Just wanted to let you know that Parental Discretion got a pick-up for season 2! I couldn’t be more excited to go back into production (probably in August) and have brand new episodes on the air by January. In the meantime, new episode are still rolling out including this Monday, May 27th at 11 pm.

I’m trying to think of ridiculous things to do for the new season such as the pole dancing class I did or the tattoo I got. One idea I have is a trapeze class. What do you think? I need ideas! Give them to me! And watch the show on Nick Jr. so I can fool NickMom into thinking I have fans!

Megan’s story:

I started trying to quit drinking right after Christmas 2012. Well, I guess I tried to start a year earlier, when I quit drinking for the month of November 2011. I did it just to prove that I could, to prove to myself I didn’t have a problem. And the day I made it, I poured a huge goblet of wine and toasted myself. A whole year later I was so far past where I had been, I felt hopeless. I spent 2012 trying to “discover” myself. I went to therapy. I quit my soul sucking corporate job to pursue my freelance writing and photography career, a life’s dream! My schedule finally wasn’t full to the brim with work, so I could actually spend quality time with my kids. After months of preparation and practice, I had everything I ever wanted. And I was miserable.

That’s when I realized I had a problem. Until then I kept making excuses. “My job is so stressful, I deserve a glass of wine.” “My kids are insane, I need that bottle.” “My husband is never home, might as well drink.” But then everything was better, but I couldn’t stop drinking. I basically drank a bottle of wine every single day of the month of December. And then in January, on a work trip, I decided to stop. I woke up covered in cold sweat and had horrible insomnia. After a week, I gave in, and was back to the booze. I figured I had to drink to sleep, so I drank. That’s about when I finally joined an online community for women in recovery (the Booze Free Brigade) and infamously Googled “symptoms of an alcohol addiction.” I introduced myself to the online community and quit for two weeks, but I didn’t stay with it. I faded away, feeling shame as I read posts from people who were able to make it through. I watched as people who started posting around the same time as I did hit milestones like 30 days or three months and I was so jealous. Why couldn’t I do this?

After many stops and starts, I finally took my last drink on April 15th, 2013. I had just returned home from my dear uncle’s funeral and saw the news of the horrible bombings in Boston. There was a bottle of wine on the counter and I had two glasses before I felt sick. I knew I could not do it anymore. I finished the bottle and went to bed. When I woke up, I felt horrible as always, in a hungover fog complete with pounding headache. I made it through the day white knuckling it, and then went back online to figure out how to join the private Facebook group that was associated with my sober community online. The minute I was added to that Facebook group, I received tons of notifications from other sober people welcoming me and telling me how glad they were that I was there. That was my turning point.

Since then I have done lots of things to stay sober. The first thing was really, REALLY recognizing the fact that I cannot drink alcohol safely. I am not a one drink kind of girl, so I must be a no drink kind of girl. I check my online community daily, and post as often as I can. With encouragement of my sober community, I have started attending AA meetings, which at the very least are free therapy and at very best are saving my life. I came out to my husband and two friends about being in recovery. I text sober people when I’m feeling vulnerable and I try and provide support to others who need someone to talk to. I drink lots of sparkling water and allow myself nightly treats, like ice cream or candy. For the first week or so, I stayed tightly in my bubble, spending a lot of time sleeping and watching TV on Netflix. My kids have watched more TV in the last month than in their entire lives! I order out for dinner more often to avoid the stress and triggers of cooking. I listen to the Bubble Hour podcast, a podcast that covers topics for women in recovery, while I’m cooking or cleaning, or even mowing the lawn. I have almost completely forgone the gym, as I had no energy early on in my sobriety and I didn’t want to try too many things at once. Hopefully I can get back in to that soon.

What has changed? Well, there’s the physical stuff. I’m 10 pounds of bloat lighter. My skin has cleared up and brightened. My fingernails, which had started pealing off, are growing back. My eyes are clear and the dark circles underneath them are fading. I still get headaches, but not nearly as often, and I hear these will fade over time. I’m finally not tired anymore, but that only kicked in during this past week.

And of course, the emotional growth has been magnificent. I actually enjoy spending time with my kids. I am present in their lives, not just in the room. My husband and I are working hard, but it’s not easy. He does not think I have a problem with alcohol, but he does admit I’ve been more fun to be around lately. We’ve been out at several events and I always get to drive his nice car home. My work, which was severely neglected during the end of my drinking and beginning of my sobriety (due to shear exhaustion) is finally back on track. I am creating again, and it feels incredible. But best of all, I am seeing things again. I remember when I first got eye-glasses as a kid, and I walked outside and saw all the individual leaves on the trees. I was amazed! My whole life I’d only seen a green blur from afar, and now I could see each leaf. It was astonishing and awe-inspiring. That’s how I feel in sobriety. I see each leaf. I see each flower petal and every inch of the blue sky. I smell the raindrops on the wet ground. It’s like I’m seeing everything in my life for the first time. What a gift! It’s like being reborn.

So, that’s where I am. Day 30, with many more sober days in my future.

