Tiny Buddha

Tag: alcoholic

  • How My Mother’s Alcoholism Shaped Me and How I’m Healing Now

    How My Mother’s Alcoholism Shaped Me and How I’m Healing Now

    “The journey of the perfect daughter is not about perfection; it’s about finding the courage to be imperfect, to be human.” ~Robert Ackerman, Perfect Daughters

    Growing up in a home shadowed by addiction is like living in a house with no foundation. The ground beneath you is unstable, the walls feel fragile, and the roof could collapse at any moment. For me, this was my reality. My earliest memories of my mother’s alcoholism are tied to confusion and worry—a child’s attempt to make sense of an adult world filled with unpredictability and silence.

    Her moods were erratic, swinging from one extreme to another, I recall. I remember one night, she came into my room, woke me up, and told me not to worry, but she was going back to work. The way she spoke, her entire presence, was off. It wasn’t her usual self. I didn’t understand she was drunk. I just felt pure, childlike concern.

    This confusion was only the beginning. As I grew older, the challenges multiplied. The embarrassment of comparing my home life to my friends’, the isolation of a family that never spoke about the elephant in the room, and the lack of safety in my own home left me feeling utterly alone.

    I didn’t feel comfortable reaching out to any adult. My dad wasn’t approachable, and my mom wasn’t emotionally available. I felt like I had to solve everything on my own.

    The Roles We Play 

    In the chaos of addiction, children often take on roles to survive. For me, these roles became my identity. I became the peacemaker, mediating between my mother and younger sister. I became a second mother, guiding my sister in ways my mom couldn’t. And I became the “good daughter,” believing that if I loved my mother enough, I could save her.

    I thought that by loving her more, investing my attention in her needs, and avoiding confrontations, I could make her feel better. But it was an impossible burden.

    My relationship with my father also suffered. I blamed him for allowing my mom to continue her behavior and for not doing anything for us. He became the enemy, and I pushed him out of my life.

    The Long Shadow of Childhood Trauma 

    The impact of my mother’s alcoholism didn’t end in childhood. As an adult, I found myself repeating patterns in friendships and romantic relationships. I’ve struggled with codependency, boundaries, and trust issues. I’ve had manipulative partners and found myself drawn to selfish, narcissistic people.

    But my journey toward healing began when I hit rock bottom. I was drinking excessively, showing up to work after long nights out, and even driving drunk. I dated a partner who was emotionally abusive and almost physically violent—and my parents had no idea.

    A pivotal moment came during a surprise party my sister organized before I left to study abroad. I arrived hungover and exhausted, and when everyone shouted “surprise!” I had an anxiety attack. It was the first time I realized how many feelings I’d buried—sadness, frustration, anger, and underneath it all, a deep, overwhelming grief I had never allowed myself to feel.

    The Path to Healing 

    Healing didn’t happen overnight. It began with therapy—though my first experience was far from ideal. That therapist was deeply narcissistic, mirroring the types of people I’d been drawn to all my life. But I didn’t give up. I found another therapist, and she’s been my steady guide for seven years.

    Through our work, I learned that I was not alone and that I could reach out for help—and trust that help. I also learned to recognize what trust feels like, to move away from extremes, to distinguish love from codependency, and to take responsibility for my part in my experiences. At twenty-seven, I was finally ready to stop blaming others and take accountability—not just for my present, but for all the years I had abandoned myself. I began to reframe my past, not through the lens of a victim, but from the perspective of the self-aware adult I’d become.

    One of the most profound breakthroughs came when I decided I was ready to confront my mother. Preparing for that moment shifted everything—it marked the beginning of reclaiming my voice and stepping into my own power.

    Support groups like Al-Anon also played a crucial role. When I arrived at Al-Anon, I started crying within minutes. For the first time, I heard people speak openly—almost casually—about having a loved one with alcoholism. I had never experienced that kind of openness in such a “normal” environment.

    Listening to the speaker share their story, I realized I wasn’t alone. We were all carrying the same grief, frustration, and helplessness. In that room, I felt seen. I felt like I belonged.

    Through therapy, meditation, exercise, and books, I began to rebuild my sense of self. I learned to be with myself in a peaceful, serene way. I stopped looking at my mom as someone weird or lost and started seeing her as someone with a disease. I took off the impossible burden of having to save her.

    Surrendering to Hope 

    One of the most profound lessons I learned was the power of surrender. For me, surrender meant admitting I needed help—that my own resources weren’t enough to handle the situation I was facing at home. It meant being humble enough to admit that this was bigger than me, that trying to fix my mother was not only ineffective but was also destroying me.

    In my daily life, surrender meant walking away from arguments, especially when my mother was drinking, letting go of the exhausting mission to make her happy, and accepting that her happiness wasn’t something I could guarantee.

    There’s a phrase in Al-Anon that became my mantra: “I didn’t cause it. I can’t control it.” I surrendered my expectations of who I wished my mother would be and allowed myself to grieve the mother I didn’t have. That surrender saved my life.

    My journey is a testament to the resilience of the human spirit. When you choose to surrender, everything will start feeling better. It’s a leap of faith, and trust me, you’re not alone.

    Today, I’m still on my healing journey, but I’m no longer defined by my past. I’m learning to trust myself, set boundaries, and embrace my worth. My story is a reminder that even in the darkest moments, there is hope—and that healing is possible, one step at a time.

  • Dry January: How It Creates Space for a Better Life

    Dry January: How It Creates Space for a Better Life

    “I think this is the start of something really big. Sometimes that first step is the hardest one, and we’ve just taken it.” ~Steve Jobs

    I’ve had a dysfunctional relationship with alcohol for almost as long as I’ve been drinking. I was mostly a binge drinker through college and into my twenties and thirties. I could drink “normally” sometimes, but I never really knew if I would stop at two or ten. Two felt okay, but ten would land me blacked out and barefoot on the bar, which was never a good look for me.

    It scares me now to think about all the things I did after too many Crown and cokes, but I didn’t think much of it at the time. Everyone was drinking heavily. It was part of the culture of the people I surrounded myself with. Hangovers were badges of honor, and blackouts, provided nothing horrible happened, became funny stories to tell the next day over greasy fast food eaten to soak up the vodka from the night before.

    It wasn’t until I got into my forties that I really started to question my relationship with alcohol. In 2016, shortly after turning forty, my drinking went off the rails. At the time I was raising four young children in a blended family, and I was trying to stay afloat in a job that expected more of me than I was capable of giving.

    Despite the stress, by all appearances, I had it all together. Good job, healthy family, a roof over our heads, and a minivan in the garage. But on the inside, I was deeply struggling with depression and anxiety, both worsened by the extent of my drinking.

    As the year went on, things got steadily worse.

    My weekend drinking morphed into drinking one, sometimes two, bottles of wine every night. The hangovers started to last days, taking me out of work and keeping me from showing up for my family. My blackouts got scarier and more frequent, once landing me walking down MacDill Avenue alone and barefoot in the middle of the night with no memory of it the next day. My depression and anxiety became completely unmanageable, to the point that I made attempts on my life twice that year, both times incredibly drunk.

    I tried multiple times over the course of 2016 to stop drinking. But each time, in the back of my mind, I was, as Laura McKowen talks about, looking for the third door. I was sure there was an option between drinking like I was and stopping completely. I wanted so badly to be able to drink “normally,” but every time I stopped and then tried drinking again, I went straight back off the rails.

    Interestingly, it was an ordinary night (or day, really) of drinking in early January 2017 that finally brought me to my knees.

    On January 1, 2017, my husband took the kids to the pool so I could recoup from a cold that I’d been fighting. Instead of resting, I sat on the back porch and drank two bottles of wine. Nothing terrible happened, but I woke up the next morning with a deep knowing that something had to change. I was, quite literally, sick of my own bullshit.

    I once heard John Mayer talk about getting sober, and he said that he asked himself, “Ok John, what percentage of your potential would you like to have?” He decided he wanted 100%, and that couldn’t happen if he kept drinking.

    That January morning, after an ordinary night of drinking, I asked myself the same thing, and it became clear that I was only living up to a fraction of my potential because I spent so much of my time drinking, thinking about drinking, and recovering from drinking.

    I lay in bed that morning for hours with tears of fear and relief streaming down my face. I was terrified I wouldn’t be able to stay sober but so relieved that I was calling myself on my own shit. I was finally ready to be done for real.

    Because I was ready at that point, I threw the kitchen sink at it. I journaled, meditated, moved my body, stayed close to quit lit and podcasts on living alcohol-free, and so much more. I made it my number one priority.

    For a while, nothing got as much attention as my recovery. Not my husband. Not my kids. Not keeping up with housework. Nothing. I focused all of my energy on saving my life for several months. And there was guilt around focusing so hard on myself at the expense of giving attention to my family, but, as I look back now, I’d do it again the same way. My husband and my kids have so much more of me now than they did when I was drinking.

    Dry January doesn’t have to be just a month of not drinking; it can be the start of something bigger. It can be the start of building a life that you love. A life that doesn’t have room for alcohol because it is so much better and brighter without it.

    I was able to see this process of getting sober as additive (adding in the practices that support and nourish my whole being) rather than just a subtractive process of giving up alcohol. And this is how I encourage you to look at it. As an opportunity rather than a life sentence. As something joyful and meaningful rather than something punitive. As a chance to build a life you don’t need or want to numb out from.

    Choosing to stop drinking is one of the most courageous decisions you can make. But courage alone isn’t enough; it takes tools, support, and a willingness to try new things to truly thrive.

    If you’re reading this and thinking, “That’s me,” I want you to know you’re not alone. The road to living alcohol-free isn’t easy, but it is possible—and it’s worth every step.

    When I started my journey, these tools became my lifeline. They gave me the structure I needed to reclaim my life, and they can do the same for you.

    Find Connection

    Johann Hari famously said, “The opposite of addiction isn’t sobriety. It’s connection.” Go to meetings (and there are so many options other than AA these days, my favorite being an online meeting platform called The Luckiest Club founded by Laura McKowen).

    Find a sober friend to help you stay accountable.

    Search for sober Facebook groups in your area and post a query for anyone wanting to meet for coffee.

    Lean into the love of your family and friends who may not be sober but support your journey.

    Whatever connection looks like for you, find a place where you can talk about your decision to not drink. Find people who know what it’s like to navigate a world soaked in alcohol without drinking. Talk about the challenges and talk about the triumphs. Whatever you do, don’t keep it inside.

    Find Support

    There are so many avenues for support these days. You can reach out to a therapist or coach. You can engage the help of your primary care doctor. You can find medication-assisted therapy and talk therapy online.

    It’s important to reach out to professionals who can help guide you in the right direction. With so many ideas and recommendations out there for how to quit, it can be incredibly helpful to talk with someone who can help you sift through your options and figure out what will move the needle the quickest.

    Try New Things

    Dry January is the perfect time to try new things. If something sounds interesting, give it a go.

    I tried watercolors, knitting, pulling tarot cards, every type of meditation known to humans, and so much more. Not everything stuck, but trying out different things occupied my time, challenged my mind, and gave me some useful distractions for when cravings hit. The things that did stick (Muse Headband meditations, journaling, and pulling tarot cards) are still the things that I credit with keeping me sober today.

    Meditate

    Meditation has been a game-changer for so many in recovery, and there’s a good reason for that. The smart and rational part of our brain (our prefrontal cortex) largely goes offline when we’re drinking excessively. Meditation is the best way to regain access to this part of the brain that makes healthy decisions.

    There are so many techniques to try. Emotional Freedom Technique, binaural beats, biofeedback (MUSE headband or the like) meditations, guided meditations…just to name a few. It doesn’t matter how you do it, just that you do it. Aim for three to five minutes to start and build from there.

    Educate Yourself

    There are tons of amazing books on sobriety these days. Memoirs and “how to” guides abound. Two of my favorite books for early sobriety are This Naked Mind by Annie Grace and Quit Like a Woman by Holly Whitaker. There are also some great podcasts out there (a quick Google search will point you in the right direction).

    It’s important to hear stories of other people’s struggles and successes. It’s useful to learn about the effects of alcohol on the brain and body. We all know that knowledge is power, and knowing the truth about alcohol very often gives you the power you need to be done.

    As you move into January this year, remember, it’s not about what you’re giving up but what you’re making space for. This month could be the beginning of a deeper transformation, one that helps you uncover the best version of yourself. The tools, support, and determination you need are within reach—this is your moment to take a breath and leap.

  • Liberate Yourself: 5 Reasons to Share Your Truth

    Liberate Yourself: 5 Reasons to Share Your Truth

    “When we deny our stories, they define us. When we own our stories, we get to write the ending.” ~ Brené Brown

    Do you ever feel like a character in someone else’s play? More so, a victim in your own story?

    I spent many years of my life this way. I was so consumed with what others thought about me, I didn’t even know how to be myself. I would put on a show I thought everyone else wanted to see. I’ve learned we don’t have to perform in life; we just need to be ourselves. Speaking with openness and honesty from the heart is our most valuable tool for living an authentic life.

    Growing up, I was a ‘sensitive’ kid. I was ridiculed often for simply having feelings. I learned pretty quickly to shut down, numb, and medicate.

    I began to have struggles with anxiety and depression. I didn’t really know this was what it was until it progressed into something much more unmanageable. I tried to talk about my feelings and was often questioned and shunned for them. Eventually, these feelings manifested into a pretty significant eating disorder.

    No one recognized my eating disorder because being thin was ‘in.’ However, to put it into perspective, I was tracking 500 calories a day, working out one to two hours a day, and purging anything I put in my body.

    I was confronted about this by two friends in college. I remember feeling relieved but also ‘found out.’ From my perspective at the time, I thought I was functioning well in life. I was going to school and working full-time while maintaining friendships and a new relationship.

    Even during this intervention, I found myself justifying the behaviors. Keep in mind, they were only confronting me about the eating disorder, not the daily binge drinking I was also engaging in.

    Fast-forward five years. I found myself married and divorced in under a year. Prior to the divorce, I was hiding my drinking of one bottle of wine a night. I was functioning in one area of my life but falling apart in all the others.

    Surprisingly, my addictive patterns never impacted my career. I was living a dual life, providing therapy to others while hardly treading water personally.

    In 2010, I found myself with my first DUI. I never did anything real to rehabilitate from this. And I concealed it to the best of my ability, hoping it would just go away. However, experiences tend to repeat themselves until we learn what we are supposed to learn. I got a second DUI in 2013. After that, I did a bit of rehabilitating but still didn’t stop the drinking. I was just no longer driving after the drinking.

    I paid $10,000 in legal fees simply trying to plead my case of being not guilty when clearly, I was guilty. This was such a moral conflict for me.

    I applied for my therapy license in 2016 and was denied approval. While I was being honest with the board about my recent DUI, they learned I was dishonest with my current employer about my initial one. My integrity was completely destroyed. I was looked at as a liar. I was living a double life, and I was exhausted.

    When the board exposed the truth, I felt shame and liberation at the same time. They showed me that my insides were not matching my outsides.

    I made a commitment to myself then to never hide the truth again. That day, I got sober from alcohol and have been sober for eight years now.

    Recovery taught me to be honest and to focus on doing the next right thing. So I became brutally honest in all areas of my life. More so, I learned if people are uncomfortable about my story, it’s not my problem. I started to see everyone had problems. I also saw a blessing in being open and honest because it created space for others to do the same.

    I’ve been told often that I am “courageous and brave,” but I was simply tired of being ingenuine. I was healing out loud because I nearly died in silence.

    When I decided to be honest, my life became better. I didn’t have to remember my story anymore. All the shame dissipated, and I was able to start making better life choices. People around me respected me more for owning my story. If you tell the truth, no one can hold it against you. The power was lost. The best part of it all was that I began attracting beautiful, like-minded people.

    Many people struggle with authenticity and truth-telling because they are holding onto the fear of judgment. However, sharing your truth also unlocks the potential for self-growth, discovery, and connection. This could lead to profound personal transformation and the development of more meaningful relationships with others.

    This is a game changer. It allows you to say what you want, ask for what you need, express your emotions, and celebrate your achievements. Every time you do, you expand that sense of confidence, growth, and joy. Soon, you’ll see vulnerability as a strength, not a weakness.

