Yes, Sobriety Keeps Getting Better

I got through that tough spell.

It took five months, but I’m back and happy to report that my spring-into-summer tough spell did indeed shift as I knew it would. Mostly, it took patience, faith, and willingness to tolerate some discomfort. I’d love to say that’s all it took, that there was no “figuring it out,” because I can get so stuck trying to “figure out” and often, for me, the thing to do is get off the hamster wheel of rumination and stop chewing on whatever it is.

In this case, I kept up my self-care activities and meditated a lot, and in between I was able to think it over without obsessing. I discovered that while things were generally going well, I had been anticipating several stressors culminating at the same time in mid-June—wrapping up the school year, my in-laws’ arrival for a long visit, and getting ready for a camping trip. None of them were particularly stressful by themselves, and in fact point to blessings—being able to go camping as a family, having parents that are alive and well. It just felt like a lot to manage all at once.

Part of me felt silly, and with everything people are dealing with in this crazy world, I feel that way again looking at that little list of non-problems. But there it is. I felt overwhelmed in anticipation of that week coming up, and remaining unconscious about that was giving me alcohol cravings and making me pissed off that I couldn’t just take the edge off nicely like all the normal people. As soon as I discovered and accepted what was bothering me underneath, I was able to plan for some ways to move through that time with more ease, and my desire to drink disappeared.

It has come back, very briefly, twice since then. Both times it was in response to conflict and I thought, “Yeah, I could really use a drink right now.” I don’t deny to myself that yes, it used to help in a certain way, and I don’t have access to that kind of instant, easy relief anymore. That makes getting through those times harder. But you wait it out, and it passes, and you’re clear and you feel better anyway even if it took a little longer, and you have no regrets and you can wake up feeling good the next morning. Way better.

How sobriety gets better: Weddings

When I was five weeks sober, my sister got married. Here’s what I wrote about it in a previous post:

I so wanted to rise above the struggle and simply be happy for my loved ones, untainted by this beast. I wish I could say I was grateful to be fully present and alert for every moment, focusing only on them, not my own inner drama. Nope. It absolutely sucked not drinking. That’s the plain truth. The ceremony was beautiful. Then, the cocktail hour was of course ALL ABOUT THE BOOZE, and I felt deprived. Instead of focusing on the occasion and enjoying the lovely people around me, I was having my own little personal pity party about my seltzer with lime. I scolded my kids harshly for getting their clothes dirty rolling down the hill. I never get uptight about that kind of thing—I like my kids to have fun and get dirty—even at a wedding. I was trying, trying, trying, but I was so tightly wound. The dinner was hard. The dancing was hard. I love to dance, and I made myself get up there for a couple songs, but I didn’t really feel it. The whole day and night, I felt raw, shaky and awkward and like I was on the periphery of it all. I simply had to soldier through it. I did the best I could and I didn’t drink. Everything went perfectly for my sister and it was a beautiful wedding. I’m sad that I couldn’t be present in the way I would have liked to be, but I guess I wouldn’t have been if I’d been drinking, either.

Fast forward two years, to my best friend’s wedding. I had a blast, and it wasn’t hard. Like, at all.

I had the honor of doing the first toast at the reception. I fear public speaking big time, so I was nervous about it. You would have thought I’d have wished I could have a couple drinks beforehand to loosen me up, but I felt grateful that wasn’t in the picture even though I had to feel the full extent of my anxiety. If I had been drinking, I would have been focused on having just enough, but not too much before the speech. I would have been preoccupied with managing my drinking and my anxiety instead of focusing on my friends’ happy occasion. Then when the toast was over and the tension release happened, I would have gotten smashed.

Instead, I managed my anxiety about the toast by accepting it and being willing to tolerate it. I was fully present for the ceremony and the reception, in the way I wanted to be but couldn’t for my sister’s wedding. I felt relaxed (once the toast was done, anyway) and happy, and talked to everyone with ease, perfectly happy with my club soda.

And I DANCED. Not for a couple songs, going through the motions. For most of the night, with freedom and abandon. If you’re newly sober and not seeing how that can happen, I’m here to tell you that I didn’t believe it either, but it happened!

As we approach the holiday season, I’m wishing everyone sober days that keep getting better.

© Copyright Soberfire, 2016, all rights reserved.

The Challenge of Kicking Off the Summer Sober: It’s Like Christmas

I used to get drunk to get my spark

And it used to work just fine

It made me wretched but it gave me heart

I miss Jimmy like I miss my wine

 —Shawn Colvin, from “The Facts About Jimmy”

I listened to that album, A Few Small Repairs, last week after a long time. It was like seeing an old, once close friend you haven’t seen in forever, and you forgot how intimately you know this person, and it all just clicks into place again right away.

I almost had to stop the car when I heard that verse. Nearly two decades ago, during phase one of my alcoholic drinking (before the “real grown-up” reprieve of more reasonable alcohol use, and the decidedly less fun return to heavier drinking), back when heavy drinking was just what you did when you were a 20-something party girl, I remember vaguely thinking, “If I ever had to quit drinking, that’s exactly how I’d feel.”

So, is it? I put that song on repeat for the rest of the ride home. It’s true, and it’s not true.

It did give me a spark, of sorts. Not the real kind, I remind myself. Not the kind of spark I have now, in sobriety, the kind that fuels the fire of creativity, productivity, vibrant energy, spiritual growth by leaps and bounds, and thriving relationships. Now, that is a pretty awesome list! And it’s all true, I’m happy to say.

But there’s that other kind of spark. The one that came from the temporary but effortless pulling back on the curtain of inhibition. I’m braver now where it counts most, but more reserved in other ways. I can still hit the dance floor, but it’s not the same. It’s harder and slower to remove inhibitions for real, the more permanent way. I’ll admit I sometimes miss the efficiency of alcohol for that. I read it somewhere (Mrs. D’s blog, maybe?) that being sober is just so…sober.

What about the next part of that verse? Wretched? Oh, yes. For sure. And yet, did it give me heart? Again, not in the real way. But also, yes. In that special way you can get giggly with a girlfriend over some wine. In that way you can get stripped right down to raw emotion, for better or worse (more often for worse, but still).

And the last part? Do I miss my wine?

Yes, right now I do. It’s my second sober spring, so without many years of experience to confirm this, I believe spring-turning-into-summer is like The Holidays for me. I haven’t struggled much over the holiday season, so dreaded and torturous for many in recovery. I actually prefer being razor-sharp with my crazy ass extended family. We do lots of holiday-oriented activities with the kids that were never associated with drinking. We don’t go to a ton of parties, and occasionally when we do, it doesn’t feel hard to be there with my club soda or coffee or hot cider.