So a few weeks ago I got my kids’ summer camp information in the mail -and let’s please not talk about how much it’s going to cost me to send all three of my little scamps to camp for the summer -seriously, I have to write a check for that nonsense by May 20th if I don’t stroke out first. Anyway…I got the info pack and inside there was a flyer featuring Gruvy Wear. Elby got a hold of it and immediately wanted a shirt. I looked at the flyer a little more closely and realized that the shirts are basically wearable UV protection and because my husband is a neurotic freak (even though I’m the Jewish one) he was all for us buying a few. Jon is a sun nazi and is constantly asking if the kids are wearing sunscreen. He’d love them to wear it to bed if it weren’t so darned messy. But short of that, he’s thrilled with these shirts that double as swim wear.

Well, when we got our shipment all three kids freaked out so much that I decided to get some more. I wrote to Gruvy Wear to see if they give me a few in exchange for putting them up on my blog and they graciously agreed.

The point is, you guys know that I rarely do posts on my personal blog featuring products but I am now such a huge fan of the shirts I couldn’t help myself. Check out Elby to your left who is wearing the matching skirt! Is that not the freaking cutest?

Here are Sadie and Matilda wearing size 5/6 and size 3/4 respectively. They both chose the guitar rhinestones motif and I think they really showed some fashion prowess. If you don’t find these pictures adorable I would suggest having someone take your pulse because you are clearly completely dead inside.

So guess what! You can order Gruvy Wear and get the old Stefanie Wilder-Taylor discount! 15% off your order if you use the code SWT15. And just to make sure you know, I’m not making any money off of this. I just loved the shirts so much I asked them if I could give my readers a discount!

I mean, if you wanted to get Elby a headband she wouldn’t knife you or anything. But you don’t have to. Buy one for yourself. Protect your hair color that you just paid $100 for. Not judging. Stating facts.

It has been nearly 5 years since I had a drink. The day before I stopped drinking my life revolved around parties, dinners out and that private stash of wine always rotating through the refrigerator and the empty parade out the the curb on recycling day. And for about the first year of sobriety it felt like my life was over. Okay, who am I kidding, I don’t even remember the first year of not drinking. I pretty much just survived it the way you survive a blackout…you have vague recollections when you wake up and you are glad to hell it’s over and you promise never to do it again. Ever.

Looking back I vaguely remember three things about that year:

• A pot of coffee: I brewed a full pot of coffee every day at 3pm so I could have a drink in my hand all afternoon.
• A 12 step program: I believed I had a chance at a different life…the kind of life I saw those people living so I listened and did what they told me to do.
• The mirror in the bathroom: I could finally look at myself in it again.

My grandmother died one year–to the day– after my last drink. And I had a choice. I had always promised myself that when my grandmother–my absolute favorite person on earth–passed, I would throw the biggest party of my life. The choice I was faced with seemed really important as the funeral approached. I could drink to celebrate her life and lose the inertia of sobriety or I could show up at the ‘after party’ stone-cold sober and face death and life on it’s terms.

So the day of the funeral arrived. And let me just say, you can’t conjure up the kind of stuff that happens to you when you are stone-cold sober. I ended up writing the eulogy the night before and one of my heavy-drinking-buddy-cousins, Brett, who I hadn’t seen in years, read it. At the ‘after-after-party’ (yep, my brothers know how to keep the party going) Brett, sat down next to me and when I asked him what I could bring him to drink, he said he’d given up drinking. I didn’t have the guts to say I had too, but silently I felt supported when I poured myself a glass of lemonade instead of a gin and tonic–my grandmother’s favorite cocktail. What are the chances two recovering drunks made a beautiful contribution at my grandmother’s funeral service?

When my life orbited a bottle of wine, I could not conceive of the life I have now. I never imagined that when I was pouring those cups of coffee and surviving my first year of sobriety, I was amassing character that would pay dividends later. Today, I am doing things I never imagined: taking risks in my career, in my writing, in my relationships. I live with tremendous intention. And it is because I put down the liquid-courage.

Does my husband still have cancer? Does my mother still drive me absolutely crazy? Do I still struggle to get the laundry folded? Do I still loath the school projects that require poster board and glue sticks? Yes on all accounts. Some things in life didn’t change when I quick drinking. But the really, really important thing did. I changed. I have a second shot to live a courageous and beautiful life.

That’s the ‘AFTER-after-after party.’

I have no reason to have a problem with alcohol, but I do. I was raised by both parents in a fairly well-adjusted environment, even though I think that my mom did a little psychological abusing…but hey, who doesn’t think their mom abused them psychologically from time to time?

My parents drank a little; that is,  my dad enjoyed a beer or two after he cut the grass. My mom drank half a glass of wine or a quarter of a White Russian once or twice a year. Alcohol made her sleepy. Alcohol was not a big deal in our house. They gave me the occasional sip, I pretended to not like it, and that was pretty much it. I had a great group of friends all through high school, and we were the “smart” cool clique. We didn’t attend (nor were we invited to) the “cool” kids’ parties, where parents were out of town, or better yet, HOSTING the parties, and providing the alcohol. We were all church going, straight A, band nerds–although pretty popular band nerds; we were happy with ourselves and one another, and we had enough fun doing various other stupid things to have any need to drink. In fact, we thought we were “better” than those who drank. And we wondered why teenagers felt the need to drink, when there was so much more to life and friendship.