    You have the power to change your life, one step at a time. Here’s what will come from you being brutally honest:

    Self-acceptance/Authenticity

    You will learn to no longer run from the painful parts of your story. Your story may be the hope someone else needs. You don’t have to live a double life where you keep changing hats depending on who you are around. You can simply be you.

    Empowerment

    You’ll be able to use your experience to gain autonomy and self-determination. You will be able to give others the tools and resources to do the same.

    Resilience/Growth

    You will continue to strengthen your internal muscle to adapt and recover from challenging life experiences. You can’t gain resilience without walking through hardships.

    Connection

    Your relationships will shift from surface level to a deeper emotional connection. You will take the lead by sharing feelings and being vulnerable, and you will gain a stronger sense of understanding with others.

    Inspiring Others

    You will lead by example. You will be able to impact and create a positive environment. This can be contagious and encouraging to others. You may become a catalyst for positive change.

    Life is a collection of stories, a unique narrative that each of us creates with our experiences, challenges, and choices. Your story is a reflection of your journey. This implies your wins, losses, and everything in-between.

    Owning your story can be daunting because it does require that vulnerability. You will have to look back at your past, which may be uncomfortable or painful. You will have to look at your mistakes, choices, and imperfections. This goes against a culture that often emphasizes perfection and success. Moreover, sharing your story means the possibility of judgment or rejection from others.

    However, embracing your own past allows you to shape your own narrative. You are able to turn adversity into strength. You can recognize your self-worth by forgiving yourself and being more forgiving of others. You learn to love yourself and appreciate your mistakes for what they taught.

    Offer the most precious gift of all—your authentic self—rather than trying to be all things to all people.

    “Owning our story and loving ourselves throughout that process is the bravest thing that we will ever do.” ~ Brené Brown

  • Celebrating Six Years Sober: Here’s How I Did It

    Celebrating Six Years Sober: Here’s How I Did It

    “I chose sober because I wanted a better life. I stay sober because I got one.” ~Anonymous

    Seven years ago, I never thought I would be able to say that I have been six years sober! I didn’t think I was physically addicted. I never got the shakes, never morning drank, never drank daily unless on vacation, never got a DUI (even though that was lucky), and never lost a job or a relationship because of drinking. I was, however, incredibly emotionally and mentally addicted.

    I am fifty-six years old and started drinking in high school. Except when pregnant, I drank 90% of all weekends from the ages of seventeen to fifty. I never did anything socially without drinking. If I couldn’t drink, I just didn’t go. If I had to go, I got out as soon as I could. My whole life was built around my weekend drinking.

    I loved drinking in my twenties. We would go out every Friday with our friends, get pretty wasted, have a ton of fun, wake up Saturday with a small hangover, wait for it to go away, and then party again on Saturday.

    Sunday was for eating crappy food, recovering, and getting ready for the workweek. I spent my weekdays going to college to get my teaching degree and then working as an elementary school teacher. I loved my life!

    I loved drinking in my thirties. I had two beautiful kids, a great teaching job that I loved, a pretty decent marriage, and great friends.

    We moved into a brand-new neighborhood with lots of new families and quickly made plenty of drinking friends! Every weekend we went to block parties or got together with neighbors, drinking while the kids were playing. The kids were having fun, we were having fun, no one was judging my drinking, and nobody had to drive—perfect! I was still great at my job, felt pretty successful as a mother, and was happy!

    Things started to shift in my forties. I think the biggest thing that changed was the severity of my hangovers. They were getting out of control. I was still having fun when drinking, and there was no way I was giving that up, but the hangovers were becoming two- to four-day events that just crushed me.

    During my forties, I started making deals and promises to myself. I spent hundreds of hours reading self-help books about drinking less, spending entire summer breaks trying to figure out why I could not cut down, adding thousands of pages to a journal and hundreds of entries to my blog. I could write a book!

    Why was I starting to drink on Thursdays (Thirsty Thursday) and on Sundays? Why would I find myself waking up at 2:00 every Saturday and Sunday morning with extreme anxiety, heart palpitations, and nausea and mentally torturing myself about how I hadn’t kept my promise to myself and yet again drank too much?

    I was starting to have more instances of embarrassing behavior, where I basically lost it while drunk. I would wake up so ashamed of myself, so disappointed in myself, making promises to myself yet again but also not understanding why I was having such a hard time keeping them.

    I mean, I wasn’t that bad. I wasn’t like my father. Now he was an alcoholic—losing many teaching jobs, requiring us to always move and me to attend six elementary schools, going completely off the grid on a bender, getting DUIs, losing his family—choosing alcohol over us. That wasn’t me.

    I had a great job, great family, great friends, and a great credit score, and I was a responsible, loving, caring human!

    I remember reading once that people who struggle with alcohol might feel like they’re standing on a burning bridge, trying to figure out why it’s burning instead of just getting off the damn bridge! I spent years on that bridge while the flames were destroying me. I hated myself while also keeping up the facade that everything was fine.

    I spent at least five to seven years in this pattern—drinking Friday and Saturday at least, having extreme physical, mental, and emotional hangovers Sunday through Tuesday, beating myself up, and promising myself that I would not drink the next weekend.

    I would feel so firm about that decision until Wednesday night, when I convinced myself that I was not that bad, that I didn’t need to stop, that I could control it, and then I’d spend Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday planning my drinking for the weekend.

    I would plan a party, a get-together, or an outing so I could say, “Well, I can’t stop drinking this weekend.” Over and over and over. I felt like I was on a torture hamster wheel, experiencing Groundhog’s Week every week for years. It was exhausting!

    I was just dumbfounded as to why I couldn’t figure this out. I am an intelligent, loving, caring woman who is not an alcoholic! I have a master’s degree, for God’s sake! Why couldn’t I keep my promises to even drink less?

    Here is how I finally did it.

    One Saturday, June 10, 2018, I was at my sister’s house, drinking, of course, even after promising myself I would keep it under control. I was probably on my second bottle of wine playing cards at around 11:00.

    My husband wanted to leave, and I didn’t want to stop. He left, and my brother-in-law drove me home around 1:00 a.m. Of course, I woke up feeling terrible. I felt like such an embarrassment, such a failure. I just wanted to take some pills that I had left over from a surgery. I almost did.

    I didn’t want to kill myself; I just wanted that day to be over so I could stop feeling so bad. I just wanted to go to sleep to stop thinking about what a miserable POS I was, but I couldn’t sleep because I was sweating and nauseous, my heart was racing, and my mind would not stop beating me up.

    My husband, who had always supported whatever I wanted to do, probably to the point of enabling, never got on me about my drinking or hangovers. He just wanted me to be happy, whatever that meant. He supported my drinking or quitting.

    He said to me that day, “Either quit drinking or be an alcoholic—you choose.”

    He was pissed, and what he said devastated me. How could he say that to me? Couldn’t he see the personal hell I was already living in—how much I was already beating myself up? How could he be so mean to someone suffering so much?

    Somehow, I got through the day of crying and anger and misery and made it to Tuesday, and guess what? I wanted to drink again the next weekend! What the hell! What is wrong with me?!?!

    All day Tuesday, June 13, and Wednesday, June 14, I had the most intense internal battle I have ever had. One voice reassuring me, “You are fine; you just slipped up. You are strong, not an alcoholic, and you can do this. Just try harder! You have a little drinking problem that you can beat. It is all about moderation management and harm reduction.”

    The other voice was pleading, “You need help!!! You can’t do this. You have been trying for years. You are getting worse. Make the misery stop! Make the call. Call the doctor. Reach out. Get out of your own head. Get help!!!”

    On Thursday, June 15, I made the scariest phone call of my life. I was sobbing when I said, “I need to make an appointment because I think I might have a drinking problem.”

    They asked me some questions, determined that I did not need to be admitted for detox, and made me an appointment in two weeks. Two weeks! How was I supposed to go that long without drinking?? I wasn’t sure I could, so I just stayed home, probably in bed, terrified about what the future held.

    Was this the right decision? Did I really need to get this extreme? Was this really necessary? How would I ever have fun and enjoy anything in life ever again without drinking? This was stupid! I was just going to cancel the appointment. I was not that bad! I didn’t think I wanted to stop. I didn’t think I’d ever be happy without drinking.

    But somehow, I made it to the appointment. I told the doctor what I was going through and that I didn’t think I was an alcoholic. I thought I had an alcohol use disorder.

    The doctor asked me, “Have you tried to stop and cut down? Have you been unable to?”

    My answer was yes.

    He said, “Call it what you want, but you are an alcoholic, and alcoholism is a progressive disease that will just get worse. You need professional help.”

    I sat there in shock, much like when my husband said that to me.

    I just said to him, “That wasn’t very nice,” and he said, “Sometimes the truth isn’t nice to hear.”

    That took me days to process. Could he have been right? Could I have been fooling myself? Could I have been in DENIAL??? What? Not me! Would I just get worse? Would I become like my father, who lost everything and eventually died from the disease? I was so confused.

    I finally came to the truth. I did have a problem. And I was physically addicted as well.

    I was a mess, and I had been for a long time. I was so dysfunctional in my relationships and with my behavior, and I was finally able to see that alcohol was killing my soul.

    All the embarrassing moments, the broken promises, and the time spent feeling horrible about myself were destroying me. I was living my own personal hell inside my brain, which I fiercely protected because I didn’t want anyone telling me I should stop drinking or judging me. I decided to take the next step.

    I signed up for outpatient therapy with group support meetings three times a week and individual therapy once a week. I like to think of this time period as when I walked out of the fog.

    All of these people, who were clearly worse than me (lol), with their DUIs, their court-ordered attendance, and their multiple relapses on heroin or opiates or alcohol, had the exact same thought processes as I had been dealing with for decades.

    I was overcome with wonder, awe, and curiosity that the addicted brain tells all of us the same lies no matter how “bad” we are, what our drug of choice is, or how bad things have gotten. We all had the same addicted voice torturing us, begging us with all types of rationalization to not stop feeding it.

    When they spoke, I felt like it was my own voice. How could this be?

    I couldn’t get enough of the metaphors (riding the craving waves or watching the clouds pass by) and the personal stories.

    I spent those six weeks completely immersed in my own recovery, much as I had spent the past ten years completely obsessed with controlling it and the previous two decades in love with drinking. Alcohol had been my lifelong obsession, bringing the best and worst of times.

    I was diagnosed with OCD and general anxiety disorder. Well, that was no surprise to me! I tried antidepressants, but they gave me brain zaps, which scared me, so I stopped. I often pondered the “chicken or the egg” question. Was I self-medicating, or did the alcohol cause these struggles? But again, the burning bridge…. What difference did it make?

    I am not overly religious and did not attend any AA meetings, but many of their sayings, which I used to think of as so cliche, really stuck with me. One is “one day at a time.”

    That became my mantra because thinking about how I was going to do holidays, weekends, parties, and vacations without drinking was impossible to even comprehend and had led me to many a relapse.

    Thinking about how much the future was going to suck without alcohol made me not give up alcohol for way too long. I just focused on one day at a time.

    Each of those sober days under my belt built up my toolbox and strength to get through another weekend, event, or vacation. I was strengthening my sober muscles every day that I didn’t drink.

    That first year was not easy. I cried, had debilitating anxiety attacks, isolated myself, and pretty much lost contact with all my friends. While I was so proud of myself and felt so much better, I was also pretty sad, lonely, and scared.

    The last five years have not been a walk in the park either. It isn’t all rainbows and unicorns now that I have stopped drinking.

    I still struggle a great deal with anxiety. I am struggling with a terrible case of an empty nest. I miss my kids so much! I miss them needing me.

    I miss the joy and anticipation I used to get from planning my next weekend, vacation, or drinking event. I have a hard time looking forward to things. I don’t have a lot of friends because I am scared everyone will just want to drink. I am not tempted to drink, just a little jealous of how much fun they are having, so I would just rather not attend.

    When I overcome the social anxiety that I medicated with alcohol and actually do attend a social event, I am glad I went, and I find it wasn’t as bad as I anticipated. But, more often than not, I decline.

    I have learned that I am an extremely sensitive and insecure person. I can be overbearing and a bit controlling. I have built a life on what others think of me, putting up this facade that everything is perfect, trying to be the perfect version of myself, and hiding all of my insecurities and obsessions with external validation.

    I am not great right now and am going to go back to counseling to deal with some of these issues. At least I can see myself more clearly.

    But I do not for one single second regret quitting drinking! I learned that I miss the anticipation of drinking more than the drinking itself. I absolutely do not miss the hangovers and beating myself up about broken promises or drunken behavior.

    I, without a doubt, would have been worse today in my addiction than I was six years ago had I not stopped. I miss the high highs but do not miss the low lows. It just isn’t worth it. The pain of stopping was better than the pain of continuing.

    I am so much more present now. I can have conversations with other people and not have it always about me or when would be a good pause to refill my glass.

    I had become pretty self-absorbed, and, while I still struggle with that, it is so much better. I can be there for people when they need me. I don’t have to plan my whole life around when I am going to be able to drink. I have learned, shockingly, that many people don’t drink. I am still amazed at how many people in a restaurant aren’t drinking. I thought everyone drank!

    I am so much better at managing my emotions and trying to always be a better version of myself. My negative self-talk, while still there, is much better. I have also gotten so much better at understanding that everyone does not see the world the way I do, and it is not my job to convince them to see it my way, as if I am always right.

    I feel I am better at stepping back, being an observer, and not living in this constant state of trying to control everything.

    I am also recently realizing that I bring chaos into my life. I have remodeled a house, sold a house, cleaned out my mom’s house, built a house, moved across the county, bought a condo, and had four different teaching jobs in the past six years. Am I trying to replace the chaos of drinking with other chaos?

    I have a long way to go in terms of being mentally healthy, but at least I can see my shortcomings a little more clearly, a little more objectively, a little less emotionally charged, and a little more rationally so that I can work on them without self-medicating.

    Most of all, I am so stinking proud of myself! I did it! I didn’t think I would ever stop drinking!

    I still have drinking dreams, especially when stressed, but they remind me how far I have come, how much work I did, how proud I am of myself, and also that I will never be cured, and that’s okay.

    While not perfect, I am absolutely a better version of myself. I can rationally see my struggles without blaming them all on alcohol, and I can try to deal with them.

    I am so grateful that I did not lose my loving, supportive family, my career that I love, or my own life to this terrible, devastating disease called alcoholism that I do accept I have. I am so proud to say that I am a recovering alcoholic.

  • What I Know About Healing Now That I’ve Ended Contact with My Mom

    What I Know About Healing Now That I’ve Ended Contact with My Mom

    “Not all toxic people are cruel and uncaring. Some of them love us dearly. Many of them have good intentions. Most are toxic to our being simply because their needs and way of existing in the world force us to compromise ourselves and our happiness. They aren’t inherently bad people, but they aren’t the right people for us.” ~Daniell Koepke 

    If someone had asked me a year ago if I would ever cut contact with my mom, my answer would have been a definite no.

    After reconnecting with my dad in 2020 (we didn’t speak for over eleven years), I decided to handle this parent business differently.

    Part of me strongly believed that if I was healing and doing this inner work right, I would be able to find a way to coexist in a relationship with my parents, and that I had to do that at all costs.

    My mom and I were always very close. Although our relationship was toxic, we had a bond that I believed was unbreakable.

    She used to say that I was a rainbow baby since she lost my sister to a shooting accident before I was born. After my sister died, they told her she would never have more children. One year later, she got pregnant, and I was born. Everyone was saying that she was beside herself, and I believed it.

    Although there was a lot of abuse and violence happening in our household, I saw her as someone who was fighting for her life to move beyond the trauma of her past while losing it to a bottle of vodka to numb and escape.

    I believe this is why I always had this unsettling drive not to give up and be defined by the past while never shying away from addressing it. I saw the consequences we face when our souls are unhealed and how unaddressed trauma drives everything.

    The first time I clearly saw how toxic the relationship with my mom was and how it affected me was when I read the book Silently Seduced: When Parents Make Their Children Partners by Kenneth M. Adams, in 2020.

    It was the most difficult but revolutionary book that I had ever gotten my hands on. I remember times when I had to put the book down and take deep breaths to stomach the deeply confronting truth I saw myself in. Reading this book marked a breaking point for me when the dynamic between my mom and I started to change.