But this time of year? Crap. At this stage, almost two years in, I want to say it just gets better all the time and it’s never hard anymore. And most of the time, it’s not hard at all, and my life is exponentially better in almost all the ways, in all the important ways, except for this one way.

Because the truth is, these last couple weeks I’m just plain pissed off that I can’t have drinks on this deck or that patio like everybody else.

All is well in my world, and I’m active and intentional about my recovery and spiritual growth. So, what is this all about? My sponsor/friend says, “Don’t overanalyze it. It’s happening because you’re an alcoholic. It is what it is. And it happens to the best of us at times, even those of us who are ‘doing well.’”

So I’m trying to keep it simple and recognize that this particular change of seasons is strongly associated with the more pleasurable parts of my former drinking, so it makes me fucking thirsty. I have to approach it the way other people have to approach the holidays—with vigilance and acceptance of difficulty.

Part of it is being a bit of a spoiled brat. I’m stomping my feet and fighting with reality, pouting because I don’t get to have what I want the way I want it (which is NOT being an alcoholic). Somehow I know in my bones, even more so than in the beginning, that if I were to pick up a drink, I would very quickly be right back to the mental obsession, the strategizing, the craving, the overdoing and the regretting. I’m so done with that. I’ve struggled with some of the language around addiction and recovery, preferring to think of myself simply as a person who chose to stop drinking, rather than a person with a “disease.” I still don’t love the standard terminology, nor do I find it particularly empowering. However, I’m very clear now that whether I call my alcohol problem a disease or a condition, it’s currently in remission, and if I were to ever go back to drinking, it would take hold again and progress despite all the ways I’ve healed and grown.

So what good does it do to lament the fact that my choices are between that and sobriety? Too fucking bad, I say to myself. I’m blessed in more ways than I could recount here—including loving being sober, most of the time—and so many people are plagued by more severe and intractable addictions, and from countless other unrelated and horrific afflictions.

I don’t want to overindulge or rev up these feelings of discontent, and I don’t want to deny or squelch them, either. It’s a fine line. I’m trying to draw on what I’ve learned from mindfulness meditation and the practice of observing thoughts and feelings without clinging to them or pushing them away. I know I’ll get through this patch by remaining grateful for all sobriety has given me, staying vigilant, and being regular with my self-care and spiritual practices.

And as of this morning, I remembered to give it up to God, the Universe, my Higher Power—whatever you want to call it. Anne Lamott talks about the God Box in her book Help, Thanks, Wow. It’s for those times when you’re spinning your wheels and can’t let go, or stuck inside of a wish to change the unchangeable. You write the thing down on a little piece of piece of paper, and put it in a little box. You say a prayer of release. “It’s yours now, I’m done.”

The first time I tried it, I was desperate to unhook from some other painfully obsessive rumination and willing to try anything, so I said, “What the hell.” I never expected it to work. But it does work. A few girlfriends and I use it as a verb now. When one of us says, “I’m struggling with this thing and I can’t find peace or acceptance around it,” another says, “God Box it.”

This morning, I wrote this on a little piece of paper: “My desire for my situation with alcoholism and sobriety to be any different than what it is.” I God Boxed it. I’ll be back to let you know how it all shifts. I trust that it will.

Until then, I’m wishing you a safe and happy sober start to your summer!

© Copyright Soberfire, 2016, all rights reserved.

What 18 Months Sober Looks Like

Later this month I hit the year-and-a-half mark.  It’s been interesting, adjusting to sober living. I knew it was necessary but thought it would suck. It doesn’t suck. It did for awhile, sometimes. I am happy to say very simply that this is a better way to live and I’m happier. It does not feel like a life of “doing without” like I thought it would. I have gained so much more than I’ve lost (and to most of what I’ve lost, good riddance anyway).

Am I grateful to be an alcoholic like some people in meetings say? Not quite, exactly. If I had a choice, I would prefer to be a person who could take it or leave it and have no issues with alcohol. But I’m at peace with what is, and the way my life has unfolded. And certainly many blessings have come from my recovery process. So here’s the news…

Work Parties

This week, I went to the annual dinner my employer holds for all employees and health care providers. This is the third year I’ve worked there and received an invitation.

The first time was six months before I quit drinking. I was on one of my many moderation plans at the time, this one entitled Special Occasions Only. I had decided in advance that I would not drink because a work dinner did not qualify as a special occasion. That resolve lasted all of five minutes after arrival. I told that story in this post.

The second time, at six months sober, I stayed home because I had so much anxiety around what to tell people. I was terrified someone would ask why I wasn’t having wine and I would stumble over the answer. It would have been easy to say I was on call, or on a Paleo cleanse, or some medication that interacts with alcohol. But I didn’t want to tell lies. Not that I’m a saint and couldn’t morally justify a white lie for such a reason, it just didn’t feel right to me. And for the life of me, I couldn’t think of a rehearsed answer that felt both true and safe to reveal.

This year, I decided to go. Because of the history of this particular event, it was a strange sort of milestone for me. When the invitation came, I realized that all the concerns I had a year ago are gone. I’m not shouting my sobriety status from the rooftops (yet), but my anxiety about someone noticing and commenting is all but gone. Ask away. I no longer give a shit—yay! I actually want to experiment with telling more people when it seems natural.

Soon after arrival, someone I work closely with told me several times that the wine tray was coming around. She didn’t even ask directly, and I could have just gone to the bar for my tonic water without saying anything, but I said “I don’t drink anymore.” She said, “Really, you mean not at all, not ever?” (Isn’t that what everyone says? So funny.) “Right, not ever. For the last year and a half.” “Wow, I didn’t know that,” she says. I could have stopped there, but I said, “Yes, well, I found I am a better abstainer than moderator.” Done. She nodded and we moved on. This felt right. The truth, without a big sob story or TMI.

Urges to drink:

I am astonished and thrilled to say that I had exactly three real urges/desires to drink in the year 2015.

