It’s a day like any other because I truly do not think about alcohol anymore.
The hardest part of getting sober was admitting to myself that I had a problem. I had been hiding for so long, I was terrified to look into the mirror.
Once I admitted I had a problem and made the decision to stop allowing alcohol to poison my life, the rest was easy.
My initial greatest concerns were:
Would I be able to write anymore, without alcohol loosening my filters?
Would I be able to enjoy socializing without alcohol?
Would I be tempted by alcohol, while others openly drank in front of me?
The answers to these questions are
Yes. I’m prouder of my writing now than then.
Yes. There are so many incredible options such as N.A. Blue Moon and Mingle cocktails. Honestly, I rarely drink them and am good with 1 maybe 2 of them. The lack of alcohol removes the need to drink more.
Not at all. My relationship with alcohol is separate from anyone else’s. My experience is not theirs. I simply do not want it. I don’t want to return to where I was. It doesn’t bother me one bit when others drink in front of me.
I share my experience not because I feel the need to keep myself accountable. I don’t need that kind of pressure in my life.
Instead, I share because the brave soul, Ryan Boyce, shared his sober testimony and it changed my life. If my share inspires you to change yours, then it’s worth recognizing this milestone.
The holidays can be equally full of magic and heartache.
Remember this: you are not alone. There is light.
And my hand is right here to grab, if you need it.
Cheers, everyone and thanks for the support and love along the way.
“Want me to come in with you?” I asked, reassuringly.
A small smile crept into the corner of her mouth.
“No, mom. I got it.”
I watched from the driver’s seat as she walked into the store, turning one last time to look at me.
I settled into my seat, head against the headrest and smiled.
This was it. My first baby is growing up, reassuring me along the way that I’ve done my job. I’ve walked beside her, leading by example, showing her the ropes of life.
And now, she’s confident enough to take a stab at it on her own, knowing full-well I’m nearby if needed.
There’s no one at the counter.
There never is. Just find someone who works there and ask them.
I can’t find anyone. Can you come in? . . .wait, nvm.
She walked back through those double doors, holding the bag up to prove her mission had been successful.
“See?” She said, climbing back into the passenger’s seat.
When I tell you I’m having a real time with one of my daughters, I mean I am having a real time.
I liken the reward of raising her to pouring water into a sieve. No matter how much you give, it feels as if nothing is retained.
And thanks to the file I retrieved when cleaning out my dad’s condo, containing every one of my report cards and conference sheets, I discovered just how very similar this daughter is to me, when I was her age.
Now I truly understand just how hard I was to parent (sorry, mom).
There are so many days I feel as if I have nothing left to give while simultaneously feeling guilty for feeling this way about my own child.
Therapy helps (for both of us). So do frequent breaks to refuel my empty tank.
But what to tell myself when I feel hopeless? When it seems nothing is changed, nothing learned?
What is my role?
My steadfast presence.
That I stay. Even when it is hard. Especially when it’s ugly.
That although I seemingly get very little from this current relationship, I remain an anchor for her to hold onto.
That’s it.
I may not see great change now or ever but I remain.
At 88 and 93 years old, this moment has been building for decades and yet much like the arrival of a newborn, I still feel wholly unprepared.
While Emmett’s dad passed away shortly after our eldest was born, his mother has remained a steadfast presence in our family’s life.
Home to the great pecan tree where our girls picked up its bountiful offering numbering in the thousands, Fairfield, NC was our family’s escape from the rat race of city life. Fairfield was where we spent every Easter and Thanksgiving. Offering its wide-open spaces and clear, starry skies filled with the ever-present sounds of migratory birds, frogs and the wind, Fairfield felt like home.
Home to the pool, where my dad taught me how-to-swim, my father’s top-floor condo overlooking Towne Point Park and the Elizabeth River, offered expansive views. A docent at the Chrysler Museum for years, my dad’s walls were covered in beautiful and valuable art and yet; the girls cartwheeled through the living room as if it were home.
My dad moved into a long-term care last month and this month, my mother-in-law moves into a nearby senior community providing us the opportunity to see them more often.
Emmett and I are a decade apart and yet here we both are; cleaning out his mom and my dad’s home. Discovering old photographs and letters. Claiming furniture and special mementos.
I spent the better part of my thirties examining my past to better understand my present.
Now in my forties, I feel like I’ve got a solid understanding of how I came to be who I am.
I understand that while I will never be able to fill the gaps for that lonely, lost little girl of my past, I sure can provide my own girls with a solid foundation.
And instead of wallowing in what happened, I can forgive myself for my missteps, buckle up my shoes and keep walking, eyes forward.
My childhood friends and I always mimicked my mom’s “You have a choice, Lauren.” speech. But my mom gets the final laugh because, she was right!
There are always going to be people we’d rather not be around or challenging, unavoidable life events.
We can’t choose those people or those events but we can choose how we handle them.
It’s how we respond that matters.
I have quite a few friends enduring some major life changes this holiday season- deaths of loved ones, divorce and general heartache.
To them and to all of you reading, I reach out my hand to hold yours and to remind you that in this holy season, you can also put those hands together in prayer to ask for God’s help.
You’re not alone.
We never are.
That’s one choice we can’t make.
Wishing you love, peace and joy this holiday season.
Saturday, November 30th is officially my 6 months sober date but I’m not superstitious about announcing it early because I have no doubt I’ll make it.
I plan to share my full testimony on my one-year anniversary but for now, I’ll say this:
I’ve been liberated.
Alcohol stole my time and health while fooling me into believing it was my deserving escape.
I don’t look back because it’s a place I never want to return to.
I frolic forward, free from its tight embrace, stronger and more sound-of-mind than ever.
If you’re reading this and on the fence, I just want to tell you, I’m here holding your hand if you need one.
But what if you can.
“But What if You Can?” is from the book, The Whatif Monster. He’s a character created by author Michelle Nelson-Schmidt whose empowering children’s books about overcoming fear have not only impacted my children’s lives, but mine, too. Check her out: https://www.facebook.com/MNScreative/
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