection and self-restraint.

Self restraint? Devoid of excess or speculative imagination? The question arises in my own head....have I become boring and morose in my sober life? Have I become plagued with seriousness because I have chosen this path?In the last three years, I have also found myself having to defend and define my sober life. "Why don't you drink?" "What happened to make you stop?" "Are you WEIRD?" "YOU DON'T GO OUT?" "Have you no fun in your life?" Well, I think to myself tirelessly, life is just different.What happened to make me cease drinking habitually for the majority of my young adult life? Well, I guess things were just not working the way I wanted. Nothing significant happened, per se. Yes, I hit bottom, but not in any spectacular fashion. I just got sober. I simply took out an element of my life that caused me pain. And now, I find that people have a difficult time grasping the concept.And when did I become so concerned about what people think? Years ago, I could get drunk, stand on a bar and proclaim my love for Jimmy Buffett in song without skipping a beat. I could fall down the stairs at a restaurant and simply smile and say, "oopsie". But, we live in a world surrounded by alcoholic intentions. It's part of our society and part of the way we chose to socialize. Not a day goes by that does not include a reference to alcohol. And I accept that with the grace of a woman who has made a choice. But, damn it, it's still frustrating as hell. I actually watch people watch me at parties. I see them double glancing at my martini glass making sure that there is nothing stronger than Diet Coke in my glass. And these people never knew me BEFORE! If they had, the would know that I rarely drank martinis. I play the part with little fanfare. I participate in the charade of the drinking world with my own sober theatrics. And when I arrive home to my bed, I collapse with the exhaustive sigh of someone in recovery. I have worked to make everyone feel comfortable for the choices I have made...and for a moment, I wish I could replace the word sober with some amazing adjective that would wipe away the stigma of my decisions. The stigma of all my past mistakes. . And yes, I wish I could replace sober with just about any other word in the English language. And in all of these quandries, I sometimes find myself questioning my motives. Why am I really doing this? Meeting people that I never knew existed. Constantly searching for my own soapbox to stand on. My purpose. My MO. When before I was simply a woman with a drinking problem. I did not publicize my life on such a vehement scale. I was never a hippie, cause- related type of woman. I drank. I got drunk. I caused some drama and then went home to pass out.Now, things are different. I have made a choice that has changed my life. I will not change the fact that I am sober, so sober it is. So, I have taken the liberty in redefining the word sober in my own glorified dicitonary: sober (adj.): respect for one's own self. Self assured, self-aware and unconcerned with those people who just don't get the reasons for this journey. And for those of you who drink, life on the other side is not bleak and weary. Blisters do not appear when in the presence of someone sober.

Glamour Magazine article, 2004

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

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

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.

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.

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

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.

Grounding

This week, I am feeling a bit overwhelmed. I need to make some major life decisions, ones that will impact the future on many levels; personal, professional, financial.

Adversity

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

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.

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.

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.

Rejection

Rejection, under any circumstances, is never easy to deal with. Rejection,

Addiction in Public

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

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.

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.

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

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

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.

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

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.

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.

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?

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

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.

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

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

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.....

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

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.

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

- Elizabeth Bowen (1899-1973)

Six Years

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.

Six years.

Awakening

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.

Awakening

It is a gift that we all have that allows us to heal and learn to

Fireside

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.

"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