  1. My best friend’s 40th birthday party, which was a weekend at a beach house. The main party for adults and kids was during the day on the Saturday, and a small group of close friends were invited to stay at the beach house Friday and Saturday night. All of said close friends are drinkers, of course. If it had been anyone other than my best friend, or if I really thought I couldn’t handle it, I would have skipped the overnights altogether and just gone on Saturday. I decided to stay Friday night only. It was hard. I really wished I “could” drink that night. I put “could” in quotes because I stay cognizant of my language around choice and free will. The fact is, I can drink anytime I want—no one is holding a gun to my head to be sober. It’s a choice I made and continue to make because I don’t like the consequences of drinking for my health and my life. But I digress. The point is, I did feel a little sorry for myself that I was drinking seltzer instead of IPA. Partly because of the people I was with, and partly because this would have been a relatively consequence-free, all about the fun drinking occasion. No worries about staying OK to drive, and no guilt because clearly drinking heavily was OK on a special occasion. I wouldn’t have even had to worry about my husband being pissed at me—he usually looked the other way on special occasions and vacations. Toward the end, these were the only times we could have fun drinking together. The toughest moments were in the late afternoon/early evening when everyone started bringing the booze out. After that initial part passed and the evening was well underway, it got easier. I even had fun.
  2. One night I was making dinner and all of a sudden, a white wine craving hit me very much out of nowhere. I did whatever the psychological equivalent of a double-take would be, it was so strange and random. I thought about what could possibly be causing this, because I was in a fine mood, but also not too happy, so the craving could not have been out of any urge to de-stress or celebrate. Then I figured out that it was a musical trigger. A certain Lyle Lovett song was on, and I realized that I listened to that album for many years almost exclusively while making dinner. And what goes with making dinner? That first wine of the evening. Once I knew where the craving came from, it disappeared.
  3. I went to a karaoke night with some people that I don’t know super well, so I didn’t feel completely at ease socially. I felt like a fish out of water once the booze started flowing and people started singing. It’s not even that I wanted to drink. I really didn’t. It was more a feeling that since I don’t drink, it sucked to be in that particular place at that particular time. I told my husband I needed to get out of there, like NOW. I cried while we were walking to the car, hating that I couldn’t loosen up in that scenario and lamenting my lost inner party girl. In retrospect, I don’t feel too badly about having a tough time in that setting since, let’s face it, karaoke wouldn’t even exist without alcohol.

That’s it! Three times in an entire year that it sort of sucked to not drink. I never would have believed it. This IS a miracle.


I came to AA reluctantly and cautiously. I said more about that in this post. Since I found a meeting I like, I have continued to go about once a week. I skip a week occasionally now. Honestly, going to meetings doesn’t feel as important as it used to. I’m a busy working mom and it’s a challenge to build in time for any kind of self-care. On most mornings, making time for exercise, yoga, or writing is more important to my mental and spiritual well being, and therefore my sobriety, than going to a meeting. Still, it’s important for me to go on some sort of regular basis, to be reminded why I don’t drink.

I still maintain that AA is not the only way. Certainly, there is more than one way to unpack your shit and clean it up. I believe that any approach to recovery that involves active self-inquiry and reflection, rigorous honesty, living in awareness, responsibility for one’s actions, self care practices, and mutual support with others in recovery is a good approach. The dogmatic insistence spouted by some AA members that theirs is the only legitimate way to get and stay sober can leave people who can’t relate to the program without hope for recovery. Because of that, other options should be acknowledged and accessible. That said, AA is a great program for many, and it’s the one with the most readily available support and camaraderie.

Conversely, I agree with those who say that AA could be a great spiritual growth program for anyone, not just those with addictions. Step 1 says “powerless over alchohol.” You could substitute alcohol for just about anything to which you’re clinging. Many people are miserable because they make their happiness dependent on the behavior and decisions of other people. Such a person could do a 12 step program that begins with “I’m powerless over other people’s choices,” and take it from there. That’s just one example.

So it’s not the only way to recover from alcohol addiction, and it’s a great program for any life struggle, not just addiction.

What about the 12 steps? I did one through five formally with my sponsor. I did six and seven on my own, and I practice ten and eleven in my daily life. As for step twelve, I am not ready to sponsor another person, but I have been able to informally support a couple of people who have come to me for help. Eight and nine are still out there. I have made amends to the obvious people—namely my husband, and living amends with my kids by being more mentally and emotionally present for them. Thankfully, I am going to have to dig deeper to find other people to whom I owe apologies since I quit before I progressed to the point of making a huge mess of my life. But having done step four and five formally and being surprised by the richness of that process and how much had been forgotten until I really dug for it, I’m sure there is much to learn from doing steps eight and nine formally as well. I just need to get off my butt and make a plan with my sponsor to get started.

Meanwhile, I’ll talk about my experience with what seems to be regarded as “the big ones,” step 4 and 5 in upcoming post.

Family Life

My kids and husband no longer have to deal with my irritability due to hangovers—just my natural irritability 😉 Seriously, though, I am a much happier person and a happier mama. I’m still something of a hothead and I have to work on my yelling habit, but in general, I have a lot more patience and ability to set the tone for a peaceful, joyful household. When things are not so peaceful, I am much better able to find creative solutions and have faith in all of us to find our way back to harmony quickly.

I no longer struggle with knowing that my drinking behavior was at odds with my values as a parent, even if my kids didn’t witness what I was doing—yet.

I no longer have to subtly avoid and disconnect from my husband in the evenings so he hopefully doesn’t notice how many I’m having. If there is one image that proves to me I was drinking alcoholically, it’s me filling my glass to the brim and quickly drinking it back to the level it was when he stepped out of the kitchen for a moment. I never had secrets from him until the last couple years of my drinking. I’m happy to have none again now. And I am grateful that he no longer has to suffer from worrying about our family’s future.

I no longer have to burn up all my energy keeping my drinking under some semblance of control. I am able to be who I really am as a person and spend my time and energy on things that matter to me and others. Having a mom and wife who is happy, vibrant, self-actualized person—or at least on the path, for real now— is good for my kids and husband.


Those who have followed this blog will remember the angst I had as my adolescent social anxiety and issues with belonging came rushing back full force with my early sobriety. I wrote all about that in this post. I’m glad I faced that head on and wrote in my journal and cried and really felt it all. Because it’s gone.

I’ve reconnected with a couple of old friends who I never lost touch with completely, but now we are much more involved in each other’s lives than in recent years. And I have a few new sober friends. I still have my friends who do a good bit of drinking, and that’s OK, too. They support what I’m doing and I have no need to try and influence their habits. Just a little, I miss drinking wine and getting wonderfully silly and sloppy in that special way with a couple of them. But all in all, it’s really OK that those days are gone. Good thing we did it to death 😉

Some amazing women have come into my life who are neither recovering alcoholics nor big drinkers. They are loving, funny and smart—living in awareness and continual growth. We support each other completely, whether we are falling apart temporarily or celebrating large or small successes, and all the ordinariness in between.

