Waking Up Sober

 Hubby and I took a much-needed weekend away. After six months of living primarily within the same four walls, taking countless walks around our neighborhood, and putting few miles on the car, our cabin fever hit the limit.  So, we packed up and headed to the beach.  My happy place.  There's something about the expanse of water that soothes my soul. My happy place. And my trigger place. We arrived last night at dinner time and ordered pizza for take-out.  Without consciously thinking about it, my brain started to plan on stopping to pick up drinks.   Beach+Pizza=Need to Have a Drink Or at least it did and has for the last 20 years.  Like a wave crashing over my head, the cravings washed over me.  They were powerful...embodied almost.  I could literally feel the yearning in my body.  Thankfully, I've been introduced to the concept of surfing the urge.  So rather than fight the craving or swallow the water of it, I surfed it....

When I decided to go AF in the end of September 2020, it was to take a break .  Taking a break is a regular practice for me from wine to sugar to screen time, taking a break has been a consistent means of interrupting patterns and recalibrating.  That was my intention in September to interrupt and recalibrate. That was six months ago today. Six months?!?    The intentional pause has become more like a separation.  Much like separations in all relationships, the time away has allowed space and time to really ponder.  Even with all the science and quit lit. I've read, there's still a part of me that romanticizes date night and wine , family gatherings and wine , getting together with girlfriends and wine , hanging out with friends and wine .  I can vividly picture having a hard day or hard week and friends saying "let's meet up for a drink."  It was part and parcel of so many social connections pre-Pandemic.  In these six months, I have come t...

 My whole being feels exhausted...physically yes.  But there's a level of emotional, mental, and spiritual depletion as well.  Yesterday was *supposed* to be a gentle day where I gave myself room. And then--I had a tech issue with work that I needed to address.  I had some work that I told myself I *couldn't say no to* (I own my own business--so I'm my own mean boss) Add to that hubby and I have been working primarily from home together for one year with little other adult social interaction.  (I've been out for some work but he's been in our basement working virtually for a year). So needless to say, I get whatever unpleasantness has been stirred in him. Pre-alcohol free me--I was superb at managing all of this and calmly processing when he would take shit out on me/advocate for myself.  All very cool, calm, and collected.  Self-regulated if you will. Now--not so much. My energy level and capacity are less with work. And all my emotions come to the su...

As a girl I learned that I was a little too much.  Too much big emotion.  Too much sensitivity.  Too much creativity.  Too much. To deal with that too muchness--I was taught to eat.  A little food surely makes any big emotion better.  And of course, what's not to like about a sweet treat?  Of course, the double bind of this was not to get fat...dreaded FAT.  No one likes fat girls.  Thus began my lifelong struggle with how to I be these two selves---the girl with the big emotions that should be seen and the girl that people like. From this I say I became a compulsive take the edge offer.  Any way to numb or conceal the big emotions just a little bit so that I can perfect and people please.  AKA--not be abandoned.  In my mid-forties, I had been fairly controlled  in this practice.   Not over-eating.  Not over-drinking.  Not over-working.  I knew just how much was enough and spent great amounts of en...