Archive for 2012

Don’t Get Drunk Friday: Thea’s Story

Note from Stef: Sometimes more than a week goes by between DGDF posts. If you have one, please send it my way so I can keep this going! And if you relate to any of the stories you read here, you can get support and look into your drinking further by going to the Booze Free Brigade.


Thea’s Story:


It’s been 6 months today (Nov 1st) since my last drink, but I started writing this story over 10 years ago. My journey here was slow and insidious. I’d been drifting, sliding downward.

In a journal from 2002, I found a page with nothing but this:

“10/5, full bottle cheap Cote du Rhone

10/6, nothing (hung-over)

10/7, nothing

10/8, 1 small sake, 1 large Sapporo, 1 bloody Mary on the plane

10/9, 4-5 glasses of wine = too much!

10/10, 2 glasses of white wine at dinner

10/11, half a beer”

 2004: “This week I have had 3 days without drinking, but the other 3, I’ve had way too much. I can’t decide if I should drink tonight even though I’m making the chicken sauce.”

 2005: “Lately it’s been tough for me to go more than 48 hours without having a glass of wine or some sort of alcoholic drink. I’ve been wondering what it might be like to drink less. I mean, when I do not drink for a day or two, I feel good. What leads me to open the next bottle? I’ve forgotten other ways to unwind.”

 2006: “I drink too much. I need to stop, or else I’m never going to be happy, have integrity, or lose weight. If I don’t stop drinking, I’ll have a horrible marriage and be a bad parent. I might even do someone harm… I feel ashamed. Out of control. Like I am pathetic. Like I always need some bad habit/ destructive force in my life.”

I went to my first AA meeting sometime in 2007. I had called in sick to work because of a terrible hang over from drinking the equivalent of 2+ bottles of wine at my parents’ house on a Sunday night. I don’t remember the meeting. I was too frozen to speak, too frozen to cry. I did not go back.

I knew that the daily recommended alcohol intake for women was 1 drink per day. I told myself that being half Irish should allow me to double that figure. 14 drinks per week was a good week, a controlled week for me. “If you have to control it, then it’s already out of control,” said Nicole Daedone, a teacher who inspires me. Drink-tracking only proved what I already knew to be true.

My husband is a normal drinker, a quality I wanted in a mate. However, I was taken aback when he confronted me about alcohol. I embarrassed him at parties. I vomited in his brand new car. I started hiding bottles. I promised to change, and asked him to help me limit my drinks. Invariably, I’d shoot him nasty looks when he suggested I’d had enough. I’d told my husband that I drink because there is an empty hole inside me that can never be filled. He was saddened because part of him wished our love could fill that. I’m embarrassed to admit this, but I hoped that becoming a parent would relieve that emptiness.

I was hung over the morning the pregnancy test turned positive. Quitting drinking while pregnant wasn’t as difficult as I imagined. I missed the ritual, but my attention was on baby anticipation. I thought I could not be a true alcoholic if it was so easy to stop for 9 months. After she was born, I was “good:” a glass of wine here, a single beer there. “It helps the milk come down,” everyone said. Slowly I worked my way up. I bought test strips for alcohol in milk. I pumped and dumped. One night, I pumped and was drunk enough to decide that it would be a good idea to mix the “boozy” breast milk with “sober” milk to dilute it. I loved my child more than anyone or anything in the world, yet there I was, sitting on the kitchen floor actually putting alcohol into her bottles.

The baby started sleeping through the night, but I no longer did. I woke up multiple times, my mind wrangling with anxieties. I told myself (my family, my doctors) that it was due to hormones, stress, being accustomed to the nighttime feedings, and I never considered that drinking was a contributing factor. I got a prescription for Ambien.

Pretty soon it was a nightly ritual: I’d come home from work or school, drink 1-2 glasses while fixing dinner, 1-2 during dinner, leaving 1 ½ glass for my husband, put our little girl to bed, and open bottle #2. Occasionally, he worked late, and I’d be feeling resentful about the isolating aspects of motherhood so I’d finish bottle #1 and open bottle #2, and pretended it was the first. I took sleeping pills while drunk. I went to the dark-side more often. I blacked out more often.

Every once and awhile, I’d Google “alcoholic mother” or “high functioning alcoholic.” I paid for a year membership for an online drinking moderation program, and used it for 2 weeks. I barely enjoyed drinking anymore, but looked forward to the relief. I began to drink more in the daytime. I dreamt that my family held an intervention. I had another dream that an ex boyfriend was in recovery and came to make amends.