    As the years went on, her alcohol abuse became uncontrollable. I think she lost any desire to fight her addiction, which she always had before. Although we live on two different continents, I began to wake up to Facebook messages from her attacking me and calling me names while demanding I send her more money.

    Therefore, in December 2023, after pleading with her repeatedly to seek help and threatening her that I would stop talking to her if things continued the way they were, I decided to act on my word. I ended my contact with her for the first time. Since then, we haven’t been in touch. Here are four things this decision and reflecting on it periodically taught me about healing.

    1. Pain doesn’t always subside.

    Someone once told me that the pain that I feel regarding my mom will eventually subside. Although I am doing a much better job at dealing with this situation internally, I understand that pain of this sort doesn’t always subside. I must learn to carry it with grace.

    When we look at the person we love destroying themselves while not being able to do anything, how can we let go of the pain we feel? This pain comes from love, not from others doing us wrong. And those, to me, are two different types of pain. Although learning how to deal with our emotions is up to us, when we love, we also hurt.

    The two most empowering practices that have been helping me are accepting things I can’t change and allowing myself to release what I feel without stuffing it up. I don’t try to hold my emotions in or lie to myself that I don’t care when, in fact, I do. I choose not to shy away from the emotional discomfort and to take time to reflect on how I am progressing with this no-contact situation as I move through it.

    I also see my pain as a sign of the deep love I am capable of. Understanding that my capacity to feel pain reflects the capacity to feel love helps me ground myself and, in a way, befriend the pain instead of rejecting it.

    2. It’s important that we honor our healing.

    There is no right or wrong way to heal. It is one of the most complex and imperfect paths we will ever walk, and honoring every step of it is the only thing we “should” do.

    For all those years, I felt immense guilt that I couldn’t help my mom. I felt like a failure, working with women from all over the world to heal themselves while being powerless to help a woman who gave birth to me.

    Only those who have ever dealt with an addict close to them can understand the pain this brings. After some time, we realize that the only thing left to do is to sit back and watch the tragedy unfold, as if we are watching some heart-aching movie, while understanding that only an addict can help themselves.

    It took me many years to start accepting that I couldn’t fix this situation while paying attention to the pain I felt.

    Often, when a person struggles with alcohol or drug abuse, the focus is, understandably, on them. However, people around them are affected as well. For as long as I can remember, I battled with the desire to turn my back on my mom while shaming myself for wanting that.

    Eventually, I started to pay attention to the effect this had on me and stayed away from people who said things like, “But it’s your mom.” I was and am fully aware that this is my mom, whom I love deeply. I am also mindful that these remarks come from people who’ve probably never stood in my shoes.

    As Brené Brown said, “You share with people who’ve earned the right to hear your story.” This is especially true when it comes to our stories of shame. There were times when I thought about how easier my life would have been if my mom died and I didn’t have to deal with her alcohol. A few moments later, I felt paralyzed by shame, judging myself for having had these thoughts.

    Today, I choose to own my story of shame and work on forgiving myself. I understand that these thoughts come from desperation and a desire to escape her addiction, which, in a way, I did when I moved to the U.S.

    Recognizing the source of it while offering myself compassion and forgiveness helped me work through my unmet expectations of her recovery while becoming more resilient to face our dysfunctional relationship.

    3. Sometimes we have to love people from a distance. 

    One of the hardest lessons I learned on my healing journey was this: love doesn’t equal presence. Requiring presence to love is attachment.

    Eventually, I understood that I could love my mom while choosing not to be around her because it isn’t healthy for me. This, of course, came after a series of inner battles, and it certainly stretched me beyond my comfort.

    The biggest battle for a person who is in contact with an addict is to choose when to leave or when to keep fighting for them. This often comes with doubts because we don’t want to give up on them, and we constantly question whether we did everything we could to help.

    But when we choose to distance ourselves while keeping love in our hearts, we are honoring our mental health while still loving those who struggle. We understand that their paths are not ours and that our mental health, healing, and life matter as much as theirs.

    4. We heal better when we choose to understand. 

    One thing that helped me while healing my relationship with my mom was looking at her life from a place of curiosity and understanding.

    At first, I used this understanding to excuse her behavior while holding lots of anger and resentment toward her. Although I would call her every day and send her money every month, I resented her for the mother she was. As I progressed in my healing, I realized that I could only understand her actions and heal the pain from my past if I honored what was true for me. And that was to distance myself and go no contact.

    It helped me to look at her with more compassion while considering everything she had been through as a child and the fact that she had done no healing work (coming from the era where mental health was taboo). It also helped to recognize that she really tried. I know she did. And I think knowing that hurts the most.

    Reflecting on my mom’s life and understanding her while healing myself helps me to detach from her actions while knowing that whatever she did, it wasn’t about me. It wasn’t because she didn’t love me but because she didn’t know how to handle her own demons.

    It also shows me the importance of making healthy choices for myself. In a way, I am learning to hold her in my heart while, at the same time, holding my well-being there as well. It teaches me that there isn’t a right way to heal while navigating through our recovery.

    At the time of this writing, my mom and I haven’t spoken in seven months. As I am preparing to come home for Christmas, I am planning to reach out to her to meet and talk face-to-face.

    Although I have no idea how the conversation will go, I know that whatever will be true for me at that moment, whether to reconnect or keep things as they are, I will obey what my soul tells me.

    Because listening to what we truly feel and then honoring it, regardless of what it looks like on the outside, is the only thing that heals us and sets us free.

  • How I Healed from Addiction One New Belief at a Time

    How I Healed from Addiction One New Belief at a Time

    “Recovery is all about using our power to change our beliefs that are based on faulty data.” ~Kevin McCormick

    I struggled with what I would consider a disconnect with myself from a very young age. I was born a free spirit, curious and interested in so many things. I was also very shy and sensitive. I was not the type to be put in a box or expected to conform to the norm. That just wasn’t me. I needed to be accepted and supported for who I was.

    Instead, my well-meaning parents attempted to “domesticate” me, especially my father. I experienced severe mental abuse by him and was told repeatedly that I was no good, that I would never amount to anything, and that I was stupid, as well as many other negative statements. Due to his behavior, I rebelled in every way.

    Unfortunately, I believed everything he said to me, and I struggled for many years with feeling that I was not good enough and not worthy of anything good. I honestly thought something was wrong with me. I tried to be and do what was expected, but it was not who I was. Quite frankly, I did not know who I was.

    At age fifteen, I discovered drugs and alcohol. Using substances helped me get out of myself, my pain, and numb all my feelings and check out. I had created beliefs about myself that simply were not true, and I continued to live from the faulty belief that I was not good enough.

    Well, that didn’t work out well for me, as you can imagine. It seemed to be a great solution at first, or so I thought because I didn’t have to feel, but things continued to spiral out of control.

    I chose men that didn’t always treat me well, and I didn’t excel to my potential because I did not believe I deserved anything good or that I was good enough or smart enough to do anything great with my life.

    I had to work very hard to overcome my addiction and then heal my life as well. It took a lot of work with therapy and life coaching to help me heal and accept myself for who I am. I had to work on getting to know my “real” self and to learn how to like and then love myself, which meant working on changing beliefs that were stored in my subconscious mind without my realizing it.

    Someone once asked me why I was abusing drugs and alcohol, and I told him that I didn’t like who I thought I was, which was true, but my thoughts and beliefs about myself were not true.

    As I progressed in the work I did on myself and through my studies, I learned that my thoughts and beliefs were not set in stone, and they were most likely someone else’s beliefs, things I’d heard as a child and identified as my own. When I realized that I could decide for myself what thoughts I wished to think and, therefore, what beliefs I chose to live by—that I could make my own rules—well, that was an eye-opener and a game changer.

    I stopped using drugs, alcohol, and cigarettes. I went back to school to expand my knowledge, to obtain a degree to become a drug and alcohol counselor, and to focus on understanding the root causes of addiction. The drugs and alcohol were simply a way to avoid getting to the deeper issues and healing my whole self.

    Today, I can honestly say that I have a healthy relationship with myself. Was this an easy journey for me? No, it took work and perseverance. I worked with a counselor who was in recovery, I attended AA meetings, and I worked through the twelve steps of the program, which I continue to use today. I then discovered life coaching and hired a coach, which was how I learned to examine and identify my beliefs about myself.

    At first, I was afraid to look at myself and my life. I was afraid I would not like what I found inside. But once I began to see things unfold and learned that my thoughts and feelings stemmed from my faulty belief system, which I developed at a very young age, it helped me put things into perspective.

    I began to enjoy the journey of learning who I am and have continued to learn and grow every day. I became curious and began to identify and create my own belief system. I learned to pay attention to what I was thinking and feeling.

    Today, I have tools that support me on my journey, such as gratitude, focusing on my goals, identifying fear-based thoughts, understanding my triggers, connecting with my higher self, practicing self-love and self-care, journaling, and living in the present moment. I’ve learned to appreciate each day and have the utmost gratitude for all that I’ve been through because my life experiences have brought me to where I am today.

    I continue to study every day, as there are still so many things to learn. After all, we are all here on this earth to learn, experience life, and grow.

    If you too are battling with addiction, practice self-awareness around your struggles so you can get to the root of your issues. I like the quote, “Life is happening for us, not to us.”

    When you can look at a situation objectively and with curiosity, you are much more equipped to make good, healthy decisions instead of harshly judging yourself. This is how we heal—by empathizing with ourselves and all we’ve been through and supporting ourselves every step of the way.

  • How I Ditched Alcohol (Again) and Lost 30 Pounds

    How I Ditched Alcohol (Again) and Lost 30 Pounds

    “Setbacks are simply reminders.” ~Alison Schuh Hawsey

    The nightly wine was back. This time with a vengeance.

    It began in late October, when I was happily organizing the bathroom of my new home. The phone rang, and everything changed. My beloved friend/soulmate/ex-boyfriend/twin flame was in the hospital. Three days later, he passed over the veil.

    This was also the day I began completely giving up on any continuation of clean eating, drinking, and living. That evening, I downed three dirty martinis on an empty stomach after a long spell of not drinking. Throwing up in my driveway was a new low. Soon after, my dear friend Kristen helped me to bed.

    For the next several months, a ritual evolved. I would pop into the grocery store around 5 p.m. to buy one—just one—bottle of wine. I had no interest in the 10% savings on a case because I clung to the hope that tomorrow would be different. Tomorrow, I would be strong enough to manage the emotional pain without wine.

    Alcohol for me was a choice. I wasn’t an alcoholic, but I was someone who abused it when my emotions were too much, or to celebrate, or to alleviate my social anxiety, or simply when I was bored.

    More than a year went by.

    About fifteen months later, my father, days before passing over the veil himself, commented, “You need to cut your hair… and you drink too much.”

    Humbling, to say the least.

    Looking back, I was lost, depressed, and the heaviest I had ever been. I no longer fit into the “regular”-sized clothing and had to venture into the plus department. I hopped on the scale at my parents’ house, and the number was so shocking I couldn’t even cry. So I laughed.

    That was a turning point for me. I let go of the guilt and embarrassment when people did a double take after not seeing me for a while. I let go of the shame that erupted when friends and loved ones had heart-to-hearts with me about how worried they were.

    I knew the forty pounds, inflammation, achy joints, low energy, lack of productivity, anxiety, and depression were completely blocking my intuition, connection, and contentment.

    The most ironic part was that only three years earlier, I had created my own program to help other people drink less.

    Who was I? How had I lost track of myself? When would this cycle end?

    Then, of course, like any synchronicity, she popped in unexpectedly.

    By “she,” I am referring to Elegant Evelyn.

    My muse was born several years earlier, as I sat at my kitchen table with a notebook writing down the names of people I admired. As I listed their favorite qualities, I began to cry. Many of these people had passed over, yet I could feel them right there with me.

    I now understand that this deeply emotional and personal moment was the gift of a lifetime. The qualities in my notebook were also hibernating within me, ready to burst forth like the first flowers of spring. Just as rain births the first vibrant daffodils and fragrant hyacinths, my tears bring forth my muse.

    Just like magic, the name “Elegant Evelyn” sang through my ears and heart.

    The name came from my grandmother’s best friend, who was also my mother’s godmother. While I didn’t know her well, I admired her from afar.

    Evelyn was the closest thing to Coco Chanel in my small hometown. As she served scrumptious appetizers on silver platters at her parties, I would admire her chic way of dressing, the way she held herself, how she spoke, how she ate, how she made others feel comfortable, and, of course, her fabulous way of decorating.

    Years later, when she was ill, I had a vivid dream. Evelyn in capri pants, ballet slippers, striped boatneck top, floppy hat, and her signature red lipstick. Riding a bike with a baguette and bouquet of flowers in the basket. As she rode in front of me, she smiled, waved, and cheerfully said, “I’ll see you soon!”

    The next morning, I woke and shared the dream with my mom. She replied, “Meg, she passed over last night.”

    That dream and the inspiration she evoked within me stayed tucked away for years, just like a valuable and delicate gift waiting to be opened at the perfect time.

    When my life, body, work, home, intuition, and sense of spiritual connection were at their lowest, Elegant Evelyn came knocking, and thank goodness I answered.

    Channeling her, I was able to slowly turn the ship of my life in the right direction. It’s a never-ending journey, but the ship is no longer sinking.

    I owe everything to her, or, in essence, I owe everything to myself.

    There are parts within you that are begging to be unwrapped in your life. Perhaps you feel a sense of embarrassment thinking about being the person you daydream about being.

    Please believe me when I share that playing dress up as your muse is not pretending to be someone else. It is, in fact, coming home to yourself.

    How Does One Craft Their Muse?

    Imagination. Tap into your creative self and daydream like you did as a child. What would make your heart sing, and, most importantly, who must you become to allow the space for your heart to sing the song?

    How Does One Learn from Their Muse?

    Channeling. Once you have an image of your muse and a name, ask them to work through you. You can do this by asking them questions and journaling the answers, or by simply standing in your closet and connecting with them on what to wear. Walk into your kitchen and ask them what feels good to eat! Soon, you will begin to see that what feels restrictive is a “no” and what feels expansive is a “YES!”

    How Does One Become Their Muse? 

    Embodiment. This is basically looking at your vision board, Pinterest boards, or list of goals and then pulling the energy from them, absorbing it into your being, and becoming that person, that energy, that feeling right here, right now.

    For example, would Elegant Evelyn spend the day in sweatpants even if she is working from home? Absolutely not! Would she eat standing up at the counter? How absurd!! 🙂 Would she use profanity? How dare you even ask!

    Yet in my funk, I absolutely did all of these things!

    Let’s take a pause and let this sink in.

    The art of embodiment is a deeply personal experience. There’s no one else like you in this world. There never has been, and there never will be. So perhaps working from home in sweatpants is when you do your best work.

    Profanity? I have a friend who swears like a sailor and is one of the most successful leaders I know.

    The beauty is, when you embrace the parts and qualities within that feel expansive for you, life becomes an adventure. Not everyone resonates with Elegant Evelyn, and that’s a good thing! The results I’ve had embodying her, however, may inspire you to craft your own muse and make your vision board a reality.

    Transformation arrives when we choose what works for us. You are the guru of yourself. It’s really that simple.

    1. First, take stock of your mindset.

    How are you speaking to yourself? How are you speaking to the tender little child within? What would it take for you to radically shift this, and, most importantly, how would that feel?

    I realized I had abandoned my little girl. In response, she was begging to be healed and got my attention by taking over my life! Overdrinking, overeating, overreacting, and shaming and guilting me.

    It wasn’t until I embodied Elegant Evelyn as this little girl’s mother that things changed. In this role, I practiced loving discipline like, “Darling, let’s have some kombucha for dinner instead of wine. Sweetheart, it’s time for bed. Love, it’s time to wake up and get outside to play. Yes, you have to go to school!”

    2. Next, focus on your environment.

    I had Evelyn get to work on cleaning up the clutter of laundry and this and that around my apartment. The real Evelyn would never allow laundry to pile high like that, and she certainly would go through her mail in a timelier manner.