I know I was open to the arrival of these friendships because of the space that opened up in my life once I removed alcohol and its attendant baggage. It was also necessary for me to go through the residual, very old pain I was holding around feeling left out, needing the “cool kids’” validation of my worthiness, and feeling so, so lonely. I cleaned all that shit out, with patience and compassion for myself, and beautiful things have grown from that space.


Sobriety gave me my writing. It lifted the damper that alcohol placed on my creative energy. It gave me the motivation and, initially, the material. I started this blog first and soon found I wanted to write about other things, so I started another one—a non anonymous blog where I  write about whatever I like. Except my recovery, of course—for now.

I started this blog as a way to process my recovery experiences and connect with others. It turned out to be the perfect way to take my first baby steps into writing. Anonymity has been necessary for obvious reasons. It also allowed me to get my feet wet as a writer without too much ego involvement and vulnerability.

Starting my newer blog, on the other hand, was a huge step out of my comfort zone. I was a nervous wreck when I hit “publish” on that first post with my name on it. The good kind of nervous wreck, though. The kind of stomach butterflies that tell you you’re doing something brave that will grow you as a person. Thirty-odd posts later, I am much more accustomed to “putting myself out there,” but I still get those butterflies once in awhile. That’s when I know I’m taking risks with my writing and really giving something of myself.

Being more present and emotionally balanced for my family has been the greatest gift of sobriety for me. My writing is a close second.


The last two topics bring me to this one. In my personal life, I have begun to share the fact that I found it necessary to quit drinking more openly. I would like to be open about this in my professional life as well, but other than the small steps I have already discussed, I’m not sure yet how careful I need to be around that.

I am clear in my heart about where I want my life to go, and that is toward living a transparent life, without secrets and shame. I do not want to compartmentalize myself, being this person here and that person there. Every day, I move more toward being not just kind of the same person, or mostly the same person, but the exact same person no matter where I am or whom I’m with. That’s the way I like it.

At first, I felt it extremely important, to the point of paranoia, to keep this part of my life private. But now I have come to terms with it and it has become the new normal. I can talk about it without crying. It’s a source of health and happiness in my life, not just “doing without.” So now, keeping it under wraps makes me feel split and hidden. I want to feel integrated and open.

I believe those of us who feel comfortable being “out” with our recovery status can contribute to reducing the stigma and shame associated with addiction.

This desire for transparency dovetails with my writing. I want to write publicly about my struggle with alcohol and my recovery, with my name attached. I’m trying to figure out whether my career in health care can withstand that. I am talking to people and considering it carefully. I trust that more will be revealed.

© soberfire 2016



A Sober Dinner is So Much Simpler

Tonight, my family and I went out to eat at a family restaurant after my younger son’s little league game. We have gone there quite a bit, but as soon as we sat down, I realized we hadn’t been there since I’ve been sober. In the last year or so of my drinking, when I was on my serial moderation plans, plus my husband had started taking notice, bringing everyone there for dinner was one of the ways I would create acceptable occasions to drink.

I remember vividly getting there and feeling impatient for my first glass of wine, and being vaguely annoyed by the small size of the glasses they serve.

I remember wanting about four of them over the course of dinner and trying to be happy with my two. I would have difficulty focusing on much else.

Walking down the street after leaving tonight, I remembered other times leaving that place. Feeling the tease of a small buzz. Feeling relief and anticipation if I knew I had more wine at home.   And if I didn’t have any, stressing over whether I could go get some without pissing my husband off. Usually, desire to drink more would win out over that concern. So there I would be, having finagled an acceptable “couple glasses of wine with dinner out” moderation scenario, only to end the night drinking more than intended, again. Of course, there were a few occasions when I did stop at that couple of glasses at the restaurant, but never without great effort, and dissatisfaction.

Wow, what a convoluted and twisted way to spend an evening, either way.

So what happened tonight? I had dinner with my family. We had a nice time. We came home. The end.

© soberfire, 2015

Eight Months Sober: Blessings and Curses

The Blessings:

I’m a better mom.

My kids didn’t experience direct effects of my alcoholism because I did most of my heavier drinking after their bedtime. But I wonder about the subtle effects of having a parent in an active addiction pattern over those last couple years.   And I know they experienced the not-so-subtle effects of my crankiness and irritability due to low-grade hangovers and anxiety. Now I have my patience back. I can be with my kids with joy and ease again.

I’m a better wife.

With my husband, I was cycling between two states: trying to connect and have fun together when I was having a few weeks here and there of “doing well” with my moderation plans, and “checking out”–avoiding him when I was drinking too much. And of course there was the dishonesty of trying to minimize (even to myself sometimes) how much I was actually drinking. He watched it getting worse, and he was afraid for the future and what could happen to our family. That is over. I’m not hurting him and worrying him anymore. I have nothing to hide, and I am present in my marriage continuously. We are together again.

My anxiety has been lifted.

I’ve written extensively about the social anxiety that has cropped up since I got sober. I’m still grappling with some of it (see below). But the really painful kind that has more to do with belonging and loneliness has become so much lighter since I wrote about it. Once I saw the truth of it, where it came from, it transformed.

The true miracle is how my generalized anxiety has all but disappeared. And it happened quickly. Even in the early days and weeks, facing the difficulty of getting through the witching hour without my wine, I felt immediate relief from the backdrop of constant, low-level angst. In the last year or so of my drinking, I knew that I was using alcohol partially to medicate anxiety. I knew that was unhealthy and a really bad long-term solution. But I thought as a short-term fix, it worked pretty well, however ill-advised. I had no idea now much anxiety alcohol was actually creating for me—no doubt the substance itself, but also the internal battle I was fighting daily. I was working SO hard to make it not be true. It was like expending half your energy trying to make the sky green. It’s exhausting, and REALLY stressful!   A lot more stressful, to my surprise, than getting sober—at least for me.

I’m healthier and I feel better physically.

I wake up feeling great, every day. Well, almost. I woke up with a regular, normal headache a couple weeks ago and thought, wow, having a headache sucks–I can’t believe I put up with this so often!

I’m more productive.

I’m getting a lot more stuff done. Because better health and more energy. See above.


Sobriety has given me my writing, period. It gave me both the motivation and the material to start this blog. That led to other writing. Some of it is quite shocking to me. Poems out of nowhere. I do NOT write poetry, or so I thought. Once I got started, the floodgates have opened. I see now that writing is part of who I am, and not writing for so many years has hurt a lot. I don’t know all the reasons I sent my inner writer into exile a long time ago, but alcoholism surely is one of them. She is coming home, and I am so grateful. This is a big part of my happiness right now—finally doing what I’m supposed to be doing. I know, with absolute certainty, this would not be happening if I were still drinking.