I went to college, and guess what? I didn’t drink there, either. Of course, I wasn’t in a sorority, so there wasn’t the never ending party scene in my social set. I spent summers working as a counselor at a Christian camp.

During my second summer, I fell in love. My boyfriend was planning to go to seminary to become a pastor. We got serious in a big hurry. And on New Year’s Eve, my senior year of college, he proposed. I said yes. And I blissfully set about preparing myself to be a pastor’s wife. Until, less than two weeks later, he decided he’d made a mistake, and not only was he not sure I was “the one”, he also wasn’t sure he wanted to get married, ever. Period. There followed weeks of clinical depression for me. And then an older guy, the friend of a friend, was always comforting me. With flowers. And wine. And I discovered that it was FUN to get rip roaring drunk. That didn’t last long, though–only a month or two.

Then I started dating a guy who had serious alcohol and marijuana issues. But I didn’t sink to his level…no, I tried to SAVE him from his evils. When I graduated, though, we went our separate ways. I went to camp for one last summer and dated another “I’m going to be a pastor” who turned out to be a huge jerk. But I can’t complain too much, because it was through him that I met my now-husband.

Then camp was over, and I was off to the big city. And hey, now I was a grown up, and there was nothing wrong with having a few beers at night, right?

A lot of crazy stuff happened over the next couple of years, most of which is inconsequential, but one important thing DID happen. Eventually I started dating my ex-boyfriend’s friend. Three guesses what his occupation was? Another pastor. I joked that it must be my destiny to marry a pastor. And at that time, my drinking was basically non existent. Champagne on NYE, that was about the extent of it.

When he and I got engaged, and then married, all of my dreams came true. Except that suddenly I wasn’t joking about being a pastor’s wife; I WAS one. And we were serving a most difficult church. And I had a rotten, crappy, difficult job. I would come home, and my husband would fix me a bubble bath and a glass of white Zin. Only later did he say that he worried I was a little TOO excited about my glass (or two) of wine every night. But again, there was an ebb and flow…I drank a glass of wine every night for a few months, and then I didn’t. I would have beer, and then I wouldn’t. He did the same. And then I got pregnant, and not only did the thought of alcohol make me sick, but so did everything else. I threw up for nine months. (And people ask why I don’t have another child!)

But then I breastfed for a year, so I didn’t drink for 21 months, right there. Then we both sort of eased back into it. We had some good friends who drank, and it was nice to hang out with people and NOT be “the preacher” and “the preacher’s wife”…to be “normal”. To have a couple glasses or wine or a few beers. And then we weren’t just drinking with them, we were drinking more at home, too. Basically, every night. Beer or wine for me, vodka for him.

At the time, my husband was very busy with church things. He was gone almost every night during the week, and all day on Sundays. And I was just really getting into Facebook. Well, he wasn’t there, so I was getting started with my drinking earlier than he was… and he wasn’t there, did I mention that? And I found that a couple of old flames were on Facebook. I did not actually have an affair, at least, not in the Old Testament sense. But in the New Testament, Jesus says that THINKING is the same as DOING. So in that sense, yes, I had an affair. Two, in fact. Several months apart. And my husband found out about both of them. I am fortunate that he didn’t divorce me then and there.

We were working through things, but we were both still drinking.

And then we were moving to a new church, and we had the opportunity to start over, we said. A new church, a new town, a new beginning. And for him, it mostly worked. He stopped drinking. I started drinking more. He caught me. I cried. He stopped trusting me, but what else was new? I bought beer and hid it. He would confront me, and I would deny. And then cry. Our son worried himself to death because I was “acting weird” or because Daddy was “going to be mad at you.”

One weekend, something happened that made my husband stop drinking once and for all (but that is his story to share, not mine), and suddenly I was smug. Well, I rationalized, at least I’ve never done THAT. Until, less than a month later, I nearly burned down our house because I passed out while I was cooking something. But *I* had forgiven him, so he HAD to forgive me, right? Well, I thought so, anyway. But he continued to harp and nag (I thought), and I continued to hide alcohol.

He threatened to throw me out, to divorce me, to take full custody of our son… and so I finally stopped. But when he would go out of town, I would have more. Just to *show* him that he couldn’t tell me what to do. It was all HIS problem, you see. Not mine. I could handle it. And then came a few months where I actually did stop. It was a relief to not have to hide anything anymore. It was a relief to not worry if you could smell it on my breath. But one day I was in the supermarket, and I reached out, like I used to, and put a 6 pack in my cart. And I drank it, in between work and coming home. But that was it. No more. I was no longer drinking daily, look how good I was doing!

And then this morning, for some reason…I really and truly don’t even KNOW why, instead of going straight to work, I went to the store instead. And I never even drank it, because my husband saw it before I had the chance. And finally, FINALLY, I realized that the problem was ME. The problem was MINE.

It is not my husband’s fault that I have become addicted to alcohol. It is not my son’s fault. It is not being in the fishbowl that is a pastor family’s life that “made” me drink. It was, and is, choices that *I* have made. Destructive choices that have nearly cost me my marriage more than once. Dangerous choices that could’ve cost my life, or the lives of others. Stupid choices, that might’ve meant that I never got to see my son again. Because for me, it isn’t about the “alcohol”–I just really, truly like the TASTE of beer. (Good beer. Or red wine.)