My marriage had gotten shaky, and we were seeing a couple’s therapist. My alcohol use came up.

“I drink to disappear, to escape,” I said.

“So why do you hate yourself?” the therapist asked.

Rage filled my chest. I wanted to grab a hardcover book off her shelf and hurl it at her face. “I don’t hate myself,” I stammered, defensively. “I just have so many feelings… and this empty hole inside me… I don’t know what else to do.”

I knew exactly what to do, but it took another 6 months to start. Within those months our beloved dog died, my mother was diagnosed with breast cancer and underwent a mastectomy, and a neighbor committed suicide. Each time was a reason to drink. My husband and I kept going to therapy, started practicing sitting meditation, and also Orgasmic Mediation. I joined a parenting support group. I needed all the help I could get, but deep down, I knew none of these tools to would truly help me while I was disappearing into the fuzzy haze of wine 4-6 nights a week.

I developed a sense of curiosity about the woman I would be if I did not drink. I joined the booze free brigade online support community. Someone in my area reached out to me personally. It felt like I had no choice but to say yes. Yes, I’ll go to a meeting. Yes, I’d like your number. Yes, I’d like you to be my sponsor. The feeling of no choice was surrender: I didn’t want to be behind the wheel anymore. I didn’t want to control it.

The first few meetings I refused to say alcoholic out loud. “My name is Thea and I want to stop drinking,” and “My name is Thea and I’m not saying it yet.” At my fifth meeting, the speaker suggested the topic of freedom. Through tears I shared; “I am an alcoholic, and admitting that is freedom.”

The past 6 months have been wonderful, painful, and strange. Every time I go to a meeting, I hear at least one person mention the emptiness or void they’ve felt inside. It’s liberating to know that I am not alone. I’m connecting more with other people, and am less afraid of messing up. I’m learning to speak up instead of stuffing my feelings down with drinking and rationalizations.

I still wake up in the morning sometimes and think, “Okay, how bad is it going to be? i.e. How much did I drink last night?” but I am no longer surprised to remember that I don’t drink anymore. Sometimes I wonder if I’m doing it right, working the steps hard enough, or giving enough to support others. I am still in early sobriety and there is a long journey ahead.

I hope that if anything I’ve written today, or years ago in my journals, resonates with you, that you will become curious about the freedom. Perhaps when someone offers you a lifeline, you will say yes. And even when it’s hard, you will say yes to the woman (mother, friend, wife) you’d be if you didn’t drink, and yes to the emotional richness that is available beyond the struggle.

Thank you for reading my story.

Posted by Stefanie Wilder Taylor on November 1, 2012 10:13 pmDon't Get Drunk Friday5 comments  

DGDF: Kym’s Story

I haven’t put up a DGDF post in awhile. That’s because I haven’t had anyone submit anything in awhile. Send me your stories ladies and gents. They have the power to help people and sharing your story will help you too. This story is about what it’s like to grow up with an alcoholic mom.



One of my best friends is newly pregnant and, although she’s heard the stories of my kids being born at least a couple of times, she is newly interested in every detail.  Although an amazing time, the birth of my first son is painful to remember in many ways because it was a time that was particularly messy with my mom’s alcoholism.  The months that I was pregnant was a slow and tortuous buildup of her drinking getting steadily worse and worse.  Our relationship was strained at best and I felt helpless as I was so ridiculously codependent, taking everything she did and said as a personal attack…rather than understanding she was lost in her own mess.

My water broke three weeks before my due date.  After I was at the hospital, I called my mom to tell her I was in labor, but to PLEASE not come to the hospital.  At the time, her driver’s license was suspended because of her most recent DUI, so I thought I was safe telling her. Before I knew it, she was in my room, being dropped off by a friend.  It was 9am, and she already reeked of alcohol.  The day I was supposed to be focusing on one thing, my mind was wrecked with her sitting drunk in my hospital room.  Once my stepfather arrived several hours later, he convinced her to wait it out at home, and I was very grateful for this. In the moments after my son’s birth, she swooped into nuzzle in to him, and I grimaced with the thought of her somehow tainting him with her alcoholism.  In that moment, something changed.  She could mess with me all she wanted, but I would never let her hurt him.