    Surroundings hold energy and play a huge part in raising your vibration. Cleaning, organizing, and maintaining your living space can be a sacred ritual that creates a foundation of love as you work through emotions and change. When in doubt, always opt for fresh sheets and fresh flowers!

    3. Lastly, get clear on the big changes you want to make.

    This was the tough part. Intuitively, I knew I needed to cleanse my body of processed foods and alcohol by replacing them with clean water and home-cooked meals of plant-based protein, veggies, and fruits.

    It’s difficult, however, when your body is on a rollercoaster of sugar highs and lows. The cravings were unbelievable. So I reached out for support from a friend and decided to do a parasite cleanse! I won’t get into the details, but I will tell you what kept me on track was the thought, “I will not let those little buggers win!”

    The cleanse required herbal supplements along with a way of eating I always dreamed of and, of course, no alcohol. The first three days were difficult, but after that, I was on a roll.

    Feeling back in sync with clean living can literally change your world for the better in so many ways.

    So now I ask you: Who do you want to be in this world? What gifts do you possess that your friends need? What is stopping you from becoming that person? What will it take to emerge from the shadows and into the light?

    If you struggle with igniting inspiration from the questions above, that is great! Because you have your divine team waiting with bated breath to assist you!

    Ask your muse, your guides, your higher self, spirit, God, or the Divine to work for you and through you. Allow yourself to quiet the noise of addictive patterns in your mind and body, and you may be surprised by the answers you receive. 

  • Why I Love My Sober Life: Everything I Gained When I Quit Drinking

    Why I Love My Sober Life: Everything I Gained When I Quit Drinking

    “Sobriety was the greatest gift I ever gave myself.” ~Rob Lowe

    I tried and failed to have a fabulous relationship with alcohol for many years.

    When my children were tiny, I drank far more than was good for me, thinking I was relaxing, unwinding, socializing, and having fun. I’d seen my life shrink down from a world with lots of freedom and vibrancy to a socially restricted void, and I wanted to feel normal. I wanted to join in with everyone else.

    All my birthday cards had bottles of gin or glasses of fizz on them, all the Friday afternoon memes on social media were about “wine o’clock,” and I wanted to be part of that world.

    The opening of a bottle in the evening had me thinking I was changing gear, moving from stressed to relaxed, and treating myself to some self-care. Nothing could have been further from the truth; the alcohol made me wake during the night and gave me low-level anxiety and an almost permanent brain fog.

    I’m not proud of the drinking I did when the kids were small. I now feel a deep sense of shame about that time. I’d created such a happy life for myself—lovely husband and kids, nice house in a great town, wonderful friends. What was I drinking to escape from?

    On the outside I looked like I had it all, but I didn’t—I had overwhelm.

    I was a wife and family member, a mum to two small children, an employee, and a freelancer… I had all the roles I’d longed for, and yet it was all too much.

    I didn’t know how to let go of some of my responsibilities, and I didn’t know how to cope with everything that was going on in my life. Alcohol felt like the treat I deserved. It took me a while to figure out that alcohol was the common theme in my rubbish decision-making, tiredness, and grumpiness.

    I’d spent a long time feeling trapped and stuck. I knew I wanted to stop drinking, but I was worried about what others would think of me, how I would feel at parties without a drink in my hand, and whether I’d be able to relax properly at the weekends.

    I kept going back and forth, deciding I’d stop, then changing my mind, thinking I wouldn’t or couldn’t. It was a hellish merry-go-round. When I was forty-one, I finally made the decision to quit alcohol for a year as a little life experiment. I wanted to see how I would feel without it for an extended period of time.

    I decided to take a bold action in autumn 2019. I told a group of online friends that I was not going to drink alcohol for the whole of 2020, and once I had said it out loud, I knew I would have to do it.

    This step toward accountability really helped me to move forward with my sober mission. I started to count down to 2020 (still binge drinking), wondering how this experiment was going to go!

    Toward the end of 2019, my mindset began to shift. Instead of dreading the start of 2020, I started to look forward to it. I made plans that I knew would lead to a successful sober year. I read books about quitting, listened to inspiring podcasts, and watched films or documentaries that didn’t show alcohol consumption in a glamorous light. I followed people who were a few steps ahead of me on their sober journey. I asked questions and I followed advice.

    I had my last drink on Dec 8th, 2019—nothing monumental, out with a few friends and no hangover the next day. It was a total non-event!

    I wanted to have a year without alcohol to know if life would be stressful, lonely, or boring like I’d led myself to believe, or if it was possible to relax, connect with others, and have fun without a drink. The hangovers and brain fog were getting worse. In my late thirties and early forties, I just couldn’t get away with it like I had in my twenties.

    I wanted to be a more patient parent—no more selfishly rushing the kids through bedtime because I wanted to get back downstairs to my drink.

    I wanted hangover-free weekends to enjoy my time away from work.

    I wanted to maximize my nutritional choices—no more rubbish food choices dictated by low-level hangovers, or high-level ones for that matter.

    I wanted to sleep deeply and wake up feeling rested and ready for the day ahead.

    I wanted to know I was giving myself the best chance at not getting high blood pressure, heart disease, liver disease, cancer, dementia, or a compromised immune system.

    I went through the whole of 2020 without a drink. There were some tough days to navigate, some challenging events to negotiate, and awkward conversations to have with friends, but I did it all, and I did it all sober.

    When 2021 rolled around, I knew I wasn’t going to go back to how I’d drunk before. I had changed my relationship with alcohol for the better. I was physically, emotionally, and spiritually a different person, and I didn’t want to go back to numbing my feelings.

    It’s easy to name all the benefits to our bodies and minds when we cut alcohol out—deeper sleep, clearer skin, better mood, more energy, and less anxiety, to name a few—but for me, the real shift has come a couple of years down the line. I feel more spiritually open than I’ve ever felt before, and I cannot wait to see what unfolds next for all of those of us on this sober-curious journey.

  • 181 Days Teetotal (And Counting): All I’ve Gained Since I Stopped Drinking

    181 Days Teetotal (And Counting): All I’ve Gained Since I Stopped Drinking

    TRIGGER WARNING: This post references an account of sexual assault and may be triggering to some. 

    “When you quit drinking you stop waiting.” ~Caroline Knapp, Drinking: A Love Story

    I’m now at 181 days teetotal. I prefer teetotal to sober. I say sober sometimes, but teetotal feels lighter, airier, and I feel lighter and airier these days.

    For the life of me, I can’t remember when I took my first sip of alcohol. It probably came from a grownup’s glass.

    What I can remember is being sixteen or so, half waking up from a blackout with a friend’s hand down my pants.

    Or being eighteen, head in a toilet, while a guy I didn’t know followed me into the bathroom to “help me hold my hair back”—and instead helped himself to my body as I cried for help from a girlfriend who eventually came to my rescue, kitchen knife in hand, and forced him to leave.

    Or many a morning waking up with a blinding headache, ashamed of what I might have said, done, or was afraid I let happen the night before.

    I can remember that exposed, unsafe feeling, and thinking to myself, “Never again.”

    I can also remember (and well) the little voice that come late afternoon would say, “A drink will make this better.”

    And it did. And then (surprise!) it didn’t.

    Although this article isn’t about sexual assault, I want to mention that this has happened to me sober as well, and to acknowledge that a person letting their guard down doesn’t amount to an opportunity given. Seizing vulnerability and framing it as invitation is predatory, period.

    With that said, my adventures in drinking after I turned twenty-five tended to be less extreme. I became more careful about where I drank and who I drank with. Par for the course were physical and emotional hangovers, and those I learned to deal with. The tradeoff was worth it to me. Everyone drinks. It’s what we do when we get together! It’s fun and it’s fine, and you can always apologize the day after if things get out of hand, and maybe no one will remember anyways.

    And if you drink alone… well, that’s okay too! No need to apologize for anything.

    But something happened around three or four years ago. Friends I’d enthusiastically drank with, or who I knew cracked a bottle open to unwind at the end of the day, decided to go dry. Hand on my heart, I was happy for them, but hand on my heart… not for me.

    Booze, namely a glass (and then another, and then another) of very cold rose on a warm evening outside, or if I was feeling creative, was at the pinnacle of my pleasure pyramid. I loved chatting and drinking, playing music and drinking, writing and drinking, dancing and drinking, anything good and drinking, really.

    Give that up? I don’t think so.

    Last summer, I packed up my life of twenty years living in Brooklyn and moved, alone, to a hill near Florence, Italy. Don’t be fooled by the cliche of a thirty-something straight, white woman moving to Tuscany, though. It’s been a heavy and wild couple of years, and life on this cypress-peppered hilltop’s often been more Werner Herzog than Nancy Meyers.

    This chapter of my life, hugely marked by the choice to estrange from my mother and navigate the grief that’s come with that—not to mention in isolation, in what used to be a convent in the backwoods of a country I know no one in—has been, in one word, rough.

    They make wine here; did you know that?

    Really good wine. Really good, cheap wine too. The weather and setting are also great, so that pleasure pyramid pinnacle I mentioned earlier? Yeah, it beckons all the time, and being that I’m alone a lot and still know very few people, reaching for a bottle’s been a no-brainer and… a surefire ticket to the emotional rollercoaster from hell.

    On that morning 181 days ago, I woke up hungover with a body like a bucket filled to the brim with sadness, anxiety, fear, and nausea. Slosh, slosh, slosh. Nothing new.

    A few weeks earlier, one of my sober friends had come to see me, and what struck me most about her manner was that, far from being overwhelmed with emotion (which, as I understood, was one of the “costs” of sobriety: FEELING A LOT), she seemed so even kilter. So damn okay.

    It looked incredible.

    Around that time, it occurred to me the reason I’d made all these changes (the move, the estrangement, other things too) was to enter a new phase in my life. One that was more even kilter, more okay. I’d made all these moves, really hard ones, but I was still resorting to the coping mechanism I’d employed to tide me over in my previous life: Drinking. What throughout my twenties and into my thirties had been coupled with pleasure, relief and connection was actually keeping me stuck, sad and isolated.

    So there I was, in my front yard, actually weeping as the world spun, waiting for my dog to pee, when something welled up from inside me and said (and meant), “No more.”

    No more?

    No more, Melanie.

    And so it was, and here’s the most surprising but not surprising thing I’ve learned since.

    Empty calories, empty emotions.

    The hangovers and subsequent emotional manholes I’d have to crawl out of virtually weekly left me under the illusion of processing what felt like a bottomless well of despair. I was doing the work, right? That’s what it’s all about, feeling the discomfort. Feeling the trauma. Being in the hole. Grieving. Aching. Sticking with it. Right?

    Well…

    I’ve read that drinking doesn’t necessarily make you pack on weight, but your body burns the calories from alcohol first. So rather than using what you eat for fuel, when you give your body booze, it’s the booze it runs on and the real nourishment that gets stored.

    For me, it wasn’t just that way with the calories, but with the feelings too. Even a little alcohol (and it was rarely a little alcohol) created a synthetic emotional experience I had to overcome that took precedence over my very real emotional surplus and felt like labor. Like doing the work.

    But that wasn’t my real labor, my real pain, my real trauma, my real unmetabolized feelings. Turns out my real ones are of a completely different quality. Even when they’re hard, there’s an ease to them, a naturalness to them. Even when they’re heavy, they’re lighter. There’s a purity to them, a pulling up rather than down. An unburdening that registers fully, a clearing like the sky after a downpour. The relief of a healthy morning poo rather than being covered in shit.

    The work of healing has not only been a constant in my life; I made it my job. Oh, the humbling irony in realizing a good 70% of the emotional hellscape I was trying to overcome, not to mention my lack of clarity, energy, and zeal, was pure ethanol.

    Alas, all the positive feelings I’d tried to get through every avenue other than choosing water over wine have cropped up and grown robust in 181 days (that feel like 181 years considering how full they’ve been). Feelings like inner peace, inner safety, well-being, courage, honesty, efficiency, self-trust, joy, and resilience are finally setting in.

    Now we’re cooking with gas.

    In many ways, drinking became a way I kept myself from healing in the way I allegedly wanted to. A way to postpone the well-being I didn’t feel entitled to. A way to remain tethered to the drama I’d become so used to trying to overcome. A manifestation of my skepticism that what I was looking for might actually exist—in me, no less!

    I’m lucky. Every morning upon waking fresh as a button, especially on weekends or Mondays, I’m overwhelmed with gratitude at this inner leveling. Almost every day, I reach out or hear from my two teetotal close friends, and 99.9% of the time we don’t discuss how hard or boring life without alcohol is, but how much better, easier, brighter, richer, and solid we feel. How happy we are to have gotten out of that cul-de-sac.

    There’s a lot of shame and shaming stitched into the drinking dilemma, and I find it such a hindrance. For me, this hasn’t been a journey from shame to pride, and I’m completely convinced that had it been, it wouldn’t have stuck for more than a couple of weeks.

    Pride can be so brittle, so about the shame in the end, like the ‘after’ looking at the ‘before’ with a smug superiority. That doesn’t sit right with me.

    This has turned out to be tender, a pleasure, a streamlining of emotion, abundance, self-giving, taking, daring to receive, and giving from a full well. I sleep like a baby, say what I mean, mean what I say, know what I want, and know I have the energy to execute it. And as it happens, I have a personality that’s not bottle-of-wine adjacent, and I love her. 

    This isn’t a badge; how dead, how bland. This is a delight, alive and fluid and not for tomorrow—not to deserve something better now that I’ve quit that I didn’t deserve before, or to be better than people who haven’t quit. Hell no. This is my experiment, a treat from me to me.

    Have there been added bonuses? You bet. I’ve processed more trauma, melted more limiting beliefs, felt my nervous system unwind more, and even had bigger breakthroughs in my work in these past few virgin months than I did in decades before, and with far more ease.

    What changed for me that February morning wasn’t so much that I was done feeling those super low lows, but that for the first time in my adult life, I felt worthy of feeling myself. Just myself. And wow. Pretty cool.

    I won’t lie to you, sometimes around sunset, when the breeze is blowing and the crickets are singing and the company’s good or a favorite song comes on, I do think, “Dang, a cold glass of vino would make this even better.” But so far, the fresh mornings after, the healing that’s unfolded in this untampered space, and how much more present I feel for the sunset and the breeze and the crickets and the company and the song, has been kicking that thought’s ass.

    I’ve committed to a year of not touching the stuff, and I’m taking it a day at a time, but I don’t know, this is really good. It’s hard to imagine giving it up. Hah! Who’d have thought?

    Thank you for reading. Whatever relationship you have with alcohol, wherever you are with anything you’re struggling with, no judgment. Really, truly, no judgment. And to any person who’s experienced sexual assault, drunk or sober, you were never at fault.

  • How I’ve Stopped Letting My Unhealed Parents Define My Worth

    How I’ve Stopped Letting My Unhealed Parents Define My Worth

    “Detachment is not about refusing to feel or not caring or turning away from those you love. Detachment is profoundly honest, grounded firmly in the truth of what is.” ~Sharon Salzberg

    A few months ago, my father informed me that he’d been diagnosed with prostate cancer. Although he seemed optimistic about the treatment, I knew that hearing such news was not easy.

    After a few weeks, I followed up with him. He ignored my message and went silent for a couple of months. Although his slight ghosting was common, it made me feel ignored and dismissed.

    In the meantime, I went to India for a couple of months. A few weeks before I returned, he reached out, saying he needed to talk. Although he wasn’t specific, I knew something was happening and immediately agreed to speak to him.

    It was Sunday afternoon when he called. After I picked up, I immediately asked about his health. He went on to explain the situation and the next steps of the treatment.

    The call took one hour and twenty-six minutes. I learned everything about his health, where he goes hiking, what food he eats after the hike, what time he wakes up, the fun he and his girlfriend have, what his relationships with his students is like, and where he goes dancing every Saturday night.

    The only thing he knew about me was that my trip to India was great. He didn’t ask me what I did there or why I even decided to take such a radical step.

    Right after the call, somewhat discouraged because of his lack of interest, I received a call from my mom.

    Since my parents are divorced, I must divide these calls and often keep them secret in front of each other.

    The call with my mom went pretty much the same way. The only difference was that she repeated things numerous times without realizing it since she is on anti-depressants, often accompanied by alcohol.