Honestly, I don’t like the way the alcohol itself makes me feel. And yet I drank it anyway. Because it TASTED good. That is the absurdity of it all. That for years now, I have been putting my desire for a TASTE of something that is, for me, a dangerous substance, above my family. Above my husband, who has stood by my side in spite of my many and frequent shortcomings. (Oh yes, I left out the part about going to church drunk one Sunday…) Above my son, who is the reason that God put me on this Earth: to be his mommy. Above my God, who should be the center of all that I am, anyway. Because where would I be without mercy, and grace, and forgiveness? It has been many days since I actually had a drink, but today I gave into temptation and WOULD have had a drink, had I not gotten caught.

All I can do now is make the choice, daily, to NOT give into the temptation. My family is worth it. And so am I.

Note from Stef: If you’re looking for support the Booze Free Brigade can help.

1. When I read my journals from that period in my life, I mostly enjoyed listing what I ate that day. My blog would have been a non-funny, really bad version of Brigit Jones’ Diary. What I’m saying is I don’t think anyone would have bought the movie rights.

2. Drunk Blogging: I gotta be honest and say that many journal entries were written after a night out with quite a few Long Island Iced Teas creating havoc in my blood stream. A lot of really deep thoughts fizzled out mid-sentence. I can only imagine how shitty I would feel after realizing I’d hit “publish” in a blackout.

3. There would be virtually no talk about parenting which is…well sorta why people read my blog. On the other hand, no talk about parenting!

4. There probably would have been multiple instances of me writing “Talk to the hand.” And no, I probably wouldn’t have been being ironic.

5. The biggest story going when I was in my twenties was AIDS and AIDS is not as funny as you’d think to write about.

6. If you don’t like it when I do posts on American Idol you really would have hated my Star Search recaps

7. No husband bitching.

8. Due to my obsessive nature, all posts about my dating life would have started out “He STILL hasn’t called!”

9. I can’t think of a number nine due to all the partying I did in my 20′s.

10. You would have been subjected to pictures like THIS!

 I don’t even know whose cat that is! Okay, so if you want more posts on this topic, hop on over to one of these blogs and see why you should be glad they didn’t blog in their 20′s. It’s a blog hop y’all!

Kids are insane. We all know that. But to me, no age is insaner than four. There is no method to the madness, no explanation for the moods, no rationale to the irrational. This was a typical day in the life of my four-year-old -thankfully now five year old.

4:30 a.m. Hmm…I’m half awake. It would be so much comfier in mommy and daddy’s bed right smack between them where I can make my body seem almost twice as big and mommy and daddy can pretty much kiss the rest of their sleep goodbye.

4:35 a.m. OH NO! NO NO NO. I left Purple Blanket in my bed! If I cry I’m sure mommy will go get it because I am too tired to walk all the way back to my room.

5:01 a.m. Oh my gosh I overslept! Time to let these people know I need breakfast.

7:30 a.m. Please don’t let mommy tell me that I have to go to school. If mommy tells me it’s a school day I think I might cry. Scratch that. I know I’ll cry. OH NO! Mommy just said it’s a school day!! Oh, I’m snack girl today? That means I’m the line leader when we go outside! I want to go to school right now! Why aren’t we leaving for school NOW?

7:40 a.m. I MUST GET JUICE! I have never ever ever been this thirsty! Ug, why must my mommy always make me say please? It’s so time consuming. She could’ve been back with my juice by the time it took her to get me to say please. She needs to work on her time management skills.

7:55 a.m. Mommy turned on the TV! She totally read my mind! She knew I really really wanted to watch TV.

8:02 a.m. SWEET JESUS, I LOVE CAILLOU! HE’S FOUR JUST LIKE ME! I must relay this news to my mommy twenty times.

8:17 a.m. Why won’t someone change the channel. I’ve been watching Caillou for a thousand hours. He’s good but not that good.

8:30 a.m. I really like to be naked.

8:45 a.m. Mommy has asked me to get dressed so many times today. That’s funny. I wonder if daddy’s iPhone is charged up. I need to play games on daddy’s phone right now. I don’t want to get dressed, I want to play games! Why is mommy trying to make me get dressed? I don’t want to go to school! I want to watch TV and play games all day. Oh yeah, I get to be the line leader, I forgot. I am going to go get dressed.

9:15 a.m. I WANTED TO OPEN THE FRONT DOOR! WHY DID MOMMY OPEN THE FRONT DOOR WHEN I WANTED TO? THERE ARE NO WORDS! ONLY TEARS!

9:30 a.m. I must remind all the kids who are already outside playing in my loudest voice that I am the line leader today and nobody else! Hmm…why doesn’t anyone want to play with me?

10:00 a.m. I LOVE SCHOOL.

10:06 a.m. I HATE SCHOOL.

11:30 a.m. I want to go home right now.

11:45 a.m. I want to live here permanently.

11:46 a.m. I wish my teacher Martha was my mommy. She smells like bubblegum.