On the day my husband went back to work after taking the first two weeks off with me, my mom and step-dad offered to come over to make dinner. As always, I began assessing her behavior the moment she stepped out of the car.  I breathed a sigh of relief when I realized she wasn’t drunk, and enjoyed the time with them giving me a break.  She pushed me off to the bedroom for a nap while they cooked and occupied the baby.  Just before I walked out of the kitchen, I mentally marked the half-full wine bottle that my husband had left in the refrigerator.  When I woke up 2 hours later, the smoke alarm was ringing, and I ran downstairs in a panic.  Something my mom was cooking was burning, but everything was fine…except the mental mark I had made on the wine bottle was far above where the liquid had now settled and my mom was staggering around the house.  True to how I usually dealt with these situations, I didn’t say a word…just silently stewed in my anger.  “How could she do this to ME?” I thought, so relieved when they finally left.  I finally decided to do something about it.  The next day, I stormed in to her house and confronted her.  I told her that she had broken all my trust by drinking around the baby, and I wasn’t sure where she fit in to my life anymore.  She looked at me with her mouth wide open as I walked out of her house.  That night, she tried to commit suicide. After the unsuccessful attempt (the third in the last 10 years she had made), she went to a 30 day inpatient rehab for the first time in her life.  During the family weekend, I traveled to the out of state facility and watched as she had once again spun her web around her fellow drunks and users, her counselor, and the entire staff.  She was proclaimed healthy and ready to come home.  I started letting her see Finn as long as she was supervised…and it didn’t take long for her to get drunk while watching him again.

I’d had enough. Really. I wrote her a long email and told her that I wasn’t willing to see her again until we started therapy.  I was tired of the lies, tired of keeping quiet, tired of pretending there was not something terribly wrong with both her AND me.  She didn’t write me back for 2 months.  In the meantime, I started seeing a therapist who was skilled at dealing with families of alcoholics.  I had a purpose: How do I heal from everything my mom had done to me.  It became clear quickly that my therapist had another purpose: Get me to see how I had contributed to the mess.  ME!?  I was appalled! I spent the first 3 sessions telling her all the ways I’d been wronged.  After each story, she asked me, “And what did you do afterwards?” and the answers varied from nothing to crying to sulking to angry outbursts.  The obvious pattern emerged…and I began to change.  Each week when I left therapy, it was like my cloudy brain was clearing and the answer was right there all along.  I realized that I actually did have a part in the cycle that our family had down to a perfect science.  Mom fucks up, we all cover it up and make excuses, and put our hard hats on in anticipation for the next explosion.  She was never made accountable and nothing ever changed.

Once my mom and I reconnected, I was a new person.  Calm, and unfettered by her choices.  I realized that I did love her, regardless of her decisions. And I realized there is a different between unconditional love and being unwilling to allow someone to poison you with their choices.  I could love her AND set boundaries! The next few years were not perfect.  She tested my boundaries, but I was able to stay strong without the emotions had used to come with her drinking.  She stopped drinking…and then not…and then back and forth a few times more.  Today, she is about 8 months sober, and committed to AA for the first time in her life.  She frequently thanks me for believing in her and told me the other day that she’s so proud that her grandsons will never see her drunk.  She has a sponsor and leaves her AA book lying around the house for any person to see.  She’s no longer ashamed and we don’t talk about it in hushed tones anymore.  I truly believe that is the difference – she realizes that she’s not a bad person just because she used to drink.

Our relationship has come a long way in these past few months. She has never come out and apologized, but that’s okay, I don’t need it.  Has she had her last drink?  I’d like to hope so, but who knows.  She’s in a forever battle of alcoholism. But one thing I know for sure is that I’m okay either way. I realize now that I don’t need to believe in her…she just needs to believe in herself.

Posted by Stefanie Wilder Taylor on September 27, 2012 10:25 pmDon't Get Drunk Friday3 comments  

Don’t Get Drunk Friday: Karen’s Story

I haven’t been so great about putting these up every week. Sorry about that. If you have a story and you’d like me to post it, please contact me! Karen talks about the Booze Free Brigade board and you can find that here.

Now here’s Karen:

It isn’t my first “day one.” But I hope it is my last. I have reason to believe that it will be. I made it a week without drinking recently. I wanted to be sober, but I hadn’t completely given in. I left room for doubt, and all too soon I was back to the booze. I wanted to quit again very soon after I started the drinking back up. I knew that my drinking days were numbered. But I didn’t think I could face our two trips this summer sober, so I thought I would wait. I didn’t want to quit and be painfully dry for a couple of weeks between trips, so I thought it would be better to just keep drinking. And then last night I couldn’t get drunk. Not for lack of trying, mind you! It just eluded me. I must have been physically inebriated, because I had that numb sensation in my face that makes you feel like you’re wearing a warm mask, but I couldn’t get the precise feeling I wanted, that liquidity of my entire being that I once loved so very very much and had come to need. I really wanted to disappear into the booze last night, but it was like a mirage in the desert that kept receding. I only gave up because I didn’t want my husband to notice too much of the liquor gone and suggest that I cut back or take a break. I didn’t think I was done yet.

