It’s been 51 days since I’ve had a sip of alcohol. 

I’ve gone longer- four pregnancies to be exact. 

But this time is different because I’m doing it for myself. 

Alcoholism and addiction directly impacted my childhood. 

I’ve been in therapy since I was 15 years old and while I have always been aware of my vulnerability, I’ve denied facing the beast. 

Specifically, as a mother, I’ve sacrificed so much already for my children: my body, my decision to eliminate foods to continue nursing two of my babies with severe food allergies, my career as a teacher and sometimes, my sanity! 

Those things were short-term but at the time, my sacrifices felt enormous. So, I stubbornly clung to getting lost in alcohol as “my right”. My time to unwind. My time to escape reality and soften the edges of my frustration. 

I didn’t drink often- maybe once a week or every 10 days- but when I did, I couldn’t stop. One, became two became 10 and I would spend the next day hiding how sick and full of shame I was. 

Rinse. Repeat. For years. 

Until June 3rd when I woke sick again and hit rock bottom. 

I fell to my knees, crying for God to help me. To give me the strength to forgive myself and heal. 

I called a friend whose husband had shared his sober testimony a year earlier. She heard my sobs and truly saw me in my rawest moment. I felt her strength through that phone and knew I would be okay. 

I haven’t looked back. 

I feel free from the demon’s tightening grip. 

I feel proud and so hopeful for the time I have left to be fully present and sober for my husband and children. 

They deserve the best of me. 

And so do I.