Happy New Year

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.

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

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.

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....

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

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.
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.

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

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

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...

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

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

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

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

—Coco Chanel

The gift of letting go.

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

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.

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.