I can still have fun at dinners and parties. I do still have some issues to work out around this (see below). I may not stay as late. But I CAN have fun. It took some time, but I can be happy with my sparkling water or herbal tea while others imbibe. In fact, I can listen better and focus more on the people I’m with. I am starting to look forward to these occasions instead of seeing them merely as a challenge to overcome.

I see progress. The witching hour is almost not even a thing anymore!  In the beginning, I HAD to have my sparkling water with lemon in a wine glass at 5:00. Now, I don’t even think about it. Sobriety is about so much more than not drinking, of course, but part of it is simply getting used to not drinking by getting some time under your belt. It is still strange sometimes when I think about it—wow, I’m a person who doesn’t drink now—how the #&*% did that happen? But for the most part, not drinking has become the norm in my days. I’m no longer thinking, “Here’s me, NOT drinking.” I’m used to it now. It’s OK. It’s more than OK, it’s good.

 My sex drive is BACK. Maybe not like when I was 25 or 30. But better than it’s been in years. Alcoholism is a libido killer, for sure. Sobriety is not 🙂

The Curses:

I still struggle with what to say when people ask why I’m not drinking. I wrote about this extensively in this post. I am a bit less anxious over it, but it is not the nonissue I would like it to be. I have a new strategy for dealing with drink offers courtesy of a fellow blogger—the enthusiastic YES strategy: “Oh, yes, I’d love a drink, I’ll take some sparkling water, please!” Still playing with it. I’m not sure I’ll ever be really comfortable with this unless I decide to “come out” as a person in recovery. But I trust I’ll get comfortable enough, with time and practice.

Sometimes I still feel sadness over not being able to drink like normal people.

This came up recently. I had coffee with a new friend and later she messaged me, saying “Let’s get together again, this time with dinner and wine!” Sigh. That hit me right in the gut. It isn’t so much about whether to tell her—maybe a little, but I think I could comfortably tell this person. It is grief over not being able to do that anymore. No more bonding with a new friend over wine, no more loosening up and getting giddy with girlfriends in that way that really was wonderful. Oh, well. I remind myself that there are much worse problems to have. It is a blessing to have friends to spend time with in the first place. Perspective.

I’m not losing weight, dammit! I thought for sure the extra 30 pounds would just melt right off given all the calories I’m not drinking. I’ve replaced alcohol only with sparkling water, coffee, and tea with no sweeteners (no artificial ones, either).   I really don’t think I’m eating more. I got faked out because I did lose 5 pounds pretty quickly, but then it came back on and stayed.   So this has been a disappointment. But hey, at least I’m not gaining weight!

A blessing and a curse:

I have to feel everything, or, I get to feel everything!

Feelings have nowhere to hide since I nixed my usual escape hatch. This is hard sometimes. Big feelings feel bigger. Sadness, loneliness, anger, regret, shame—it’s all sharper. I feel it all in my body more. But I am learning that I can let it all come, and in its own time, it will go. I’m learning to trust that I can handle it, and it’s always temporary, so I try not to fight it.   It really is mostly a blessing, even the really hard stuff, because then I get to see that I can come out the other side of it and be better than fine. And I get to feel more joy and more love, too. It’s ALL bigger.

Looking at these lists, there is really no question which one carries more weight. Sobriety is a blessing.

© soberfire, 2015

Being Seen

When I was two months sober, I went to a meeting on a day of the week I don’t usually go because I wanted to get my 2-month chip. There I sat, feeling peaceful and calm, waiting for the meeting to start, when he walked in. Someone I know. He saw me, too, then quickly looked away and sat down across the room. Immediately, my heart started pounding in my chest, I felt my face flush, and I felt nauseous. Full-on cortisol flood. I whispered to the kind soul sitting next to me, “Oh my God. Oh my God. Someone I know just walked in. He’s sitting over there.” She saw my sheer panic and put a hand on my shoulder and said, “Well, after all, he’s here, too.”

It took me half the meeting to get ahold of myself, and a half hour is a long time to sit in a panicked state. At the time, I didn’t want anyone at all to know about me, other than the few very close family members and friends I’d told. I REALLY didn’t (and still don’t) want people from work to know. If the chips had been handed out at the beginning of the meeting, I don’t believe I would have been able to get up and claim mine. As it was, I had some time to decide. At first, I was sure I could not and would not. With some deep breathing and just hanging on for dear life, I started to regain my composure. Meanwhile, he raised his hand and shared, and I saw that we are the same. So when chip time came around, I stood up, and with trembling and tears in my eyes, I got my chip.

After the meeting, he came up to me and hugged me. I said “I almost had a fucking heart attack when I saw you.” He said, “Well, I almost had a fucking heart attack when I saw you. And in fact, until you got up to get your chip, I assumed you couldn’t possibly be here for the same reason as me. I assumed that since it’s an open meeting, you must be here with a friend.” We talked for awhile and he told me some of his story, and I told him some of mine.  He had been sober just a few weeks longer than me.

I was so glad he had shared in the meeting, and I had decided to buck up and go get my chip despite feeling so vulnerable doing it. If neither of us had done those things, we may not have connected at all, and we may have both left the meeting feeling uneasy and off-balance about being seen.

As I walked to my car, I felt grateful for the way it unfolded, and I thought, “No wonder I always liked that guy.”

© soberfire, 2015

Social Anxiety in Recovery, Part 3: Everything Old Is New Again

Soon after I quit drinking, I noticed a strange new development that I didn’t immediately connect with new sobriety. It is still ongoing, although I’m working through it. I am frequently overwhelmed with painful feelings of not belonging, not being chosen, not being included. “Will they like me?” “Do they like me?” “Look at that fun event they posted pictures of on Facebook, how come we weren’t invited to that?” “Oh, I don’t think she likes me.” “Nobody likes me!” I noticed I was feeling increasing angst over these questions and I thought, “WTF is this? Am I in junior high again?”

Why, yes, as a matter of fact, I am! I am 13 again. That’s the age I started drinking—my path to deadening the pain of not belonging, among other things. That 13-year-old girl has a lot of unfinished business. Now that I’ve taken away the anesthetic, she has stepped forward, and is insisting some attention be paid to her wounds.

I’m not surprised at all that old issues are resurfacing, but I am taken a bit by surprise that it’s manifesting as social anxiety. If you had asked me what my main problems were at that age, social difficulties would have been quite a few down on the list. So it’s taken me some time to begin untangling this.

At age 10, my family moved to another state and I had no difficulty making new friends.  Then, at age 12, we moved back. My old friends were at different schools, and I was the “new kid”  at the most torturous age possible.  I had no friends at all for most of the school year, no one talked to me, and I cried every night. It was bloody awful.

