….The least of which is grace.  Grace (noun): approval, favor, mercy, pardon, an act of kindness, courtesy or clemency. Grace. I cannot count how many hours I’ve spent agonizing over things I’ve done, said, or taken part in. The guilt has kept me up at night. Overwhelmed me into to comatose states in the daylight. Left me dazed for days. Random and seemingly forgotten memories/behaviors resurfacing to incinerate that strong woman vibe I unsuccessfully try to own. The transgressions of the past seem to overshadow any good I do currently. It’s yucky-to say the least.  It’s the shame game.  Shame (noun): a painful feeling of humiliation or distress caused by…

It’s been a minute. My brain had been sluggish and unable to focus—partly due to menopause (YAY, said no woman ever), further complicated by post covid brain fog (it’s real friends), and partly because those emotions I’ve been dreading? Well, they finally showed up. Not a fan. Those unwelcome guests aside—I have hit 500 days. The year mark was big and I certainly celebrated, but somehow this feels bigger. I don’t know why. Half way to a 1,000? Over a year? Good round number? Maybe because I am starting to get my faculties back and able to digest all that I’ve accomplished? At any rate, 500 days feels like a…

My brother in laws wedding was gorgeous. Beautiful bride, heartfelt and humorous vows, grapevines and misty mountains as the backdrop. Even the light rain couldn’t dampen the joy. The one exception? The scowling, bitter, sister of the groom sitting front row and center. Joy of joys. This whole situation should not have come as a surprise. My wedding memories are scarred with malcontent and seething words of loyalty spoken through gritted teeth to my newly crowned husband. And no, dear reader, it was not I, the newly betrothed in frothy white touille giving the lecture, it was my husbands family. The “ones he should be loyal to above all else”.…

I grew up on a farm in Michigan. It wasn’t a big industrial farm with thousands of pigs, cows, or acre upon acre of corn. It was what would probably be called a “hobby farm” today. We had a herd of dairy goats, a few pigs, horses, bunnies, lots of cats, dogs, a couple sheep and a big garden that we planted in the spring and harvested throughout the summer and fall. We sowed enough for what our family of six would need for the year. Canning, freezing, pickling everything we could for the winter months. I think today someone might refer to it is a “lifestyle” but that seems…

Firsts. Life is full of firsts. First days of school: What to wear? Who to be? Will I be cool this year? First day of college: What to wear? Who to be? Can I reinvent myself? Will I finally be cool?  First dates: What to wear? (see a pattern here?) What to say? What not to say? Who to be? Does he think I’m cool?  Etc. etc. etc I’ve had a few firsts these last few months. As the pandemic ebbs in and out of its social constructs, its difficult to know if the anxiety of these firsts is because of sobriety or a response to the panic of re-entry…

Definition: Pink clouding, or pink cloud syndrome, describes a stage of early addiction recovery that involves feelings of euphoria and elation. When you’re in this phase, you feel confident and excited about recovery.  My fluffy pink cloud floated by and parked up above around day 14 and stayed just under two months. Not long enough in my book. I’m not bitter or anything. Wink Wink.  Overnight I was getting amazing sleep. As in: I’m nine years old and just swam in the lake under the sun with my sister all day, sleep. No more 3 am potty runs that culminated in insomnia while anxiously going over how much I drank,…

Whenever I took a break from alcohol there was always an end date. A light at the end of the tunnel. A reward for this unimaginable feat. I counted down to the day that everything would return to its regularly scheduled program.  Life could continue on as it had: shiny, bubbly, juicy, hazy and boozy. I kind of pictured it as stepping back into the full color version. The lively life. Parties —with  the occasional predicament my loosened lips got me into. Wednesday night gimlet soirees attended by a grand total of one while I prepared dinner. Many many many wine nights on the couch Hulu and Netflixing (those are…

If something is keeping you from being fully present and showing up in your life the way you want, then deciding to change that thing is an actual matter of life and death, you know? It’s the difference between existing and actually living.  We Are the Luckiest: The Surprising Magic Of A Sober Life Laura McKowen This.  I read these lines this morning. This is it. What I feel. My being, right now, in print. Exactly what I mean when I say I need to quit drinking. How strongly I feel about the conclusion I’ve drawn about the vast difference between what my life was and what I want it…

There was not an “Aha moment” ala Oprah. My decision to quit drinking was a slow awakening. It was an inability to ignore the overwhelming disappointment I carried most mornings after I drank. It lingered through the day until it was an appropriate time to pour myself a stiff one and dull that nagging feeling.  I wasn’t on benders every day or blacking out by any means, but I knew I could do better. I knew I could BE BETTER. That voice went from a whisper to a shout over the years. Unfortunately reader, I don’t have a crash and burn story to entertain you with. No rock bottom to…

It’s day 69. Time to share what has helped me get this far. Farther than I thought possible. With that said, the more I learn and listen and read, the more I know I am in the infancy of my sobriety. But—even the seasoned professionals with years or decades behind them had a day 1, 14, 30 and 69.  I am a pretty firm believer that, for most problems and situations, everyone has their own path. What works for one person may not for another. We can see this right in front of us when we witness diet culture in all its glory. Endless chicken breasts and brown rice make…