I woke up at dawn with a stomach ache, feeling shaky and sick. I tried to go back to sleep but couldn’t. And in the bathroom with the first rays of light coming through the window, I came to the point of total surrender. I had come close to it before, had even partially surrendered, like testing it out. But I had left a tiny possibility open that maybe I didn’t have to quit forever, that maybe I was addicted but not alcoholic, and could break the addiction and be able to drink like a “normal” person. And that tiny crack widened day by day, until it was a wide open hole that I leapt out of when I drank again. But this morning I let go, and gave in completely. I thought about the first step, and as I turned the words over in my mind, I felt their truth. There is no doubt that I feel powerless over alcohol. I have demonstrated it to myself over and over again. And oh yes, my life has become unmanageable for me. From the outside it might not look it, maybe not yet, but for me, it is. And it had been getting worse.

I know with perfect certainty that everything is going be okay. I know it because sober women have been telling their stories online, in their blogs and on the BFB board. I started reading the blogs, and joined the BFB, and began blogging myself, and found incredible support and a safe place to explore what was going on with my drinking. I started to see what was possible if I not only quit drinking but went into recovery. I dipped a toe in that pool, and then freaked out. I shuttered my own blog so that no one could see it (but didn’t delete it – some part of me didn’t want to destroy it, and I’m thinking about opening it up again and maybe writing there again too, in case it helps me or anyone else). I fled the BFB and considered deleting the email account linked to it. I decided I was someone who just loved drinking, and unless or until it got crazy out of control or was harming my health, I wasn’t going to stop. And I stayed away from reading the blogs or the BFB for a while. But I couldn’t forget what I had learned. And so I wandered back. And ran away again. And returned. And read, and posted, and read, and posted and posted and emailed with those who reached out. And I know that it was all of this that helped me get to the place I’m in today, finally ready to do whatever it is going to take to not just quit drinking but to be in recovery and achieve sobriety. I’m sticking with the BFB, and the online meetings I’ve recently explored, but I’m also going to go to AA meetings where I live, because I’ve come to know that it’s the way for me to get where I want to go and become who I want to be.

I’m telling you all of this because I believe that it is critical to find a safe place to tell your truth to people who will completely get it. If you can find the courage to walk into some kind of recovery meeting, that’s probably the best way. But if you can’t, for whatever reason, at least keep reading these blogs and join the BFB group (you can do it anonymously) and read the posts and know that you can tell the truth there, when or if you are ready. (It doesn’t mean you’ll end up having to go to AA, if that’s a roadblock for you. There are other paths to sobriety, and some people find that they can learn to moderate their drinking. I’m choosing AA because I’ve seen it work for others, for people who have been where I’ve been and now have the kind of life I desperately want.)

Posted by Stefanie Wilder Taylor on June 16, 2012 8:52 amDon't Get Drunk Friday5 comments  

That 70’s Post

Gauchos, elastic rainbow belts, saddle shoes, Casper the Friendly Ghost, Underdog, Felix the Cat, Kimba the White Lion my list could go on and on. I loved the 70’s and have such strong fond memories of all things pop culture. I was born in ’66 so I guess the late 70’s were my formative years.

I walked around with a wide tooth comb in the pocket of my Ditto jeans that said “Foxy.”

I feathered my bangs.

I mooned over Shaun Cassidy, Scott Baio, Matt Dillon and Robby Benson.

On my Babble blog I collected a list of my 21 biggest 70’s things. Go check it out and leave me some of yours. I love this game!

Posted by Stefanie Wilder Taylor on June 10, 2012 2:40 pmUncategorizedComments are off  

Don’t Get Drunk Fridays: Molly’s Story

I haven’t updated with a new story in awhile. If you have a story that you’d like me to post then please email it to me! These stories get people sober! They save lives! In ten days I will have been sober for 3 years. I can’t believe it’s been three years already can you? I will write about it when I get there and fill you all in on how it’s been lately (good). For now, here’s an amazingly beautiful woman named Molly who is baring her soul to save yours.