11:50 a.m  I’m hungry. Oh God I have never been this hungry ever.  Never ever.

12:00 Mmmm! pizza! I think I will have two whole bites!

1:00 p.m. I don’t want to take a nap!

1:05 p.m. zzzzzzzzzzzzzz…..

3:00 p.m. When is my mommy coming to pick me up??? Why isn’t my mommy here? I’m going to cry and cry until my mommy comes to pick me up! Oooh, pretzels.

3:15 p.m. She is still not here! Why why why? I bet Ariel has never had to wait this long for her mommy to pick her up. I wish I were a mermaid. My life would be ten thousand times better if I lived in the ocean.

3:30 p.m. Mommy!!!!! Oh no, mommy’s here! I don’t want to leave!

3:35 p.m. Now would be a great time to remind mommy that she promised to take us to McDonalds today.  Why is mommy acting like she’s embarrassed in front of the other mommies? There’s nothing embarrassing about being a great mommy!

3:45 p.m.  I wonder where mommy is taking us now. Hopefully the 99 cents store! I LOVE THE 99 CENTS STORE!

4:01 p.m. Why is mommy constantly asking me if I need to go pee-pee? I don’t have to go pee-pee!!!

4:05 I CAN’T BELIEVE MOMMY JUST SAID WE CAN’T GO TO THE 99 CENTS STORE. AM I HAVING A BAD DREAM? PLEASE SOMEONE TELL ME THIS IS ONLY A DREAM AND WHEN I WAKE UP I WILL BE GOING TO THE 99 CENTS STORE.

4:06 Uh oh, I have to go pee-pee.

4:15 Oh no, I reeeeaaaally have to go pee pee. I should tell mommy I need to go pee pee.
4:17 Too late.

4:20 Yay, mommy is playing the tickle spider game with me.

4:40 Why does mommy not want to play the tickle spider game anymore? We only played it for ONE MINUTE!

4:42 Phew, mommy turned the TV on. Why is there just a man talking? I want to watch a kids’ show. This is clearly not a kid’s show. Why is mommy not responding when I yell at her to change the channel right now? THIS IS THE WORST MINUTE OF MY ENTIRE LIFE!

4:43 Ha! Fresh Beat Band! Hurray! I love my mommy.

4:44 I’m sad. No reason.

4:46 MY MOUTH IS SO DRY! MUST. GET. JUICE.

5:00 Mommy is in the shower so this would be the absolute perfect time to let her know that I am really hungry.

5:10 Why is mommy getting so frustrated? I only said no to the last fifteen suggestions she made for things to make me to eat. We will find something for me to say y-e-s to eventually. Hopefully it will be pudding.

5:30 I ate one bite of my cream cheese sandwich. I can’t understand why I’m not being allowed to eat my Halloween candy until I have four more bites. I’M FULL.

5:41 I think I will play some games on mommy’s computer. But first I need to put on a costume.

6:50 Daddy’s home! Unfortunately, I’m a little tied up playing Jake and the Neverland Pirates so I can’t go say hi to him. I’ll let him come to me.

7:00 Why won’t mommy and daddy let me play any more games? I only started playing them a few minutes ago! THIS IS THE WORST THING THAT’S EVER HAPPENED TO ME! There aren’t enough tears in the world to express how strongly I feel about this.

7:45 I don’t want to get in my jammies! I want to sleep in my costume tonight! I NEED TO SLEEP IN MY COSTUME! NOOOOOOOO…

8:00 Those were good stories. But I sure am hungry. I better tell mommy that I’m ready for my cream cheese sandwich now.

8:34 I’M STILL HUNGRY. I’M SO SO SO HUNGRY. AND THIRSTY. NEED JUICE. FINE. MILK THEN.

8:37 WHERE IS MY PURPLE BLANKET? I CAN’T FIND IT ANYWHERE! HOW CAN I SLEEP WITHOUT PURPLE BLANKET?  I must yell and yell until someone comes running. Oh purple blanket was right next to me? Well how was I supposed to know that? Since daddy is here I should tell him that I hate school and that all of the kids are so mean. Hey, where is he going?

8:45 I CAN’T SLEEP! OH NO! I CAN’T FALL ASLEEP! I’ll NEVER EVER BE ABLE TO FALL ASLEEP!

8:46 zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz….

4:30 Mommy and Daddy’s bed sounds so good right now…

My name is Lance, I don’t drink but I used to. I don’t drink because I am an alcoholic.

I did not start drinking early, only a handful of non-eventful times in high school. I really discovered the benefits of the magic elixir in college. The feeling of freedom from moving away from a strict USMC Drill Instructor father was my E-ticket to the ethanol ride and I jumped on without a second thought. That ride was fun, a whole lot of fun. I was accepted, funny, sexy, mostly stayed out of trouble, and people wanted to hang out with me. But something was always wrong, I didn’t see it at the time but I do now. I never drank solely to achieve those results. The drink was never enough, and those results were never enough – I always wanted MORE. More acceptance, more funny, more sexy, and more alcohol. There was a dark side too. There is a pool of anger in me that I still struggle with today. Sometimes my quest for more would tap into that pool. Fights, and not just with assholes in bars or parties, fights with friends, punching college buddies in a drunken rage, anytime I felt wronged, sometimes even when sober. Despite my bad behavior at times, I was still never aware of any consequences.