    After both calls were over, thoughts of unworthiness started hitting me. At first, I judged myself for expecting my father to care about my life and used his health as a justification for his treatment. Then I realized I always made excuses for my parents. It was the way I coped with their behavior.

    Although talking to them was more of a duty than anything else, I knew not having contact wouldn’t resolve the issue. However, I didn’t know how to deal with these feelings. It felt as if every phone call with them reminded me how unworthy and unimportant I was to them.

    While growing up, my mother struggled with alcohol, and my father abused the entire family. When I began dating, I naturally attracted partners that reflected what I thought of myself: I was unworthy and unlovable.

    Although I wasn’t sure how to handle it, I knew there must have been a solution to this emotional torture.

    Typically, when I ended my calls with my parents, I would reach for thoughts of unworthiness and inadequacy. However, this Sunday, I chose differently. For the first time, I stopped the self-destructive thoughts in their tracks and asked myself the fundamental question that changed everything: How long will I let my unhealed parents define my worth and how lovable I am?

    After sitting in awe for about ten minutes and realizing the healthy step I just took, I asked myself another question: How can I manage these relationships to protect my mental health and, at the same time, maintain a decent relationship with them?

    Here is how I decided to move forward.

    1. Setting boundaries while finding understanding

    I always dreamed of how it would be if my mom didn’t drink. I remember as a fourteen-year-old kneeling by the couch where she lay intoxicated, asking her to please quit drinking. As a child and as an adult, I believed that if she could stop the alcohol abuse, everything would be better. She wasn’t a bad mother but an unhealed mother.

    Today, I understand that this may not be possible. Although watching someone I love destroying themselves almost in front of my eyes is painful, after working through my codependency, I understand that it’s impossible to save those who have no desire to change their life.

    Therefore, emotional distance for me is inevitable. I decided to use the skills I learned as a recovering codependent when appropriate. If I feel guilty that I moved far away, stopped financially supporting my mom since she drinks, or that I am not there to deal with her alcohol issue, I pause. Then, I forgive myself for such thoughts and remind myself that the only power I hold is the power to heal myself.

    If I find myself secretly begging for the love of my father, I reflect on all those loving and close relationships I was able to create with people around me.

    Another self-care remedy I use when feeling sad is a loving-kindness meditation to soothe my heart, or I talk with a close friend.

    2. Accepting and meeting my parents where they are

    Frankly, this has been the hardest thing for me to conquer. For years, the little girl inside me screamed and prayed for my parents to be more present, loving, and caring.

    Because I secretly wished for them to change, I couldn’t accept them for who they were. I wanted my father to be more loving and my mom to be the overly caring woman many other mothers are.

    When I began accepting that the people who caused my wounding couldn’t heal it, I dropped my unrealistic expectations and let go.

    I also realized that instead of healing my wounded inner child, I used her to blame my parents. Therefore, I was stuck in a victim mentality while giving them all the power to define my value.

    Today, I understand that expecting change will only lead to disappointment. Frankly, my parents are entitled to be whoever they choose to be. Although it takes greater mental power and maturity, I try to remind myself that this is what their best looks like while considering their unhealed wounds. This realization allows me to be more accepting and less controlled by their behavior. It allows me not to take things too personally.

    3. Practicing detachment

    Frankly, I felt exuberant when I chose not to allow my parents to define how I felt about myself when we last spoke. It wasn’t anger or arrogance; it was detachment. I remember sitting there with my phone in hand, mentally repeating: “I won’t let you define my worth anymore.” After a couple of weeks of reflecting on this day, I can say that this was the first time I took responsibility for my feelings concerning my parents.

    Although this story doesn’t necessarily have a happy ending, it feels empowering, freeing, and unbelievably healing. Breaking the emotional chains from the two most important people in my life is the healthiest decision I could have made.

    After my first victory in a years-long battle, I feel optimistic that this is the beginning of immense healing. Although I know that thoughts of unworthiness will creep in when interacting with them in the future, now I understand that I hold in my hands the most powerful tool there is—the power of choice.

  • How Getting Sober Healed My Dating Life (When I Thought It Would Ruin It)

    How Getting Sober Healed My Dating Life (When I Thought It Would Ruin It)

    “Sometimes we motivate ourselves by thinking of what we want to become. Sometimes we motivate ourselves by thinking about who we don’t ever want to be again.” ~Shane Niemeyer

    When I faced the prospect of no longer drinking anymore (at age twenty-one!), after eight years of heavy boozing, I had so many questions about my dating life.

    Will I be fun anymore? Will I have FOMO? How will I cope with stress? What will I drink on dates? Will anyone want to be with me? What will sober sex be like? Omg!

    These questions paralyzed me, as I couldn’t imagine my life without alcohol, yet I couldn’t imagine my life with it either. I put down the drink and with it, I thought I surrendered my desirability and compatibility as a potential partner.

    That couldn’t have been further from the truth.

    Over time, I’ve realized plenty of people don’t mind that I’m sober; some even like it or are sober too. Ultimately, I found I didn’t really care what others thought because I was okay with myself.

    The reality was, slowly but surely, getting sober healed my dating, sex, and love life for good. Here’s how.

    Feeling My Feelings

    Gosh, alcohol seemed to solve everything. Stressed? Drink. Excited? Drink. Sad? Drink.

    I’m face-to-face with reality without picking up the bottle every time I have a feeling. I don’t get to check out. It’s a good thing, honestly. It means I feel the spectrum of feelings and am present with them, which helps me work through those feelings in a healthy way.

    I recently went through a breakup, and it destroyed me emotionally. Even though I was the initiator, I felt so many feelings.

    I spent the first few weeks running from my feelings by trying to meet people on dating apps (what a joke that was at such a raw point!), but I quickly realized this wouldn’t serve me. I had to face my feelings head-on.

    Now, it’s been almost two months, and I’m still sad, but I’m feeling the sadness. I’m leaning in to let the sadness visit, then leaning out when I’ve let it visit for long enough. I know now that the best way to move through sadness is to let it unfold within me, not fight it.

    Owning and Releasing My Stuff

    Alcoholism stunted my growth as a human. I think when I got sober, mentally, I was like sixteen instead of twenty-one. What sobriety has given me is a chance to catch up with that emotional maturity.

    I can take responsibility for my actions, knowing when something is my fault and when I owe someone an apology. For example, if I raised my voice at my ex-partner, I owed him amends or an “I’m sorry,” and I apologized promptly.

    I can also own when I don’t have a part in things and, instead, have to figure out what isn’t mine to carry. For example, I felt some guilt and shame about the traumatic aspects of my childhood, but this is not my stuff. I’ve learned that I need to let that go.

    Emotional maturity teaches me to make sense of what to own and what to reject as not mine.

    Becoming Okay with Being Alone

    When I was drinking, I was terrified of being alone. I was cheating on my partner because I couldn’t be with him but couldn’t be without him either.

    Once I got sober, I spent many years practicing being by myself. I took myself on dates to beaches and bookstores, learned proper self-care through relaxation and gentle but necessary productivity like doing my laundry, and learned that I’d be okay no matter what happened.

    I realized I was a lovable human being and that I could love myself.

    I’m alone again a few years later, and although I don’t love it, I’m thriving in solitude. I’m rediscovering my passions, such as yoga, writing, and spending time with loved ones. I’m embracing myself because I’m realizing I’m worth it.

    I can’t be with another person until I’m whole again, and I’m just not there yet. Today, I try not to use other people to escape my feelings through rebounding. So alone time it is.

    Engaging in More Communicative Sex

    When drinking excessively, it can be challenging to have consistent consent. I was assaulted several times during my drinking days, and although I never deserved that, I put myself at risk by blacking out and drinking to excess.

    Now, I have incredibly communicative sex. I don’t settle for anything less than enthusiastic consent.

    When I sleep with someone, we talk about it before it happens and make sure we know each other’s boundaries and needs. We communicate clearly during and even after. It’s magical! Sure, you don’t need sobriety for this, but with my drinking habits, I did.

    Getting Additional Support

    Getting sober in an alcohol twelve-step program made me realize I needed another twelve-step program for sex and love. I came to find out that, although getting sober did a lot for my sex and love life, more healing was necessary to level up. So I joined Sex & Love Addicts Anonymous, where they taught me self-love and how to date in a healthy way.

    They taught me how to avoid behaviors that harmed me, like having sex with randos and chasing unavailable people. In the evolved part of my life with my ex-partner, they taught me how to set boundaries and accept love. Now that I’m alone, I’m learning again how to face it.

    Final Thoughts for Others

    I have nothing against alcohol; it just didn’t work for me anymore. I was binge drinking, blacking out, cheating when I got too drunk, waking up in strange places, and just generally making an ass of myself. I was most definitely ruining my relationships!

    If you think you have a problem with alcohol, there are many resources for the non-drinker. I personally found Alcoholics Anonymous to be the most helpful, but whatever works for you is what you should do. It might just heal you and your relationships.

  • One Missing Ingredient in My Recovery and Why I Relapsed

    One Missing Ingredient in My Recovery and Why I Relapsed

    “The Phoenix must burn to emerge.” ~Janet Fitch

    Many people were shocked when I relapsed after twenty-three years of recovery. After all, I was the model of doing it right. I did everything I was told: went to treatment, followed instructions, prayed for help, and completed the assignments.

    After returning home from treatment, I joined a recovery program and went to therapy. Once again, I followed all the suggestions, which worked when it came to staying sober. I had no desire to drink or do drugs—well, at least for a long while.

    When I went to treatment, I was an emotional wreck. I would have done anything to get rid of the pain. But substances only intensified the pain and prevented healing.

    The worse I felt, the more I needed to medicate those emotions, but it was only causing the ache in my heart to be prolonged, driving me to suicidal thoughts. The moment I stopped using substances, the pain immediately subsided. I’d gone from struggling to get out of bed to engaging in my life fully.

    But going to treatment was only the tip of the iceberg. There was something much deeper underneath my addiction that I wrongly thought a relationship could fix. There was an underlying malaise and sense of shame I couldn’t identify. I knew something was wrong, so I kept searching for answers but couldn’t find the magic formula.

    Without the solution, relapse was inevitable.

    Most recovery programs address a single addiction, but I had many. After two years of sobriety, I stopped smoking but then started compulsive exercising. I didn’t eat right, spent too much, was codependent with needy people, and went from one addictive relationship to the next, never healthy enough to attract someone who could problem solve with me.

    I didn’t realize I was still substituting addictions for love.

    I wanted to make up for my troubled childhood, and I thought getting married and having kids would fix the problem, but after several attempts, it only made me feel more inadequate. Worse, I was a therapist and felt like a hypocrite. It wasn’t like I didn’t work at getting better; self-help was like a part-time job

    I spent decades in different kinds of therapy, not only as a patient but expanding my education in other modalities. I attended dozens of workshops and seminars doing inner-child work. I fully immersed myself in over twenty years of therapy, including psychoanalysis. My toolbox was overflowing, but I still felt disconnected for some reason.

    I didn’t realize those tools weren’t teaching me how to love myself.

    My journey took me on a lifelong spiritual quest. I found a higher power in recovery. I attended various churches and did some mission work in Haiti. I went to Brazil to be healed by John of God (later convicted of multiple cases of sexual abuse), on to a spiritual quest in Peru, on a visit to the Holy Land in Israel, and to Fiji to find my destiny but still felt something was missing.

    I read every spirituality book I could get my hands on and studied A Course in Miracles, but I was still disconnected from myself and others.

    Discouraged, I began to drift further away from all sources of help. I resigned myself to being an unhealed healer.

    I didn’t realize that all the therapy and spirituality were simply another form of addiction for me.

    Relapse began when I got breast cancer and was prescribed opiates after surgery. I got a taste of that forgotten high and made sure I took all the pills, whether I needed them or not. I also forgot how mood-altering substances affected my judgment.

    Instead of facing my fears about being ill and moving forward with my life, I reconciled with my ex-husband. I had little to no regard for how this affected my children. Like a piece of dust suctioned into a vacuum, despite feeling uncomfortable, I allowed my thoughts to suck me back into unhealthy choices—all the while in therapy.

    The next seven years were dark. Another divorce was followed by my former husband’s death, though I was grateful to bring him to our home and care for him until he passed. Then, a fire turned our newly renovated home into a mass of black and burnt-out walls, forcing another relocation for myself and youngest. Soon after, one of my businesses suffered severe damage from another fire resulting in six months of work and restoration.

    Three devastating hurricanes over two years damaged our home and business. One caused the foyer ceiling to cave in, another landed a large tree on our roof, and the third made our yard look like it had been run through a giant blender. One of my businesses was twice flooded and everything had to be thrown away.

    Soon after, our home was ransacked and burglarized. The stress of managing repairs, insurance claims, child-rearing, and working full-time felt like I was repeatedly set on fire and drowned.

    I kept trying to get better but felt emotionally shredded from the struggle. Desperate for support, poor decisions kept me in a whirlwind of insanity—more bad relationships. I was tired of trying, sick of hurting, and anger brewed within me.

    I stopped therapy, recovery meetings, and my spiritual quest, and decided to throw it all away. I went on a rebellious rampage. I’d been married at age sixteen and had a child, and now I was entirely alone. I decided to return to my pre-recovery lifestyle and live it up.

    Looking back, I lived a dual life of selfishness and a thirty-year career of helping others. I was self-will run riot but couldn’t see myself. I’d lived a life of making things happen and simultaneously wondered why my higher power didn’t deliver everything I wanted.

    Spirituality is a tricky thing. It’s so easy to think that God or some higher power is in control, but I believe, with free will, it’s a collaborative effort. Do the footwork and wait… if only I’d waited; impatience was my Achilles heel.

    My party life added a new heap of problems: disappointed children, bad judgment, and wrecked relationships. It didn’t take long to wind up in the same place that took me to treatment twenty-three years earlier, an emotional bottom. But this time, I was ready for the miracle of change.

    I finally found the missing ingredient to a happy life.

    The night was pitch black as I drove around emotionally deranged from grief and substances. After a near accident, I pulled into a parking lot and sobbed uncontrollably. I railed, “Whatever you are out there, why did you abandon me? Why haven’t you helped me? Why don’t you love me?”

    Immediately, a thought shot through my brain like an arrow through a cloud. “It’s not me that doesn’t love you. You don’t love yourself.” And for the first time in my life, I realized two things: I didn’t love myself and didn’t know what loving myself even meant.

    How would I learn to love myself? It never occurred to me that I didn’t. But now, I was armed with the missing ingredient to my happiness, and I intended to figure it out.

    Psychoanalysts are taught the importance of an infant’s basic needs for nurturing and bonding, but I’d never applied any of those concepts to myself. There were some missing parts in my childhood, so I had to learn how to provide for my physical, emotional, and spiritual needs,  as well as get proper nutrition, rest, and activity, in addition to responsibilities, play time, creative and quiet time, gratitude and appreciation, and loss of tolerance for unkind behavior (to and from others), all of which places I started the journey to self-love.

    I let go of what I wanted and focused on doing the next right thing for myself and others. The results were miraculous; peace engulfed me for the first time. By being the love I’d always wanted, I felt loved.

    I was always a doer and thought that spirituality was like getting a degree. Follow the steps, and everything will be okay. Whether or not that’s true, there’s a lot more to staying sober than following a set of directions. It’s important to find a higher power, clean up our act, apologize to those we’ve hurt, and stop using, but that won’t keep us sober if we don’t know how to love ourselves. My higher power became love.

    Correct behavior and self-love are not the same. Loving oneself starts with giving thanks to the sunrise and the sunset, cuddling with your pillow and those you love, acknowledging a universal intelligence and trusting guidance from your conscience, discovering and loving your mission, and nourishing your body, mind, and soul.

    Feed your body with nontoxic food; feed your mind with positive, stimulating information; and feed your soul with nature, good friends, healthy partners, and a higher power (of your own understanding) that inspires and uplifts you.

    If you’ve struggled with staying sober, you probably haven’t learned to love yourself. It’s never too late to start. When I started loving myself like a small child, I lost all substitutes for that godly love, and I finally began to blossom and grow.

    It took decades of failure to discover the missing ingredient to staying sober. I had to learn that love isn’t something I get. Love is an action I give to myself and others.