I finally started to make friends after running into a girl from school on the beach in another state during spring break. We bonded that week, and when we got back to school, I quickly assimilated into her group of friends. They were good kids and we really did have supportive, loving friendships, and I was so grateful and relieved. At the same time, I was still me–desperate for belonging and fearful of being on the outside again. I wanted to do whatever was necessary to fit in seamlessly. They smoked and drank, so I did, too. They never pressured me, per se. The pressure came from within me, if there was any pressure at all. I remember that when the first opportunities to drink with friends arose, I took them with no deliberation at all—there was no question what I would do.   I quickly learned that drinking made me feel less self-conscious and helped me forget everything except the fun of the moment.

Much happened to me and within me around age 13, most of which is beyond the scope of this post.  My friends were literally my lifeline, and in some cases, I was theirs. I believed I was nothing without them—that they were the only thing good in my life.  I was also consumed by feelings of not being good enough, fears of not being accepted, and fears of losing whatever acceptance I’d gained at any moment.  Despite the fact that this doesn’t match the current reality, these feelings are all coming back up now, I believe because I stopped drinking. The pain feels old and new at the same time, and it feels very real.

The current reality is that I have fewer friendships in my daily life than ever before. I grew apart from a couple of my close friends as we got married and had kids. A couple of others moved away, and while we keep in touch a few times a year, and we can pick up where we left off on the rare occasions we see each other, it’s obviously not the same. As for friends I’ve had for decades that I still see on a regular basis, there is one left.  And there is one other treasured friendship that is newer but solid. The others are tenuous. Months can go by before we see each other or even talk. It seems everyone is just too busy. These newer friendships tend to feel so promising and then they never seem to get beyond a certain point of very occasional get-togethers. I want more. Girlfriends, you know? Like I used to have, people who are part of your daily, or at least weekly, life.

I am beginning to wonder how my alcoholism has affected the role of friendships in my life. I have read articles like this one about the difficulty of growing new friendships at this age, and I know it’s not all about what’s wrong with me. But I can’t help but look around and wonder, where are my soul sisters? Where is my woman tribe? How is it that female friendships have always been so crucially important to me, and yet I have not managed to build a strong and lasting circle?   Was too much of what I have to give taken up by my alcoholism and all the energy it took to try and control it?

Besides being a fun drinking buddy, I have always been the friend who wants to talk about real stuff, and listen to real stuff, too. I know friends have felt loved and supported by me over the years, at least in large part. Since I’ve been struggling with all this, I have considered whether being an empathic person is an ego construct—some kind of story I like to tell myself.   But no–I know it is a genuine part of who I am.  Still, I wonder about the self-absorption that I am told is a hallmark of alcoholism. Is it possible I am not as good a friend as I always prided myself to be?

So, a perfect storm has gathered here. Very currently, I feel lonely for real community with women, and I’ve felt this way off and on for a couple of years. Now I add the layer of my recovery—this major thing happening in my life that carries a stigma, and my conflicted feelings about if and when to tell new friends, and how they might react. And meanwhile, the part of me that is 13 again suffers a preoccupation with belonging and inclusion that has the exact flavor and quality of that early adolescent age. Several times over the last (almost) 8 months, I have been racked with sobs over real or imagined slights and child-like feelings of being “left out.” It’s kind of embarrassing to admit that as a woman in her 40’s, but hey, that’s why this blog is anonymous!

All this adds up to feeling incredibly raw and vulnerable.

There are good things happening. I am blessed to have the close friends I do have. The get-together I was all nervous about in my last post happened last night, and it was lovely. I talked to my sponsor beforehand about all of this, especially the question of what to say about my glass of sparkling water instead of wine. She said, “Let’s put this into perspective. What’s the worst thing that can happen? Worst case scenario is…drumroll…they will think you’re an alcoholic!” That, along with several comments from readers here, helped me relax a bit and not take it so deadly seriously. One of the women did ask if I drink when she saw my Perrier, and when I said no, she said, “Really, not at all? Is that because you’re a better person than me?” I said, “Definitely not, I just discovered I feel better when I don’t.” Not the whole truth, but also not a lie. And that was that. It was a really fun night, and at the end, there were hugs and a heartfelt “We really should hang out more often.” I got a phone call today from one of them and a text from another about getting together again. And, I am meeting another new friend for coffee next week.

These things make me so happy, but I must be careful even about that. I must move beyond diving into tailspins called “What’s wrong with me?” if someone I like seems uninterested in a friendship with me. By the same token, I cannot depend on positive signs of new friendship to feel good about who I am.

Where is the line between healthy, natural desire for connection and community and neediness, desperation?   Wherever that line is, at the moment it seems to be a fine and precarious one for me. I do know which side of that line I want to be on. I want to come to new friendships from a place of genuine interest and caring for others, not out of craving for whatever emotional need friendships promise to fill for me.

Time to listen to the 13-year-old me, hear what she has to say, and discover what she needs in order to heal. As for this longing for more connection and community, I think I must first find that in connection with my own spirit, and with God. I believe the rest will follow.  This is my healing work.

© soberfire, 2015

Social Anxiety in Recovery, Part 2: What the Hell am I Supposed to Tell People?

I went to a work party about six months before I quit drinking. Nothing dramatic happened, but it stands out in my memory of drinking related episodes toward the end, when I was trying so hard to drink like a normal person. I was in the midst of one of my many moderation plans, and I actually thought I had it this time. This particular plan was entitled: “I’m removing alcohol from normal life activities.   I only drink on special occasions now.” And I hadn’t had a drink in a month or so, since the holidays! Success! See? No problem, I’ve got this drinking “issue” under control. Now, I knew I would want to drink at this thing—it was a work party, after all. But I was really trying to be purist about “special occasions only,” and decided before going that this did not qualify and I would not drink. That lasted less than 5 minutes. As soon as I walked in the door, a friend from another department bounced up to me and said, “Yay! We get to drink wine together!” I looked at her like a deer in the headlights and the poor thing was so confused, looking concerned and asking, “What’s wrong?!” I quickly recovered and determined that there was no f-ing way I would be stumbling over “Oh, I’m not drinking tonight.” And furthermore, there was no f-ing way I would be doing this event without wine, period. So I went straight to the bar with my friend and got my wine, and what a relief. Soon I ordered a second, and I was so pissed that they were serving those tiny wine glasses that actually hold 4 ounces. I forced myself to drink at half the speed I wanted to and tried to focus on conversation with my colleagues. After dinner, I went to the bar and got a third glass, wondering if anyone would notice that I was still drinking wine while everyone else at my table had switched to coffee. When I got home, I drank more, of course. After that, “special occasions” became ever more loosely defined, and I was back to my old habits in no time.