I graduated and started a successful career. I feel now like my life was running on two different threads. There was the responsible Lance who did everything he needed to do, and the party Lance who sought out fun and drinking. It was not a problem, “this is what people do, everybody does it.” I didn’t know that I was different. This went on for years, I thought with no ill returns. Had I been able to see “The Picture of Dorian Gray” that was my soul, eroding in the background, I would have known differently.

I believe the tempest began somewhere in my mid to late 30’s, but I would not address it for almost a decade. Things had always seemed very easy to me and for the first time I think I started to struggle with life – unprepared with any tools or emotional control to deal with things. I wasn’t always the young golden boy whiz kid at work anymore. I struggled with marriage and children, I believe mostly because these beings had come into my life that I could not control. I always needed to control. I turned to that other part of my life for relief, and the two threads began to mix. It was a slow and insidious mixing. Drinking more alone at home, creating parties with neighbors so I could drink, starting to hide things, but still avoiding any serious consequences. This cancer slowly spread through me for the better part of a decade. I spent tremendous amounts of mental and emotional energy being a chameleon – keeping up the facade of responsible Lance, trying to keep a separation of those two threads of my life while they slowly merged into one. Energy I could have well used elsewhere.

As they say it will, it got worse – much worse, and it happened fast. One day, the slow cancerous spread stopped and I dropped off a cliff. Beer turned to vodka, night turned to day, parties turned to a dark corner of the garage, glasses turned to bottles, and bars turned to cars. I still didn’t have a problem, but I can remember very brief times of clarity where it was like I left my body and would look down on that guy holding the Budweiser and say “Lance, are you going to do this fucking forever?” – but then it was gone.

I don’t really know what happened. Still no major consequences (I thought), sure there were troubles at home, but that was nothing new – nothing I couldn’t forget with a few drinks. I have no doubt those consequences were guaranteed to come had I not gotten off the ride. Something did happen, and I cannot really explain it. One day I discovered that picture of my soul in the basement, it had fully bore the burden of my behavior and there was absolutely nothing left. I sought help.

Sobriety is tough, it is the hardest thing I have ever done. It is well worth it, I have discovered that I can change, even some of my personality traits – which I never thought possible. I don’t believe you just stop drinking and all is well. It was a struggle to stop the drink in the beginning, and after that it is even harder to seek “emotional sobriety”, which is the thing that really takes me from “not drinking” to “not feeling like I have to drink.” I view my sobriety the same as trying to become a top athlete. I must practice – every single day. I practice my sobriety with a 12 Step program, and finding other people like me – participating in things like the Booze Free Brigade.

If you want off the ride, you can get off, there is nothing stopping you. You are worth it.

Practice starts today.

To join the Yahoo group the Booze Free Brigade go here.

Here is a great post from a friend of mine. I hope you love it. If you need to reach out you can find more stories right here or here or you can go to the Booze Free Brigade and talk to other women.

Does rape count as cheating?

This was an absurd thought to have while being raped, especially since I’d already cheated on my fiancé with my ex-boyfriend a few times and his best friend.

No one deserves to be raped, but I placed myself in a position to be harmed. Normally I reveled in the opportunity to be a victim, but this time I had such a huge part in the crime and so much shame that it became one of the only secrets I ever kept.

My fiancé was out of town and I was mad that he didn’t take me with him, so I went out dancing by myself with the aim of getting trashed and flirting. And I did. And there he was – the divorced doctor with cocaine. I got in his car and went to his house and snorted his cocaine. He had the largest amount I’d ever seen – I swear it was a kilo.

I made out with him, took off my clothes and got in his hot tub. I didn’t want to have sex with him, but my actions certainly didn’t reflect that thought.

I just wanted his drugs. I didn’t even like him. His energy was dark and he was kind of gross.

He raped me for 4 hours. I said no. I cried. I bled. My back and knees were bloody from carpet burn. I finally escaped into the freezing winter Reno morning and got a cab.

This wasn’t the worst thing that happened to me in my disease; it wasn’t even the first time I’d been raped, but it was a stark reminder of the loss of choice that came when I took a drink. My fiancé was the first man I truly loved and I still couldn’t stop myself from cheating on him once I was trashed. I cheated on him countless times and I slept with his best friend. Even as loose as my morals were, I felt a deep sense of shame for that one.

They’re still best friends to this day and that’s why this story comes to you completely anonymous. My living amends is to do all I can do in my power to make sure my ex never knows. I’ve learned that we don’t implicate third parties when making amends.

After the rape, I drank and used for another 3 years.

I started stopping around that time, though, and it only made my disease worse. In those 3 years, I ended up in situations and places so seedy and dangerous that I felt like I was watching a movie of myself.

But I couldn’t quit. My life sucked; alcohol was the only thing that took away the pain – the pain of my abusive childhood, of the rapes, the promiscuity, the betrayals, the abandonment, the violence.

But then I met him – Mr. Right (Now). He was a normal drinker and the first person to ever say anything about my drinking. I told him it wasn’t a problem – that I could quit anytime, (the battle cry of the alcoholic).