    Through being the love that I want, I then receive love. There’s a difference between staying sober and recovering. For all like me, who failed to stay sober, learn how to love yourself and then you will recover from the lack of self-love at the root of this tragic disease.

    It’s not enough to just stay sober, and life without happiness makes no sense. You were meant to have a life of love and joy. If you’ve tried everything and something’s still missing, try learning how to love.

  • Beyond Dry January: 5 Benefits of Extending Your Break from Alcohol

    Beyond Dry January: 5 Benefits of Extending Your Break from Alcohol

    “Define success on your own terms, achieve it by your own rules, and build a life you’re proud to live.” ~Anne Sweeney

    So many people make the positive choice to have a sober start to the year in January, whether it’s a New Year’s resolution, a detox, another wellness goal, or part of a fresh start program, but perhaps it’s worth considering prolonging the benefits further into the year ahead.

    A break from alcohol is always a good thing, whether it’s a few days, a week, a month, or longer, and the bigger the break, the more you get a chance to reconsider whether alcohol is helping you to achieve your plans, intentions, or goals in life.

    There are many benefits of extending your sober break beyond thirty days.

    You’ll get more (and better quality) sleep, which will lead to you having more energy, both emotionally and physically.

    As you get into better sleep habits and patterns, with extended periods of REM sleep, you will likely find your mood improving, and you may also find that you have more time for hobbies or projects that you want to focus on. I used to enjoy reading but could never find the time to do it; now I have time in the evenings to read, and time in the early mornings before the rest of my household wakes.

    You’ll find it easier to stay focused on your other health and wellness goals.

    You will find it easier to get hydrated and eat in line with your nutrition plans when you’re not side-lined by a morning carb fest or caffeine overload. I no longer need to drink sugar-laden drinks to give me energy, and I find that I’m much more mindful about what my body needs during an average day to fuel it efficiently, while enjoying what I eat and drink.

    You might have more diverse, fun experiences with friends.

    You can plan and enjoy lots of alcohol-free activities together throughout the spring. I’ve found that some of my newer friendships are not based upon drinking activities at all. We walk, we go for brunches, coffees, movies, and day trips to new places. All social activities I wouldn’t have thought about instigating when I was still drinking.

    You’ll see progress across all areas of your life by spring or early summer.

    The habits that you formed through the first quarter of the year will really start to pay off by the time the days are longer. You will have found new and different ways to relax, to have fun, and to process your emotions, which can positively impact your work and relationships, and you will be so glad that you did.

    You may be inspired to develop a list of things you want to enjoy through the year now that you have the time, energy, and money.

    There may be simple pleasures such as watching the sunrise, hiking, baking, or creating, or more ambitious plans to execute. Perhaps you’ll discover a new hobby or direction that fills you with pride and purpose.

    Alcohol feeds your short-term rewards system (it gives you a dopamine hit) but ultimately acts as a depressant. Your brain wants immediate gratification for the least amount of effort, and alcohol can provide this, but I urge you to find some balance or a more sustainable way of living.

    I spent a considerable amount of time drinking very little alcohol before I decided to have an alcohol-free year as a little life experiment to see how I got on, and cutting down my alcohol consumption was a brilliant introduction to a sober lifestyle. I found new ways to spend my time that I never would have considered before and rekindled old hobbies.

    I now get an amazing sense of satisfaction from achieving my medium and long-term goals—these are the rewards I work toward.

    Achieving my intentions helps me develop and maintain the habits I want to keep. I work toward the long-term goals by ticking off the short term ones, which gives me immediate gratification while helping me develop my purpose on this planet. Alcohol made me act on impulse; now I act on carefully made plans, good intentions, and bold dreams.

    A sober month is a good thing at any time of the year, not just January, but please remember, we don’t have to stick to neat months or rules. We can choose whatever chunk of sober time we like to enhance our lives and find joy in the alcohol-free corners of our worlds whenever we want to.

    This year I’m choosing another year of sober living, and I cannot wait to see what I get to achieve by the end of it.

    How about you? If you started the year with a break from alcohol, can you consider extending your  intention into the spring or even into the year ahead?

  • How I Got Sober and What I Now Know About the Impacts of Alcohol

    How I Got Sober and What I Now Know About the Impacts of Alcohol

    “Sometimes deciding who you are is deciding who you’ll never be again.” ~Anonymous

    May 13th, 2011. I finally surrendered to the fact that I had a drinking problem and desperately needed help. The comments from acquaintances, the concern from friends, the complaints from my flatmates, the intensity of my depression, the conversations with my therapist—they all culminated in the decision that I had to break the chains from my liquid abuser.

    It was one of the hardest decisions of my life, one that entailed waving goodbye to the life that I had led before and diving into a new one where I didn’t have any points of reference and safety handles to grasp.

    At that time, the only option I thought was available to me was AA, so I emailed their helpline on that Friday at 2:43 p.m. Only an hour later I received a response from someone who seemed to care and understood my turmoil and despair, who took the time to share some of her own story, which I could relate to.

    I began going to meetings right away, and my friend Federica held my hand for the first two. I felt blessed to have her calming and loving presence next to me while I was full of fear and confusion. I will forever be grateful to her.

    Stopping

    I stopped drinking as soon as I joined AA. I started going to three meetings a week. I was aware that my levels of drinking were quite below the average threshold of most of the fellowship members, but I was advised to look at the similarities, not the differences, so I did.

    My quiver was now equipped with shimmering new arrows: I had the strength of my resolution, my meetings to go to, the opportunity to mix and match them when I wanted to, a whole community of people I could connect with, and, very quickly, a steady group of friends to go out with after our regular meetings and on weekends.

    I had found almost everything I was lacking and more in the space of a few weeks. I know that finding those people was what made it so easy for me to stay sober, because we enjoyed each other’s company and everything we did was not alcohol-related; also, I was never physically dependent. I was an “emotionally dependent” drinker.

    What I didn’t know then was that this bubble I had created was a very fragile one because it lacked my personal foundations of sobriety.

    Nine months after I quit drinking, on a dating website, I met the man that would become my beloved life companion and husband. I made space for him in my bubble, and he opened up to me the portal to his life.

    I became part of an outside world that I had not interacted with and had unintentionally kept at distance since I had quit drinking. I started to feel like the odd one out, and I began to resent everyone else who “could” drink.

    I could recognize other people who were problem drinkers but had not made the same decision as me, and I felt it was unfair that they got away with it, that they were the ones considered normal, and that I was the one with the problem.

    I was a ball of anger that was seeping out toward everyone, but I didn’t know how to process it. I had also started a job that was very demanding, and most of the time I was out of my depth.

    Gradually, I convinced myself that I could revisit that decision I made on that day in May and that I was ready to welcome alcohol back into my life, but in smaller and more reasonable doses.

    The day I decided to drink again was so uneventful that I don’t even remember it. I know it was almost two years after I had quit and that I had a small glass of wine. I didn’t even enjoy the feeling of being tipsy, and I took that as an assurance that alcohol would have never turned into my nemesis, but a presence that I could keep at bay and out of my life when I wanted to. I was proved wrong. Again.

    Breaking

    After approximately six months, those synaptic pathways had been retriggered. I was self-medicating my stress and depression caused by a job that I could not stomach, and the familiar shortcut was in a liquor store.

    What I later learned is that I didn’t start drinking again because I had a disease. I started for the same reason that I was able to ride a bike years after I last rode one.

    On one hand, I had learned through repetition that the quickest way to find relief from my problems was to drink alcohol, and that the pleasure I gained from it activated the reward circuit in my brain; this motivated me to repeat that behavior over and over again by reactivating the neuropathways that had already been established many years before.

    On the other hand, I had not built new, healthier ways to address those problems, I had not created new habits, and that’s why I was back standing in the alcohol aisle.

    I don’t know how I managed to drink heavily, still holding down that job successfully and completing a one-year life coaching training program. But I did both, and when I moved from London to a smaller town on the coast, I solemnly promised myself and my husband that my drinking would change.

    I had left the job I hated so much, and I was studying, searching for employment, and living in a town that I loved. I had no more excuses this time. But, instead of decreasing, my drinking increased because I didn’t have the constraints and responsibility of a job, and that freed up more time.

    My Way Out

    This time around, though, I knew I didn’t want to resort to AA because I felt that it wasn’t the right solution for me. I saw AA as a Band-Aid to stem the bleeding of my alcohol use, and if it were torn off, the wound would start bleeding again.

    AA also did not delve into the reasons I was making these poor decisions, nor did it prepare the future me for an alcohol-free life. I also was not comfortable with the idea of being in recovery and going to meetings forever; I wanted to be free.

    I didn’t know what my solution was going to look like, but I was open to trying other ways. I made a decision to stop and contacted a local organization. I got myself an appointment, had a brief assessment, and was invited to attend groups and activities there.

    I attended a women’s group a handful of times, but I felt in my bones that it wasn’t an environment where my sobriety would have thrived. But by contacting them, I had made the official step to accept and see my problem in full scale before my eyes, and, in my mind, I could not backtrack after that.

    The second step was to educate myself on what alcohol really was, and I dove into anything I could find—books, podcasts, courses, videos, and online communities—like a fish to water.

    I learned the impact alcohol has on our physical and mental health; the extent to which it interferes with the neurotransmitters in our brain and affects our central nervous system; how, as a consequence, it causes anxiety and depression; how it kills our confidence bit by bit under the mask of giving us “courage.”

    I understood that it’s a solution to a problem, and that the problem can be different for any one of us. And that some people decide to suppress their problem with alcohol, others with food, shopping, or other substances.

    I learned that alcohol is a toxin, a carcinogenic psychoactive drug, and a highly addictive substance, and that the reason we get emotionally addicted to it is because it taps on the reward system in the brain.

    I came to understand that the effect it had on me was the result of a chemical reaction, not a disease, and it is explained by science, and that it developed into a problem because it was the easiest shortcut I had to solve my issue.

    The third step was attending to my emotional recovery and looking at the problems that alcohol had solved for me. This, for me, was the key where freedom from alcohol truly lay.

    Setting my sobriety against something that was outside of me and being dependent on a structure to maintain it was one of the things that pushed me away from AA. So, for me, there was only one thing to do. Go back to the source, me, and understand where the pull of alcohol came from.

    A few months before I stopped drinking, as part of my endeavor to find a career that had purpose and meaning for me, I had completed the EFT (Emotional Freedom Techniques) certification. As part of my training, I had to carry out practice sessions with other certified colleagues.

    I met a lady who introduced me to the concept of being a “highly sensitive person” and realized that I was one too. I finally found the validation of my being “too emotional,” “too intense,” and “too sensitive,” epithets that had been used to describe me and that made me feel wrong.

    In my sessions with her, she helped me to uncover layer after layer of emotions, thoughts, and memories that were connected to my drinking and to the pain that I was trying to erase with it.

    We started with the most superficial ones, then reached the deeper and most ancient, which is the safest and recommended protocol to use EFT.

    The work I did by myself, with her, and with other colleagues along the way helped me to relieve my cravings when I had them and release the triggers that used to make me run to the liquor store like a brainless bullet. It also helped me recognize when I’d started to believe that alcohol turned me into the confident and self-assured person I struggled and strived to be.

    I experienced numerous shifts along the way. One of them is that I no longer resent people who drink. I can still recognize when someone has an unhealthy relationship with alcohol, but instead of feeling like they got away with it, my perception has changed. I feel like I am the lucky one who got away because alcohol has no place in my life, and there is not one tiny cell of me that would ever want to drink again.

    I know that there is nothing positive that alcohol can add to my life and that all I need is within me.

    I would like to show this to people who struggle with alcohol and tell them how wonderful, rich, rewarding, fun, and relaxing life is without it. And that their body has the capability to do all of the above without it, and that the fun, the excitement, or the relaxation they find in it is short-lived, but the consequences are not.

    But I know that we all have our own journeys, and it’s not my place to interfere with theirs.

    I already told the most important person I needed to tell, and that is my younger self.

    When I went to find her in my memories, I told her that she didn’t need alcohol to be the amazing and lovely girl that she was. I told her that I loved her with all my heart, and that she had all the resources she needed within her to find her way back to herself.

    She cried, then she smiled and thanked me for reminding her and for believing in her.

  • The One Thought That Killed My Crippling Fear of Other People’s Opinions

    The One Thought That Killed My Crippling Fear of Other People’s Opinions

    “Don’t worry if someone does not like you. Most people are struggling to like themselves.” ~Unknown

    For as long as I can remember, I have been deathly afraid of what other people thought of me.

    I remember looking at all the other girls in third grade and wondering why I didn’t have a flat stomach like them. I was ashamed of my body and didn’t want other people to look at me. This is not a thought that a ten-year-old girl should have, but unfortunately, it’s all too common.

    Every single woman I know has voiced this same struggle. That other people’s opinions have too much weight in their lives and are something to be feared. For most of us women, there is nothing worse than someone else judging our appearance.

    After that fear first came to me in third grade, I carried it with me every day throughout high school, college, and into my twenties. This led me to trying every diet imaginable and going through cycles of restricting and binging. I just wanted to lose those pesky fifteen pounds so I could finally feel better about myself and not be scared of attention.

    There was no better feeling than getting a new diet book in the mail and vowing that I would start the next day. Following every rule perfectly and never straying from the list of acceptable foods. I stopped going to restaurants and having meals with friends because I wouldn’t know the exact calorie count.

    All this chasing new diets and strict workouts was because of one simple thought that I carried for years. I just assumed everyone was judging my body and would like me more if I lost weight. I was constantly comparing my body to every other woman around me.

    This fear of what other people thought also led me to have a complicated relationship with alcohol in my late teens and early twenties. At my core I am naturally sensitive, observant, even-keeled, and sometimes quiet. But I didn’t like this about me; I wanted to be the outgoing party girl that was the center of attention.

    The first time I got drunk in high school I realized that this could be my one-way ticket to achieve my desired personality. With alcohol I was carefree, funny, and spontaneous, and I loved that I could get endless attention. I was finally the life of the party, and no one could take it away from me.

    I wanted everyone to think that party-girl me was the real me, not the sensitive and loving person that I was desperately trying to hide. Classmates were actually quite shocked if they saw me at a party because I was so different than how I appeared in school. It was exciting to unveil this persona to every new person I met.

    But the thing with diets and alcohol was that this feeling of freedom was only temporary. When the alcohol wore off or the new-diet excitement faded, I was back to the same feelings. In fact, I found that I was even more concerned about what people thought of me if the diet didn’t work or the alcohol wasn’t as strong. I feared that they would discover the real me.

    The irony was that whenever I drank, I felt worse about myself after the alcohol left my system. I felt physically and emotionally ill from the poison I was putting into my body. I would often be embarrassed about not remembering the night before or fearing that I said something I shouldn’t have. It was a nightmare of a rollercoaster that I no longer wanted to be a part of.

    I decided in my mid-twenties that alcohol would no longer have power over me. That I wouldn’t rely on it to feel confident and instead work on loving the real me. I decided to break up with alcohol and put it on the back burner. I was moving to a new city where I didn’t know anyone, so I figured this would be a good time to start fresh.

    Once I moved and started my new life, those same familiar fears and pangs of shame started to show up again. If I wasn’t the loud party girl, who would I be? What would people think of me if I wanted to stay in and read instead of partying? I wasn’t confident in my authentic self yet, and I was desperately looking for a new personality to adopt. That’s when I turned back to a familiar friend for help: dieting.

    In the span of five years, I tried every major diet out there: paleo, keto, vegetarian, vegan, counting macros and calories, you name it. I dedicated all my free time to absorbing all the information I could so I could perfect my diet even more. At one point I was eating chicken, broccoli, and sweet potatoes for every single meal. My body was screaming at me for nutrients, but I continued to ignore it.

    Then one day I hit that illustrious number on the scale and finally felt happy. Well, I assumed I would feel happy, but I was far from it. I felt like absolute crap. My hair was falling out, I had trouble sleeping for the first time in my life, my digestion was ruined, and I had crippling fatigue. I finally lost the fifteen pounds, but my health was the worst it had ever been.