The same annual work party came around again recently, six months onto my sobriety. This time I skipped it, even though I love opportunities to socialize with the people I work with, and there aren’t enough of them. So why didn’t I go? It wasn’t because I was afraid I would want to drink. It was because I couldn’t think of a single thing to say that I felt comfortable with if someone were to ask me why I wasn’t drinking. My friend Joe says, “Just get a glass of something and carry it around. Nobody gives a shit what you’re drinking except another alcoholic.” Maybe. But still. I knew it wasn’t rational, to be that concerned about whether anyone would ask, and what I would say. I guess it’s because I really don’t want people from work to know, and I’m not a very good liar. The fear is that no matter what I say, they will see through me and know.

I don’t know what to say in lower-stakes situations, either. A few family members and very close friends know why I don’t drink anymore. What to do about the more casual friends and acquaintances I’ve drank with in the past? A few times, I have been asked directly and even probingly why I’m not drinking. I have said things to the effect that I’m getting older and I started getting headaches the next day after just a couple glasses of wine, so I experimented with giving it up and found that I feel better not drinking at all. I like how that all sounds, but it’s a lie. I have said I’m on some Paleo no sugar, no grains, no alcohol nutritional cleanse thing. Another lie. I’m a pretty up-front, straight shooting kind of person. What you see is generally what you get. Not now, not with this.   I really hate that. I want to tell the truth. I suspect at some point, I won’t care anymore and I will. But not for a long time.

There are the people I’ve met since I quit, and those I knew before but who never saw me drink. They are mostly other moms who I’ve only socialized with through kids’ activities during the day. No problem, unless you go to a mom’s night out or other evening occasion where there is alcohol. I may be getting to the point where I could actually say, simply, “I don’t drink.” Even a month ago, that felt like a joke. “I don’t drink” implies that I’m one of those bizarre people who don’t like the taste or (gasp) don’t like the feeling or something.   It’s hard to imagine saying it with a straight face.

The other day, I was talking with three other moms, none of whom know whether I drink or not. One of them was singing hallelujah about a recent article saying a glass of red wine is as good as an hour at the gym. I decided to take a stab at participating in the general banter about alcohol (maybe partly to feel them out, because I’m having dinner with them in a few days). So I said, “Yup, the trouble is, three glasses of red wine does not equal three hours at the gym.” Hahaha. Then the second woman said, “Oh, if I ever had three glasses of wine, I’d be so drunk, I’m such a lightweight, cheap date,” etc. And the third said she picks her calories and would rather have dessert than a drink (hmmm…another closet recovery person? I wonder). These are new friends. I have just barely begun getting to know them, and I have no idea what to expect at this dinner. Maybe I will to be able to quietly, simply, have my sparkling water. Or maybe I’m going to be in a position of having to say something about why I’m not having wine. I like these women. I don’t want to start new friendships with lies, or even half-truths. I also don’t want to tell them the real story.

What do you tell people? How often have people actually asked? How has your approach to this issue evolved since you first got sober?

© soberfire, 2015

Social Anxiety in Recovery, Part 1: Loss of the Lube

A common struggle for people in recovery–and a scary part of deciding to get sober in the first place–is navigating social situations without the glorious, wondrous, magical super lube. I’m sorry to say part of me still views it that way, but there it is. Which doesn’t mean I haven’t had any fun in social situations since I quit drinking. I have genuinely enjoyed myself at some gatherings where I was the only one not drinking. This has given me hope that my new sober life need not be devoid of fun, and I don’t have to become a boring party-pooper.  I’ve had glimmers—a taste of what will hopefully become the rule rather than the exception. I have felt what it can be like—true presence with people, listening fully, without half my focus being pulled elsewhere (sometimes toward the effort of trying to keep a lid on my alcohol intake, and sometimes toward the nagging guilt in the background for choosing to drink with abandon). I have already experienced the blessing of leaving a gathering grateful for having what felt like the best of all worlds—fun with friends, total clarity, and knowing I’d wake up in the morning feeling great, with unclouded memories.

I’m not going to hold on too tightly to those glimmers, though. I keep hearing that as time goes on, social events get easier and sobriety can mean socializing with joy and ease. I am hopeful that will be true more and more often as time goes on. I really believe it will happen.  And yet, I’m not going to bank on it. Because I need to stay sober either way. Even if the social aspects stay challenging forever.

The toughest time was my sister’s wedding about five weeks after I quit. I so wanted to rise above the struggle and simply be happy for my loved ones, untainted by this beast. I wish I could say I was grateful to be fully present and alert for every moment, focusing only on them, not my own inner drama. Nope. It absolutely sucked not drinking. That’s the plain truth. The ceremony was beautiful. Then, the cocktail hour was of course ALL ABOUT THE BOOZE, and I felt deprived. Instead of focusing on the occasion and enjoying the lovely people around me, I was having my own little personal pity party about my seltzer with lime. I scolded my kids harshly for getting their clothes dirty rolling down the hill. I never get uptight about that kind of thing—I like my kids to have fun and get dirty—even at a wedding. I was trying, trying, trying, but I was so tightly wound.   The dinner was hard. The dancing was hard. I love to dance, and I made myself get up there for a couple songs, but I didn’t really feel it. The whole day and night, I felt raw, shaky and awkward and like I was on the periphery of it all. I simply had to soldier through it. I did the best I could and I didn’t drink. Everything went perfectly for my sister and it was a beautiful wedding. I’m sad that I couldn’t be present in the way I would have liked to be, but I guess I wouldn’t have been if I’d been drinking, either.

That was the only occasion so far where I had to fight the strong desire to pick up a drink.   Other times, the difficulty is feeling awkward and nervous. Feeling shy.  I never even knew I was shy. I’m not, really. Actually, I don’t know whether I am or not!   How crazy is that? I’m 43 years old, and I don’t even know anymore if I’m shy or not, or if I’m really an extrovert like I thought I was. I feel more like my gregarious self in small gatherings. At the few larger parties I’ve been to, I’ve clammed up and shut down, just waiting for it to be over. I’ve also felt overstimulated by the noise and number of people. It all makes me wonder if I’m not something of an introvert after all, sans booze.