“I bet you $100 you can’t quit for a year.”

And just like that, I quit drinking and smoking and using. Cold turkey. And we moved to LA together.

It was a nightmare. I wanted to drink so badly. I still went to bars and white-knuckled my way through. I had my man – who was really my higher power at that time – but I needed him to fill me. There was no way that man could give me enough love to fill the gaping hole only alcohol filled up.

We moved back to Reno. All the emotions I’d been numbing out since I was 12 came to the surface, but I had no tools to deal with them. I ended up having a nervous breakdown and soon after, my higher power dumped me.

I had a drink in my hand within an hour.

I drank for 5 more months before I hit bottom. I got to experience the progressive nature of alcoholism – my body had been clean, but my brain wanted the same amount I used to drink. I had no tolerance, but I couldn’t stop. At the end of it all, I decided to kill myself.

Or go to AA.

I chose AA. I had no money or insurance, so rehab wasn’t an option. I looked up Alcoholics Anonymous in the phone book – I got sober in 1997 – and the man on the other end gave me the 20 questions.

I aced the quiz.

I went to meetings, occasionally. I didn’t do it perfectly at all. I moved back to LA at 6-months and relapsed on a whip-it at 9-months.

My life didn’t start to turn around until I got a sponsor and worked the steps. That’s when I started to taste freedom. I learned that the first drink gets me drunk – that I lose my willpower once alcohol hits my bloodstream. This took away the guilt and shame. It wasn’t my fault. I always felt so weak at the bar ordering that fifth drink after I promised myself that I’d have four and go home.

This was all I needed to know to concede to my innermost self that I was alcoholic. It was clear. My life was unmanageable and I was powerless when it came to alcohol. The only power I have is not taking that first drink.

My body has been physically sober for 14 years, but those years don’t safeguard me against alcohol. I still go to meetings, I sponsor women and I read the book because a drink still looks darn good sometimes.

Today, I’m a married woman and a mother. I’m capable of love so big it hurts and I’m able to take the actions that backup that love.

I haven’t cheated on my husband ONE TIME. I have nightmares that I do just like I have drinking dreams. If I pick up that first drink, I can guarantee I’d be in bed with someone else the same night.

And the best part? I’m no longer ashamed of myself. I have self-esteem from taking esteemable actions. I love myself today and I want to live.

So I’m not going to take a drink until midnight tonight. I hope you’ll join me.

All I can say is, I love this guy and it’s about time we had a male voice again. Enjoy. And if you relate and want to discuss try the Booze Free Brigade where you will find other resources as well.

There was a time when I drank like normal people do; when drinking wasn’t an obsessive thought. It was something that may or may not have been a part of my day, or a part of an activity, and it didn’t matter whether it was or not. I didn’t dwell on it. Somewhere along the way, the activity became an excuse to drink, or the reason to do the activity was that it provided an opportunity to drink. This is where I can start to obsessively remember how much I had to drink; that I started to obsess about drinking, that drinking didn’t have a point usually except to be drunk.

I remember periods when I didn’t drink, situations that I didn’t drink in. But looking back, I can see that gradually alcohol began to claim more and more of my focus. There were times when my wife would comment on my drinking. And I resented it. Drinking too much, the feeling of being drunk was what I wanted. This was my escape. This was my reward, what I did to unwind and to enjoy myself. I didn’t want anyone taking that away from me. I never gave any thought at the time to how selfish this was. Never occurred to me.

My drinking moved into the phase of just drinking to drink sometime after we had our first child. I found fatherhood, which I wanted so badly for so long, to be as incredible and rewarding as everyone tells you, and simultaneously a million times more overwhelming than anyone ever tells you. I was all the clichés. Suddenly I worried obsessively about our money (a hobby that I’ve brought with me into sobriety). I worried that being a parent is a million games of high-stakes poker every day, where every decision sets off a lifetime’s worth of consequences.

Before, there didn’t need to be a work-life balance. (Of course, there should have been!). Now I had the competing needs of trying to satisfy my job (see: obsessing over our finances) and the demands of helping to take care of a child. Before I always enough time for things, and always time to catch up. Now there was suddenly never enough time for anything. I was overwhelmed by the enormity of every moment. I don’t feel like I was ever enjoying the moments with my child. And I was aware that I wasn’t, and put a lot of stress on myself that I was supposed to be able to. Nothing helps you to not be in the moment like obsessively worrying about how you’re not in the moment!

Looking back, this is when I realize that I stopped drinking because I enjoyed it and started to drink because I wanted to escape. Life became relentless. There wasn’t ever sleeping in on a Saturday to catch up. There was always something that was supposed to be done around the house or at work.

Just when things were setting down and our infant had become a toddler, we had another child. I desperately wanted another child. I wanted the benefit of hindsight and perspective to enjoy those first days, months, and years. And if I am honest, I wanted to enjoy the times that were fuzzy because I’d drank too much. The times I feel like I missed out on. Of course having another child isn’t as simple as getting to enjoy another child with the benefit of all your hard-earned wisdom. It’s exponentially more complicated! Now I think I’m getting a break if I or my wife is off doing something with just one of them and we’re one on one with just the other child. The money is tighter. With the addition of one more person, there is somehow three to five times as much laundry. Life became vastly more complicated so I would take what chances I could to just check out. To get a break from the pressure I created in my own head.