    I felt betrayed. The scale was where I wanted it, but I wasn’t happy. I was more self-conscious of my body than ever before. I didn’t want people to look at me and notice my weight loss. That little girl that cared about what people thought was still ruling my life. I had to make a change, and I had to start loving the girl in the mirror no matter what I looked like. My life depended on it.

    It was during one of those nights where I felt so confused and lost that I stumbled into the world of self-development. I bought my very first journal and the first sentence I wrote was: “Self-love, what does it mean and how do I find it?” I vowed to myself that I would turn inward and get to know the real me for the first time in my life. 

    This new journey felt uncomfortable and scary and pushed me completely outside my comfort zone. I couldn’t just hide behind external sources anymore like I did with alcohol and strict diets. I had to get to know authentic Annie and show the world who she was.

    It was in this journey that I found my love of writing and inspiring people. I decided to follow my dreams and get certified as a life coach and finally make my writing public. But when I went to hit publish on my first post, that same fear reared its ugly head.

    This time I was deathly afraid of what my coworkers and friends would think. They would see the real me, the sensitive soul that had deep feelings and wanted to inspire other people. This fear caused me to deny who I was for far too long, again.

    I hesitated for years to share my writing because this fear stopped me. But this time I wasn’t going to let it have control over me anymore. One day this thought popped into my head and stopped me dead in my tracks. It was an enormous epiphany and one I couldn’t ignore. The thought was:

    When I am eighty years old and looking back on my life, what do I want to remember? That I followed the same path as everyone else or I followed my heart?

    As soon as that thought came to me it was like I was hit over the head. For the first time in my life, I understood it. I realized that if I kept living my life in fear of other people’s opinions, I wasn’t really living my own life.

    Every human is here to be unique and serve out their own purpose, not to just follow the crowds blindly. I couldn’t live out my purpose if I wanted to hide away.

    Self-acceptance and self-love come from knowing and respecting all parts of myself. It comes from acknowledging my shadow sides and still putting myself out there regardless of opinions. It comes from going after big and scary goals and having fun along the way. Because the absolute truth is this: other people’s opinions are not going to matter in one year. They won’t even matter five minutes from now.

    So now I want you to ask yourself the same question: What do you want to remember most about your life when you are at the end of it?

  • Addiction Is Messy, But These Things Help Me Stay Clean

    Addiction Is Messy, But These Things Help Me Stay Clean

    “Staying sober really was the most important thing in my life now and had given me direction when I thought I had none.” ~Bradley Cooper

    I remember that exact feeling of shame that washed over me when I was filling Yeti water bottles with 100 proof vodka instead of water. Then I chugged it, all while knowing it was the worst idea. Yet, I couldn’t stop.

    Addiction is messy.

    My social outings were with the wealthiest in the town, always with plenty of other alcoholics in my midst. I surrounded myself with people who drank like me because why on earth would I want to associate with someone who doesn’t drink? It looked like I was living the life when, in reality, I was dead inside.

    The truth is, sometimes your soul has to die before you decide to actually be alive. My soul died, but my body continued living, and I wore a shield, defending myself from people. I wanted them to see the person I was projecting; the person I wanted to be.  

    I wanted to be all of the things that I was showing them, but I was truly depressed, anxious, troubled, and lost.

    My addiction started with a boy. I was addicted to him, to love, to the idea of love, and eventually, to his drugs. He became my dealer, my controller, my manipulator, and my life.

    He introduced me to hard drugs, and I immediately latched on. He completely stripped me of any sort of normal life.

    But I would do anything for him. The occasional use turned into daily use.

    At the time, I was in college, and I was still managing to do well. However, he got a job offer in another city thousands of miles away. He said if I didn’t come with him, we were done.

    I went into a depression I had never known before. I remember sleeping for days in my parents’ basement. The thought of being apart from this boy completely broke me.

    So I moved with him. My messy addiction was getting worse.

    It wasn’t long before he found someone in our new city who knew a dealer. I got excited knowing there was something else to try, so I dove right in. These drugs led to complete destruction. 

    I was now failing school. Me, a straight-A honor student. My mom came out to visit for my twenty-first birthday. She could tell something was off, but I had been lying for so long.

    I wasn’t ready to tell anyone.

    I knew I was only in the relationship because he got me drugs. I was scared to leave because he was my first love, and I didn’t know anything else. My life was a mess.

    I dropped out of college, claiming an “emotional breakdown.” I didn’t have a job. I had no idea what I was doing with myself.

    I was completely lost.

    A few months after my birthday, I called my mom and told her I needed to come home. Of course, the next morning I regretted it, but it was too late. My parents were on their way to get me.

    My soul finally completely died because of the mess I was in.

    I broke up with the boy.

    I quit drugs cold turkey. Looking back, I have no idea how I did this; I don’t remember withdrawals or cravings. I was determined to start cleaning up my life, but addiction is messy, cunning, baffling, and powerful. So I replaced drugs with alcohol.

    I always drank to get drunk. I felt that I had missed out on college life, and I needed to make up for it. I had been controlled for too long; I was finally free.

    I did what I thought was normal for someone in her early twenties. I drank every day, starting at 5 p.m. That’s what adults do, right?

    I didn’t think I had a problem until I realized how much more alcohol I needed compared to my friends. Every time we went out, they were completely hammered, and I barely had a buzz. I started bringing my own shooters in my purse so that I could have extra on hand.

    I would pour vodka into mini shampoo bottles so that it wasn’t evident that it was alcohol. I’d buy 100 proof to get the job done quicker.

    I thought it was fun. It was my secret, and I liked hiding it. It was like a game.

    When people saw me drink three glasses of wine, they had no idea about the water bottles filled with vodka that I had chugged earlier. I’d gauge how much I was drinking by counting the number of gulps I took or by seeing how many shampoo bottles were empty.

    I hid how much I was drinking very well. I was a functioning alcoholic. I had a great husband, amazing friends, and a stable job. 

    In my mind, there was no way I was an alcoholic because I had all of these things.

    There were several incidents that should have been the end, but I was never ready. It took years of looking at myself in the mirror, thinking, Ellen, this has to stop. You can’t continue drinking like this. So, I would try drinking a different way.

    Only wine during the week.  Vodka on weekends. Svedka instead of 100 proof Smirnoff.

    Anything.

    The only thing that stayed consistent was that I never allowed anyone to see how much I was truly drinking. I knew it deep down in my dead soul that I would either die drinking or that I would have to admit out loud that I had a problem.

    The day finally came, the day I had been putting off for years because I was so scared. My last drink.

    I learned later that my last day drinking was one of my “yets.” The things that make you convince yourself that you are not an alcoholic. “I haven’t gotten a DUI… yet.” Or “I haven’t lost my job… yet.” Mine was “I’ve never brought alcohol into work… yet.”

    My last drink was really a continuation of several days of drinking. I had finished everything that was hidden in the closet by 6 a.m. before heading to work.

    I took my lunch break early (like 9:15 early) and drove to the first liquor store. It didn’t open until 10:00. I thought to myself “only an alcoholic would be caught waiting for a liquor store to open; I can’t do that.”

    So I went to another one nearby. Yes! It was open!

    I went in and got my usual. The cashier rang me up and said, “Why are you here so early today?” I was so embarrassed.

    Little did he know I needed this to calm my shakes, feel better, and make it through the morning.

    I had basically woken up still drunk and was just continuing the drunk in order to feel okay. I was completely wasted by lunch.

    I knew I would be fired if anyone noticed. I had to get out of the building.

    I called my husband. I knew he’d be upset, but I have the most supportive and compassionate husband. He picked me up from work.

    He was scared, confused, and completely sad. Why was I wasted at work on a Thursday by noon? On the drive home before passing out, I finally knew that something needed to change.

    I knew that I was the only person who could make that change. I didn’t want to live this way anymore.

    For me. The only way getting sober works is when you realize you have to do it for yourself.  No one else can do it for you.

    And that was it. I started my journey in recovery that day.

    My sober life is amazing. Yes, I still have regular life problems, but everything is so much more manageable without the haze. I can do things now that I never did before, and everything makes a little more sense.

    I’m back to being Ellen.

    I have amazing things in my life that keep me clean and sober. Addiction is messy, but we do recover. First and foremost, I have a strong program of recovery.

    It wasn’t until I went to a rehab center that I learned that people in this world could teach me how to live a sober life and develop healthy coping mechanisms. I know how to soothe myself without substances and how to navigate this world without numbing myself.

    I work a recovery program that includes meetings, steps, and constant interaction with like-minded people. I have mostly sober friends and have cultivated lifelong relationships that matter.

    Secondly, I was able to get pregnant and start a family once sober; I have twins! I believe that the Universe had all of this lined up for me. I could never have done any of these things in any different order.

    Finally, I have good relationships with loved ones and peers. I am not lying to them every day, hurting them, and treating them terribly. I know I am loved, and I am not alone.

    Everything is perfectly in place the way it is supposed to be according to my journey. And now I can actually see that clearly.

    Addiction is messy, but it made me who I am today. Without this mess, I would not have this life. Now that I am clean, my soul has been brought back to life.

  • How I Healed from Childhood Trauma and Stopped Sabotaging My Happiness

    How I Healed from Childhood Trauma and Stopped Sabotaging My Happiness

    “We can all make powerful choices. We can all take back control by not blaming chance, fate, or anyone else for our outcome. It’s within our ability to cause everything to change. Rather than letting past hurtful experiences sap our energy and sabotage our success, we can use them to fuel positive, constructive change.” ~Darren Hardy

    I parked my car and began to walk toward the mall while covering my puffy eyes with black sunglasses. I was fresh out of a session with my therapist, where I had hit a breaking point. We both came to the conclusion that I use self-punishment as an approach to almost all of life.

    As I was crossing the parking lot, all I could think of was: “How could I not see it? How could I be so oblivious to my inner dialogue and the actions I take to punish myself? Am I a hidden masochist without any sense of awareness? I should do better than this!”

    Considering that I used self-sabotage as one of my survival behaviors, coming down on myself for not doing better wasn’t the healthiest next step I could take. This time, I was able to recognize it and had one of the biggest epiphanies about how my trauma impacts my life. It was scary and liberating at the same time.

    When we grow up believing that we don’t deserve a lot, or at least not a lot of good stuff, we will subconsciously sabotage anything that creates a vision of a brighter future. Since the subconscious is programmed to validate any limiting beliefs we hold about ourselves, without awareness, our self-sabotaging behavior thrives.

    For the longest time, I couldn’t wrap my head around it. The logical part of my brain understood what was best for me. However, I still chose the self-destructive road of drama, self-judgment, complaining, victimization, and never walking my talk. 

    For example, to walk away from a marriage that mentally drained me would be a healthy thing to do. However, I stayed in a toxic partnership for as long as I could bear until I got so numb that I couldn’t feel anything. Since self-love was a concept I wasn’t familiar with, I found my significance in being disrespected, controlled, and emotionally abused.

    My logic told me to pack my stuff up and run as far as I could, but my survival mode kept me in. Although I was highly uncomfortable and most of the time in pain, at least I was familiar with the discomfort. I knew this place of constant self-sabotage and self-hatred.

    To the outside world, it didn’t make sense. To the left hemisphere of my brain, it didn’t make sense either. But to my trauma wiring, it felt like home. It was all that I knew existed and was available to me.

    When we experience domestic violence, whether as a direct victim or as a witness, our subconscious mind adopts self-destructive beliefs about ourselves and the world. Feelings of unworthiness and self-punishment paralyze us, and therefore keep everything the same.

    Although I kept tolerating situations I didn’t like far more than I felt comfortable admitting, I couldn’t let one question go: “Why do so many of us want to change, but no matter what we do, always end up in the same place with the same drama and same people? Why isn’t logic enough, and what defines true transformation?”

    I set out on a mission and began researching everything about domestic violence and its impact on children. I knew that my childhood wasn’t the best foundation for a happy and healthy life, but this time I decided to go deeper and get to the root of the problem.

    I learned that seeing my mum covered in bruises created feelings of fear, that struggling with her alcohol abuse brought feelings of unworthiness, and that the rough side of my father with his overly disciplined attitude, that lacked empathy, made me believe I wasn’t enough to be loved by him.

    As children, we interpret these experiences differently than adults. For the most part, an adult can step back and reevaluate whether this behavior is about them or the other person. Unfortunately, children don’t have this ability since their brains aren’t fully developed to understand it. Instead, they internalize these experiences and begin to believe that they are unlovable, not enough, and never safe, and they start to hustle for love.

    Since I grew up with these beliefs and didn’t address them for most of my life, I subconsciously sabotaged things I wanted because I didn’t believe I deserved them.

    On the outside, I wanted to build my business and position myself as a coach, while on the inside, I procrastinated because I highly doubted that I could ever make it. Or I would seek toxic relationships full of drama and toxicity. Since I didn’t believe that I was good enough for anything healthy and loving, I would stick around to validate my limiting beliefs of unworthiness. Self-sabotage and self-punishment were my way of life.

    After I began to understand the importance of our brain’s wiring in everything we do and how traumatic experiences define our lives if we let them, I knew that only thinking and understanding wouldn’t cut it. I would need to take serious action if I wanted to stop the self-sabotage and significantly transform my life.

    If you grew up in a household with domestic violence, you’ve experienced trauma of some sort that impacts the healthy development of your brain. You may find yourself in a constant battle between knowing what is good for you and doing the complete opposite.

    Although the trauma’s impact on our well-being is inevitable, so is the healing that takes place if we commit to it and work through it. Here’s how I did just that.

    1. Combining meditation and science to rewire my brain

    I was familiar with the work of Dr. Joe Dispenza for a while. After I read one of his first books, You Are The Placebo, I started to understand the power and importance of rewiring my brain.

    I learned that when we meditate, we lower our brain waves and become present. Once our mind is relaxed, almost half asleep, we can use visualization to bring up emotions such as love or compassion, which promotes healing. Or, we can visualize our desired goals while feeling the excitement and confidence that comes from achieving them.

    Since meditation allows us to go deeper and access the mind on a subconscious level, over time we can change or create new neuropathways, form new habits, and transform our belief system.

    Many scientific studies have shown how meditation improves sleep, reduces stress, and allows us to self-regulate, which is especially useful when working through trauma.

    I started practicing Joe Dispenza’s meditations and set a goal: Every day for the next thirty days, I must do a forty-minute meditation. No excuses, no procrastination. The game was on, and I knew that I had to commit fully to this process.

    It’s been eight months since I started, and I haven’t stopped my meditations since. Occasionally, I skip a day or two, but then I remind myself of the mission I am on and how important it is to stay committed to healing. It’s not a secret that self-discipline is the highest form of self-love.

    2. Getting a therapist

    To understand why I use self-sabotage, I decided to get a therapist. I needed to address my past and use self-awareness as a stepping stone to change.

    From the beginning, we focused on addressing the sexual assault I experienced. The biggest highlight of my therapy was understanding that I subconsciously punish myself and live in deep states of guilt and shame. For the first time, I started learning about my self-destructive tendencies and how to stop them.

    My favorite part of therapy was learning self-soothing techniques. One that I use regularly is wrapping myself into a blanket while drinking peppermint tea and breathing deeply.

    Many of us who have experienced domestic violence or other forms of trauma and abuse don’t know what love or compassion is. Since we hustled for survival and discounted ourselves as worthless and not enough, self-soothing is a foreign concept to us. Although you may find it weird and uncomfortable at first, it will gradually change how you see and take care of yourself.

    3. Practicing self-awareness and challenging myself

    A few months ago, I decided to take a three-day intense self-development course that many of my friends were raving about. I didn’t expect any significant transformation until the second day of the workshop, when everything started to shift.

    I became aware of stories I have created about my parents, who I am as a person, how I see myself, and how I live in a deep place of victimization and inauthenticity.

    Although I grew up with domestic violence, so did my mother and father. It was time to break the generational curse and take full ownership of my triggers, insecurities, desperation, and toxic tendencies that resulted from the abuse. I couldn’t play the victim card anymore since the only person I was playing was myself.

    4. Addressing my shadows

    Befriending parts of my personality that I despised was probably the biggest challenge, and frankly, it’s still in the making. However, I found the courage to look at my self-sabotaging behaviors—how I dislike disrespect and abuse but willingly go for more, and how I manipulate people or fear connections. That’s when I began to defeat the monster of self-sabotage and recognized the opportunity of healing.