I guess most of us must rediscover (recreate?) who our social selves really are when we give up alcohol. My friend “Joe,” who has 30+ years of sobriety, says he likes being around people who’ve had a couple drinks. He says they are a lot of fun, and they are more themselves. I think that can be true with people who don’t have a problem, or even sometimes for people who do, before it gets bad. I miss how it was when it was good. We don’t have the luxury, says Joe. Even as it gets easier, that will always be a sad thing for me. I believe it’s good for my sobriety to give that its due, rather than pretend it was never any good anyhow. It’s a loss, period. Not the end of the world, not insurmountable, and not more significant than the gifts. But a loss nonetheless.

How is your social self changing since getting sober?

© soberfire, 2015

Drinking the Kool-Aid

In the very beginning, I was sure I would be doing the full duration of my recovery without AA. I recoiled from the dogma and fundamentalism surrounding the program, and it was super tempting to throw the baby out with the bathwater. I know the God stuff is really hard for a lot of people. As long as there is inclusivity for all religions and spiritual belief systems, that part is not an issue for me.   What I have a hard time with is the insistence that frequent meetings and the 12 steps are the one and only legitimate way to go about this recovery business. I don’t believe there’s only one way to do ANYTHING. And I know from the amazing stories I read on sober blogs that it’s not the only way to get and stay sober. So the fear-based stuff doesn’t work for me at all. I now know quite a few people who go to AA meetings most days and in some cases every single day. I would never presume to say they don’t need to or shouldn’t, any more than I want anyone else presuming they know what my path should be (and besides, the proof is in the pudding—they are amazing people). But I call bullshit on the idea that I and every other person in this situation had better go to meetings often and forever–or even at all–or be guaranteed screwed with a capital S.   On the other hand, some of the vehement anti-AA stuff I’ve read online strikes me as the flip side of the same dogmatic coin.

Largely because two people I admire and trust asked me to, I kept an open mind about AA and didn’t rule it out. Meanwhile, I went to a Buddhist recovery meeting a couple of times. I thought that had to be the ticket for me since I had been practicing meditation and yoga for years and loved the idea of a recovery program based on Buddhist principles and mindfulness practices. To my surprise, that meeting didn’t do it for me and I can’t even say why. Maybe it would have grown on me, but I couldn’t stick with it anyway due to my work schedule. I did find a book there that has been a wonderful resource for me, One Breath At a Time:  Buddhism and the Twelve Steps by Kevin Griffin. That book pointed to the possibility of finding compatibility between AA and my beliefs about spiritual growth.

I decided despite my reservations, it would be stupid to not at least explore this program that was tried and true for millions. So I went to my first AA meeting and found it thoroughly depressing. The talk was all doom and gloom and war stories—I did not find it helpful at all. Here was me: “I cannot believe I am away from my family at dinnertime to sit in this dark church basement right now. Is this really my life now? Seriously?”

My sponsor/friend encouraged me to try a couple more meetings before making up my mind, and I agreed. I started reading the Big Book given to me at the first meeting. I found that I actually like the AA literature a lot. You do have to get past some of the dated language and gender bias. I have had to develop my own interpretations of words like “powerless” and “disease”—interpretations that feel empowering instead of demoralizing. Other than that, most of what I read in the literature resonates as truth for me.

On my birthday, I tried another meeting. It was in the morning in a sunlit room, and it could not have felt more different. It was not depressing at all–quite the opposite. I heard inspiring stories and insights about how people are learning to live better lives. People talked about how they are taking responsibility for their own thoughts and behavior, releasing control of others, and learning to be better spouses, parents, sons, daughters and friends through their recovery.  There was sadness and struggle, and there was also laughter.  I thought, “Now here is a meeting I can do.” And the location was poignant for me—it’s right around the corner from the house where I lived in high school—the house I used to sneak out of at night to go “partying” with my friends. The meeting is on the very street where I took walks many times a day to get away and be alone, smoking and listening to my Walkman, looking at the same view. My recovery could begin in the very place where the problem took hold and grew roots. At the end of the meeting, a woman gave me a small pewter angel.

I started going about once a week. I didn’t have to speak at all until I was good and ready, and that was important for me. You could go to that meeting forever and never say a word. There is another one I go to occasionally—a women’s meeting that I also really like. But it’s a good thing I didn’t try it until I had several months’ sobriety under my belt. Because at the end of that meeting, they go around the room and everyone who didn’t share introduces themselves one by one, by saying, “I’m ______ and I’m an alcoholic.” There is no explicit requirement that you MUST introduce yourself in exactly that way, but that’s what every single person does, so clearly that’s the expectation. By the time I tried that meeting, I was fine with saying that out loud in a room full of strangers. In my first weeks of sobriety, I wouldn’t have been. I would never have gone back to that meeting, and it could have scared me away from the program entirely. I think it’s important that people feel free to sit in meetings and just listen, and not speak at all unless they choose to, and not feel pressured to make declarations about themselves.

There are a couple of mavericks at my regular meeting who introduce themselves by saying ‘I’m ______ and I’m in recovery.” I really like that. Even if you’re fine with the alcoholic label, identifying yourself as being in recovery puts the focus on the solution instead of the problem. I’ve considered making that my practice as well. I still may do it. For now, when I choose to speak, I am fine with saying “I’m ______ and I’m an alcoholic.” I just feel like, you know what? It’s true, I now believe, at least by most definitions. It may not be the most positive way to repeatedly self-identify. But whatever, it’s fine. It’s what 99% of people do in meetings, and when in Rome, you know?

I go to meetings now because I like going. I find it inspiring and positive, and I learn something each time. Occasionally, I share something myself and in doing so, I have the privilege of participating in others’ recovery. My meetings help me remember that sobriety is something I must nurture and not take for granted. The stories people tell show me all the ways that sobriety is about a lot more than just not drinking. I like that men and women from all walks of life welcome each other and connect through this common journey.  I’ve met a couple of people that I’m getting to know better, but in most cases I only know the other members by what they share with the group. Still, I love these men and women. Many of them I would never have given a second glance if I walked past them on the street. Now I get all excited when they start talking, because I know I’m about to hear something awesome and real, and that is a gift. What a surprise–the Kool-aid actually tastes pretty damn good!

Once a week feels just right. Meetings are important to my recovery, AND they are just one part of my recovery landscape. Some days, a Zumba class does more for my sobriety than a meeting! I create time and space for nurturing my sobriety in lots of other ways—with meditation, jogging, yoga, writing, reading about sobriety and spiritual growth, and psychotherapy.   And doing my best to remember to practice mindfulness in all the ordinary activities of the day, and release my attempts to control everything (with highly variable degrees of success!). These are the ways I tend my fire.

How do you tend yours?

© soberfire, 2015

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