Shortly after our second child was born, I knew I was drinking too much, so I started trying to hide it. My wife caught and confronted me. Alcohol had become a pretty dependable release from life but, I was caught and I had to cop to it so I stopped drinking. I didn’t say I was quitting drinking. I wanted to keep that door open that I could moderate my drinking. I didn’t want to have to stop forever, because that would involve having to acknowledge that I had a problem, and also involve not getting to drink. I was seeing a therapist who said that I showed compulsive behaviors, which I do. And being compulsive certainly sounds better than being an alcoholic.

Around this time, by sheer coincidence, Stefanie Wilder-Taylor was on an episode of The Parent Experiment, a podcast that I referred to as “My Mommy Podcast”. She was a guest (before she went on to co-host the show, which is now called For Crying Out Loud). I loved the podcast because (a) it was funny (b) is about parenting, which at this point was roughly 900% of my world. She must have either mentioned the BFB Yahoo group, or I saw them on her website. After I got busted, I signed up. Sometimes I would read the stories. Other times I wouldn’t, because when I did they hit too close to home. I could identify too much. And I wasn’t ready to say that was me.

This “not drinking” lasted several months, and I eventually began to drink casually. I remember vividly the first time I had a drink after having stopped. I purposefully left half the beer I was having (in fairness, maybe a third to a quarter of it) on the table. I left it so that my wife (if she noticed) would see that drinking wasn’t a big deal to me. Because that’s what you do when drinking isn’t a big deal. I was aware of what a completely artificial gesture this was at the time. People leave half finished drinks because it isn’t a big deal that they didn’t finish it, not because they want it to appear like it isn’t. I would moderate in public and for my wife’s benefit so that I got to drink. Because I still wanted to.

I fell into patterns of drinking more, and drinking more frequently, and my wife confronted me again. And I lied about my drinking. And we both knew I was lying about it. And I have no idea why this time she got through, but she did.

It saved my life.

I went to an AA meeting the next day -mainly as another symbolic gesture but I knew that this time if I didn’t stop drinking, that I was going to lose my wife and my kids. As much as I liked drinking, I always liked them more. They may be relentless (they are) and they may overwhelm me (they do) but they matter so much more to me than drinking.

So, this time, I had to stop. I started out stopping not for me. I didn’t quit drinking. I was made to quit. But somewhere in quitting, I really did quit for me. I fully and completely accepted that I have no interest in being a moderate drinker. I don’t know if I could be, but I know it doesn’t matter. I don’t want to have a reasonable amount to drink. I prefer to have a lot. And I know once I have that first one, that I’ll have the next several. So I don’t have the first.

I was hugely embarrassed to have to acknowledge that I have a drinking problem. I mostly still am. I don’t like to acknowledge weakness and I don’t like to have other people know my business. I never said anything about quitting. I just didn’t drink. For whatever reason, I finally accepted that I can’t drink. So I don’t and I won’t. Because I can’t.

I started reading the BFB again. It was always sitting there in my inbox. Only this time, instead of not wanting to see that it was my story, and my anxieties, and my issues as a parent, I took strength that it was me. That being a parent was hard for other people too. And what’s neat about the Internet is that while the BFB is mainly a group of women, we’re all behind our computers so we’re just our ideas. It’s people’s fears, failures, successes, challenges. And they are my fears and challenges. I’m just a dad and they are moms. And then they helped save my life.

I’ve only realized recently that I’ve spent years of my life waiting for life to happen. I spent years just getting though the day. I’m a tremendous over-thinker and worrier. I looked for whatever would give me a break, whatever would be an escape from myself. I didn’t put much effort into my marriage. I avoided having difficult conversations. I kept waiting for life to start. I looked to parenthood to make it all mean something, and I got caught up in being worried about what had to get done next, and how much had to get done, that I missed all the small moments. I missed the point of it all. I don’t do a great job now of being in the moment. But I’m trying. And I’m present.

The people (women) on the BFB are trying to figure out life too. And that’s great. That’s great that they’re me. They’ve been through it too, or they’re going through it. They’ve helped me to not be so embarrassed about yesterday and instead celebrate today.

There are a lot of yesterdays that I would like to have back. Times that my wife would ask me to do something with her, and what I wanted to do was have a break, have a drink, and get to tomorrow. I can’t have them back of course, but I’m trying to be here in today. Some days, the best I can do is to say to myself that if nothing else, I’m not making today any worse. And some days that’s all I have. But other days, I’m starting, just starting, to see that I can make today better. I certainly have a better chance if my goal for the day isn’t to drink as a way to avoid life and avoid moments with the people in my life.

I was someone who, not so much couldn’t imagine not drinking, but couldn’t imagine why you would ever want to not drink. Now I see how much of life I was missing out on. How much I hid from and ran away from. And I see how much that neglect has hurt the people that I love. Some of life is truly great, and some of it sucks, but it’s all real. And I’m present for all of it.