I don’t really remember my first drink, it was either champagne at a wedding when I was 13, or at boarding school when my friend smuggled vodka from her parents house into the dorm in a contact-lens saline solution bottle. We did shots and went to a dance. It was no big deal. I didn’t have “that moment” that people talk about where everything clicked and alcohol was the answer.

Although my feelings about the actual liquid were neutral, I loved the whole vibe of drinking. It seemed like something grownups did, and I desperately wanted to grow up and out of my awkward teenage years. In college (still underage), I did my homework in dive bars, I got really good at playing pool and thought I was so cool. I wanted to be a bartender.

Fast forward and I remember thinking that maybe, just maybe, I liked alcohol more than everyone else, even though I tried to hide that fact from everyone. I began to try and control and manage my drinking, beginning at age 21. My thought was that I should smoke pot instead of drinking alcohol because I didn’t really like pot, and if I smoked pot instead of drinking alcohol I wouldn’t get as wasted. But drinking always crept back in. Always.

I was a rebel to the core, and I believed that drunks and drug addicts were more in touch with reality than everyone else. I loved that Charles Bukowski, Sid and Nancy, drug and alcohol romantic suicide vibe. It was a kind of teenage obsession, mixed with rebellion against my ivory tower childhood with sensible parents.

For me, drinking and drugs were a way to let out demons, to act crazy, and to be outside the norm. I loved the drama, having huge parties, drinking in the woods or at dive bars and falling down the stairs and laughing about it, doing stuff I never would have had the guts to do sober. I remember the feeling of being hungover, and looking back on the events of the night before, and thinking of all the drunken antics. I hoarded those experiences. Even if I felt like crap the morning after, I still had all that drama. It was like money in the bank.

I got a job in a pretty divey bar, where the regulars started drinking at 10 am. Everyone glorified this behavior. They never fell down or acted drunk. They were fine, better than fine! They were SUCCESSFUL ALCOHOLICS. Never mind that Bill had a big red nose, and that Ed occasionally had to be told, in a low-key manner, to go home. Bartending was hard on my body. We would shut down the bar and then stay there drinking and playing pool till 4 or 5 am. I would drink on shift from about 10 pm onwards. I remember working at the bar on New Years Eve. At midnight, as everyone was cheering and toasting, I was sitting on a beer box in the back crying. I didn’t know what was wrong with me.

I stopped bartending and pursued other jobs. My obsession with alcohol continued, although I met and moved in with a long term boyfriend who was so pure that he inspired me to be pure as well. For four years, I kept the drinking under control. We lived a healthy life, exercising a lot, I drank moderately, as did he, but he never really liked alcohol anyway. After four years, I was bored out of my mind and craving drama. Being in this relationship arrested my drinking temporarily, but I believe my alcoholism was just waiting for the right moment to pop out again.

I broke up with the boyfriend abruptly and moved to the big city. Did I get drama? I don’t know about that, but I got a huge dose of misery. Poverty, loneliness, low self-esteem. I dated a heavy drinker for a few months, and he encouraged me to drink a lot and then would take care of me afterwards like I was a little kid. I remember tottering down the street drunk in my Halloween costume, and falling down in my too-high heels and scraping my knees on the pavement. My knees got infected. He dressed my wounds with hydrogen peroxide as pus oozed out of them.

I started dating my future baby daddy. I fell in love with him immediately and hard. We love each other so much, I love his soul and his innermost being, and I believe that he loves mine, but we were both beset by many addictions, ego-trips, fears, selfishness, you name it. This went on for many years. I was perpetually scared, and felt alone. I felt like I was being punished for something but I couldn’t understand what it was. I would sit alone in my apartment and trip out, writing down plans and goals and ideas and revelations. I believed that I could get in touch with my innermost self and emotions through drinking. I drank alone every night out of fear. In 2002 I would write in my journal that I had to quit drinking. And I would continue to write that in my journal for 8 more years.

Bad things would happen when I was drinking, and I would cry the next day to my boyfriend and say that I was sorry, and then start right back over again. I thought that because I was an alcoholic, I had no choice but to drink. That’s what alcoholics do, right? I tried to control it with varying degrees of success, but no one really knew how much it was eroding my soul. Always hungover, always tired, depressed, shameful, and guilty.

Moved in with the boyfriend. We drank, did drugs, fought, made up, made art together, made money and eventually made a baby. I believed that once I became a mother that I would clean up my act. No mother acted the way I did, so I thought that I would just magically figure out how to grow up. I couldn’t possibly keep going like I was going with a tiny baby in my care.

I soldiered through 3 more years, drinking pretty much daily and knowing I had to quit.

When I finally tried to quit (for reals) in June of 2009, I couldn’t put more than three or four days together before I started drinking again. That should have been a sign that I was completely hooked. Alcohol had become my only coping mechanism. At the end I didn’t even want it, I just thought I had to have it. I thought that if I didn’t drink, I would not be able to sleep, I wouldn’t be able to deal with the simplest things, and most importantly, I thought I would go crazy.

My “rock bottom” was on a business trip, finally I was away from my young son and I could drink the way I wanted to. But that scared me. I was full of shame. I was just sick and tired of feeling this way everyday. Trying to hide how messed up I was from everybody, fighting with my baby daddy every night over email and text, and waking up and having to check what the hell I had said the night before. I could never remember why I had been so upset. It was clear that alcohol was killing me. I had pins and needles in my arms, the headaches were awful. My brain felt cold, like parts of it were dying off. In the airport coming back from the business trip, I was hungover, pacing the airport, screaming at baby daddy on the phone and crying. I thought, “This is not normal. This is not how normal people act.”

I never thought that alcohol was the problem. I thought alcohol was the solution. I thought the problem was my life, my behavior, the way that people treated me made me so self-pitying, rageful, vengeful. I thought the problem was ME. I wasn’t quite sure why my life was so fucked up, so chaotic. Nothing was working out how I planned. Finally I began to see that maybe the drinking was what was causing everything to be a nightmare.

I got back home and he asked me if I was having an affair, and in a moment of clarity and honesty I said, “No, I’m not having an affair, I’m an alcoholic, I have to quit drinking.” He was shocked. He couldn’t see it, couldn’t see inside my head and see how alcohol had eroded my self-esteem, my identity and my ability to cope. It’s not how much you drink, it’s how you feel about it that makes you an alcoholic.

My last drink was January 15th, 2010. We were at a huge party and I literally begged him to let me have a glass of wine. I had one glass of wine, and we fought all night till 5 am. That was the end for me. I did one month sober by myself, and then started going to 12 step meetings.

I got so lucky that nothing really bad ever happened during my drinking. No jail, no DUI, thank God nothing happened to my son. I am so grateful that I stopped in time.

Sometimes I want to drink but I don’t. It’s not worth it. I look forward to going to sleep every night knowing that I will not wake up with regrets, remorse and self-hatred. No guilt. No shame. That is worth everything.

I was always jealous of people who didn’t care about alcohol. People who were sober just amazed me. How did they do it? Now I am one of those people, and I couldn’t be more proud.

One of the things that quitting drinking has made so very clear is that drinking made me forget who I was and what I liked.
My life (especially my life as a mother) consisted of doing things that I hated to do, and then rewarding myself with alcohol. I remember in early sobriety, I was in the grocery store, and I knew what my kid liked, and what my baby daddy liked and what I should get for both of them, but I had NO IDEA what I liked to eat or drink besides alcohol. Booze was the only thing I got at the store for myself.

In sobriety, I have learned who I am. Working a 12 step program gave me insights into my mental and emotional landscape, and that landscape is no longer as terrifying as it used to be, although I am sure boogeymen still lurk out there. In sobriety I have tried new things, found new passions, got rid of old toxic friends, found new friends, and my relationship has become much healthier because I am able to be honest as well as vulnerable. I am learning who I am in sobriety, and the most surprising thing (to me) is that in getting to know myself, I have actually started to like myself. Maybe for the first time ever.

As a recovering drama addict and alcoholic, one of my struggles is to learn to be happy with the middle ground. When I was drinking, everything was either “the BEST” or “the WORST”. I have learned that “pretty good” is pretty great too. Sometimes I miss drinking because of the drama, but I know that my life today is SO much better, and I am so grateful I got a chance to get my life back before it got worse.

Something that I heard in early sobriety that really resonated with me was “The only way out is through”. Making cute little detours around hard stuff, especially hard emotions, was what kept me drunk for so long, and the hardest work that I have to do in sobriety is to walk through hard stuff instead of running away or numbing out. If you are reading this and want to get sober.. You can. If you want this, you can have it. It’s work, but it’s SO worth it.

Posted by Stefanie Wilder Taylor on May 12, 2012 4:28 pmDon't Get Drunk Friday7 comments  


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