    We are so eager to find the light that we forget about the dark side of ourselves that often holds us back. We want to look away and forget about everything traumatic that happened to us since our resilience to face the truth may be weakened at first. However, learning to accept those shameful and hurtful experiences and love who we became as a result of a trauma or abuse provides us an opportunity to grow into the warrior we never thought we could become.

    —

    After two years of intense healing and personal growth, I concluded that the only thing that can save us and truly heal us is to learn how to love ourselves, not in spite of what we’ve been through or who we are but because of it.

    Today I understand that the resilience I had as a child who faced horrific or traumatic experiences is the same resilience that’s available to me now to help me heal and thrive in life. I am learning every day what it means to live from the inside out and how the power and strength I often looked for on the outside has been within me all along.

  • My Dad Died From Depression: This Is How I Coped with His Suicide

    My Dad Died From Depression: This Is How I Coped with His Suicide

    “Grief is really just love. It’s all the love you want to give, but cannot. All that unspent love gathers up in the corners of your eyes, the lump in your throat, and in that hollow part of your chest. Grief is just love with no place to go.” ~Jamie Anderson

    When I was seventeen, my dad died from depression. This is now almost twenty-two years ago.

    The first fifteen years after his death, however, I’d say he died from a disease—which is true, I just didn’t want to say it was a psychological disease. Cancer, people probably assumed.

    I didn’t want to know anything about his “disease.” I ran away from anything that even remotely smelled like mental health issues.

    Instead, I placed him on a pedestal. He was my fallen angel that would stay with me my whole life. It wasn’t his fault he left me. It was the disease’s fault.

    The Great Wall of Jessica

    But no, my dad died by suicide. He chose to leave this life behind. He chose to leave me behind. At least, that’s what I felt whenever the anger took over.

    And boy, was I angry. Sometimes, I’d take a towel, wrap it up in my hands, and just towel-whip the shit out of everything in my room.

    But how can you be angry with a man who is a victim himself? You can’t. So I got angry at the world instead and built a wall ten stories high. I don’t think I let anyone truly inside, even the people closest to me.

    How could I? I didn’t even know what “inside” was. For a long time, my inside was just a deep, dark hole.

    Sure, I was still Jessica. A girl that loved rainbows and glitter. A girl that just wanted to feel joyful.

    And I was. Whenever I was out in nature. I didn’t realize it at the time, but whenever I was on the beach, in a forest, or even in a park, I’d be content and calm.

    Whenever I was inside between four walls, however, I felt restless, lonely, and agitated. This lasted for a very long time. I’d say for about twenty years—which, according to some therapists, is a pretty “normal” timespan for some people to really make peace with the traumatic death of a parent.

    But during that time, alcohol and partying were my only coping mechanisms. I partied my bum off for a few years. I’d drink all night until I puked, and then continue drinking. Couldn’t remember half of the time how I got home or what happened that night.

    Hello Darkness, My Old Friend

    Unfortunately, all that alcohol came with a price. I had the world’s worst hangovers—not only physically but also mentally. At twenty-one, hungover and alone at home, I had my first panic attack. Many more followed, and I developed a panic disorder.

    I became afraid of being afraid. I didn’t tell anyone, because I was scared they would think I was crazy.

    Those periods of anxiety never lasted longer than a few months. But they were usually followed by a sort of winter depression. In my worst moments, I felt like the one and only person that understood me was gone. I felt like nobody loved me, not as much as my dad did. And I did think about death myself. Not that I actually wanted to die, but at times, it seemed like a nice “break” from all the pain.

    Acceptance and Spiritual Healing

    Finally, in my mid-twenties, I went to see a therapist. She helped me tremendously and made me realize that the panic attacks were nothing more than a physical reaction to stress. Yet, it wasn’t until I did a yoga teacher training a few years later that I finally learned how to stop those panic attacks for good.

    Wanting to know more about the mechanisms of the body and mind, I dove into mental and physical well-being, and started researching and writing about mental health.

    I understand now that self-love, or at least self-acceptance, and a solid self-esteem are crucial for our mental health. And I know that people with mental health issues find it so, so hard to ask for help. Their lack of self-love makes them think they are a burden.

    I understand that, at that moment, my dad didn’t see any other solution for his suffering than stepping out of this life. It did not mean that he didn’t love me or my family.

    The pain from losing my dad actually opened the door for me to spiritual healing. It brought me to where I am now. It taught me to live life to the fullest.

    It taught me to follow my heart because life is too precious to be stuck anywhere and feel like crap. And it made me want to help others by sharing my story.

    I have accepted myself as I am now. I know that I’m enough. I’ve learned what stability feels like, and how to stay relaxed, even though my body is wired to stress out about the smallest things due to childhood trauma.

    Let’s Share Our Demons and Kill Them Together

    But honestly, the pain from losing him will stay with me for the rest of my life. And sometimes it’s as present as it was twenty years ago. I don’t feel like covering that up with some positive, “unicorny” endnote.

    I feel like being raw, honest, and open instead. Depression and suicide f@cking suck. What I do want to do, however, is to help open up the conversation about this topic. I want to make it normal to talk about our mental health, as normal as it is to talk about our physical health.

    There are way too many people living in the dark, due to stigmatization and fear. Life is cruel sometimes. And every single human on this planet has to deal with shit. It would be so good if we could be real about it and share our stories so other people can relate and find solace.

    I do hope that my story helps in some way.

  • How Befriending My Anxiety and Depression Helped Ease My Pain

    How Befriending My Anxiety and Depression Helped Ease My Pain

    “‘What should I do?’ I asked myself. ‘Spend another two miserable years like this? Or should I truly welcome my panic?’ I decided to really let go of wanting to block, get rid of, or fight it. I would finally learn how to live with it, and to use it as support for my meditation and awareness. I welcomed it for real. What began to happen was that the panic was suspended in awareness. On the surface level was panic, but beneath it was awareness, holding it. This is because the vital first step to breaking the cycle of the anxious mind is to connect to awareness.” ~Yongey Mingyur Rinpoche

    I have suffered with anxiety and depression for at least fifteen years. I can’t remember a time when I didn’t. They both almost killed me, but I have learned that living with them, rather than fighting them, is far more fortuitous in bringing relief.

    Fortunately, at no stage did I act on suicidal thoughts, but I would be a liar if I said I never had them. Not in terms of making plans, but the general idea did creep up on me, and for a while it was all-consuming. I also reached a stage where I didn’t care if I died.

    Alcohol became a crutch and, in a strange way, beer actually may have been responsible for saving my life. The one day I ever seriously had intentions of ending everything, I walked past a pub after leaving work, went in, and proceeded to get exceedingly drunk. I reached a stage where I was incapable of doing anything worse to myself, and my inebriated state led to my wife telling me I needed to get urgent help.

    Trying to put my finger on precisely why I started feeling anxious and depressed would be like trying to pick up mercury with a fork. It would be equally impossible to pinpoint at what age I began to suffer. I think I was always a worrier, even from early childhood.

    In many ways I had a blessed upbringing. I had loving parents; we weren’t a wealthy family, but we didn’t struggle either. There was always enough food, and I was warm, clothed, and felt cherished.

    That said, things weren’t perfect, as my dad worked away from home a lot. He did it to provide for his family, us; I am proud of him and in no way resentful. It did leave a hole in the home, though, and put a lot of extra responsibility on my mum, and maybe I have separation issues as a result.

    My parents had high standards when it came to behavior. I recognize this now as having made me the person I am today. They gave me strong principles, for which I am grateful.

    It wasn’t always easy to live up to my mum and dad’s expectations, though. I remember being stressed quite often about this and having a fear of being shouted at. In comparison with what some children sadly have to tolerate, I feel a little silly saying that, but I’m trying to give an explanation for my anxiety in later life.

    Bullying was also an unwelcome companion throughout my childhood. Ridiculing, name-calling, and physical abuse all left their indelible mark. I can clearly remember the indignity of being drowned in another, older, bigger, stronger child’s spit.

    The main focus of my tormentors was that I was “ugly”, “nobody would ever fancy me,” and that I would “never find a girlfriend.” I managed to disprove all three as an adult. Well, maybe I am “ugly,” but, frankly, as a happily married man, as long as my wife doesn’t think I am, I’m not sure it matters all that much.

    What does matter, though, are the scars this taunting left. I’ve never really regained my confidence after them. I’m not sure I can, and they cause me to be hard with myself, leading to anxious and depressed thinking.

    Maybe it was the bullying that really fed my depression and anxiety. I’ve been the victim of domineering, abusive behavior as an adult too, and there is a fragility inside me when faced with such onslaughts. I also have a very keen idea of justice and don’t enjoy seeing it being compromised.

    Notwithstanding, I have never felt able to definitely put my finger on bullying as the cause of my, at times, poor mental health. Without the ability to do that, I believe I’m destined for anxiety and depression to be lifelong companions. That may sound defeatist, but my reality isn’t as gloomy as that last sentence might suggest, and the reason for this is something I can definitely point to.

    GPs treated me for years for depression and made no mention of anxiety. The day following my escapism from suicidal thoughts through inebriation, my wife made me go to the A&E Department at our local hospital. There, finally, a doctor listened attentively, made a first, tentative diagnosis of anxiety leading into depression, and suggested things I could do alongside taking medication to aid real recovery.

    Of all the advice that medic gave me, the suggestion that has been most instrumental in regaining my health was to meditate. I’d dismissed meditation in the past as “hocus pocus,” laughing at and pouring scorn on it. Something in me reacted positively to the suggestion that day, and I am eternally grateful for that.

    The hospital, among other things, gave me a list of places where I could find helpful tools for meditating. Apps, recordings, videos. I decided I had nothing to lose and everything to gain, so I started following their guidance.

    I burned through the resources the doctor gave me within a few days. That was enough to convince me that this could really help. I still felt anxious and depressed, but for the period of time while I meditated I got, for the first time in years, a real sense of relief that wasn’t alcohol-fueled.

    Unsure of where else I could find guided meditations, something triggered in my brain and a thought emerged: “I am sure Buddhism has something to do with meditating.” I went onto YouTube and typed in “Buddhist meditation” and got a huge number of results. So began my real journey with mindfulness practice.

    Meditation didn’t miraculously cure my anxiety and depression. As I said, I still live with them. But it offered a glimmer of light through which I felt certain I could better learn to cope and give a quality to my life that had been missing for years.

    I can’t say specifically how meditation has changed things for me. I just know it has. I have read that the brain is plastic. That it can develop and change over time. The idea that activities like meditation help develop new, healthier, neural pathways makes sense to me. It’s almost as if the change has happened subconsciously. What I do know is that, as a result of meditating regularly, I’m calmer and better able to deal with crises than I had previously been.

    As I made meditating a daily practice, I began looking more into Buddhist philosophies. They are what worked for me and it is eminently possible to get the same benefits from other philosophical teachings, both religious and not. One idea I hit on was the concept of not fighting negative emotions but rather befriending them.

    This sounds counter-intuitive. When we get a feeling we don’t like, whether it be anxiety, depression, or anything else uncomfortable, we naturally want to run from it. This only strengthens the emotion, though, and does nothing to relieve it.

    Perhaps that’s why people get locked in cycles of negativity. They fight the uncomfortable feeling, thereby strengthening it, so they fight it all the more. Round and round goes the vicious circle.

    Instead, by accepting the emotion, letting it be, and recognizing that the feeling isn’t inherently wrong, that it’s just a sensation, it somehow softens it.

    The first person I ever heard talking about this process was Yongey Mingyur Rinpoche whose quote I have cited above. He often speaks about how revelatory it was for his panic attacks, and so it has proven to be for me with my anxiety and depression.

    It was this charming, charismatic Nepalese Buddhist who got me hooked on meditation. I specifically remember the moment I found his video “A Guided Meditation on the Body, Space, and Awareness with Yongey Mingyur Rinpoche,” on YouTube. With his gentle and humorous approach, I could almost feel his arms holding me as he guided me through the process. Despite meditating daily for the last four years, I still return to this video when I feel I need to get back to basics.

    The belief that somehow anxiety and depression will up sticks and leave me is not something I possess. However, they don’t frighten me anymore, and I have learned to cope with them. I would wish them “good riddance” if they did pack their bags and go, but they don’t dominate me anymore. I live with them and they aren’t going to prevent me from enjoying a positive existence.

    There is a wealth of resources available online that both talk through this novel concept and provide guided meditations on it. Some are religious or spiritual, though plenty of others are purely secular. It is an idea that can be used by anyone in whatever format they wish.

    My life has changed because of these few, simple practices. I’m more content than I can ever remember being and like to think of this transformation as proof that anyone who suffers similarly can regain happiness. I would be lying if I said it isn’t hard work, or that there aren’t periods that are more difficult than others, but it is so worth it.

    As a result of these improvements, I was able to kick my alcohol habit over three years ago, something that has also benefitted my mental health. Again, I found I felt better from not drinking, but this is not to say that being teetotal is an elixir for wellness. Plenty of people find a beer or a glass of wine actually helps how they feel, and if this is you, go for it.

    This article is not prescriptive. I don’t believe anyone can offer a recipe for wellness, as it is dependent on the individual, and I strongly doubt that two people would ever find that what works for one, works exactly the same for the other. If the above text offers hope and nothing else, the writing of it will have been worthwhile.

  • Toxic Masculinity and the Harmful Standards We’re All Expected to Meet

    Toxic Masculinity and the Harmful Standards We’re All Expected to Meet

    Recently I woke up uncharacteristically early for a Saturday to meet a friend and her baby for coffee. I am embarrassed to say that by “uncharacteristically early” I mean 8:30am, which is not that early. I get it.

    As I walked by two chipper twenty-something-year-old girls in skintight leggings either in route to or on their way back from a workout class, I found my mind reeling.

    Why is it that I see so many more women in New York City whenever I wake up early on the weekends? Why do they seem so much more productive than men?

    I first noticed this trend when I graduated from college. I would be out way too late at a local watering hole and overhear a couple girlfriends talking about their plans to wake up in six hours and meet for a workout class. My only plans for the next day were to sleep in till noon and order a bagel (with scallion cream cheese, obviously).

    Reflecting today, I noticed that this tiny, little behavioral difference is so emblematic of society’s varying expectations of men and women.

    Toxic masculinity has bred men to be the life of the party. Drink hard. Smoke cigarettes. Do drugs. Be indomitable. This behavior always necessitates sleeping in to recover afterward and lower productivity.

    For women, on the other hand, there is more of an emphasis on looks, composure, and output. Essentially, on being perfect.

    This may sound misogynistic, backward, and antiquated, but unfortunately, these expectations still affect our society, though they are slowly changing. And the result is not very positive for men or women.

    Women often burn the candle at both ends, affecting their stress levels and happiness, while men try to be tough and unbridled, which often leads in behaviors that are severely damaging to physical and mental health. In fact, toxic masculinity is often linked to why men have a shorter life expectancy than women.

    Looking at these two women this morning, I felt a twinge of envy. I wish I was more of a morning person. I wish I took my fitness so seriously. I wish I was more productive. But I suspected I was zeroing in on the perceived positive side effects of the expectations of women.

    Perhaps these girls were extremely tired from the night before and trying to please everyone and do it all and look beautiful and never complain. Or, perhaps, they did not go out and genuinely are morning people. Perhaps this is simply their way of practicing self-care. Why must I try to define them?

    Nevertheless, I did feel envious. I am still unlearning habits formed at an early age.

    In high school, when I was closeted and trying to fit in, I found one of the easiest ways to do so was to drink. Even more, I would be rewarded for drinking heavily. It was a demonstration of my masculinity. Even worse, the escapism that this provided me from the haunting mental occupation with my sexuality made alcohol even more seductive and compounded the drinking. The habit was forming, the instructions clear. I should drink a lot. The benefits are endless.

    What they don’t talk about is the anxiety and laziness that is birthed from a lifestyle of partying to prove something. Most of my twenties, I would waste my weekends and leisure time imbibing like it was the night before the apocalypse, then feeling sad the next few days. I was stuck in this cycle.

    It took getting cancer to become more reflective on these feelings of depression, due in large part to drinking, to cut alcohol out of my life. And the difference is major. My productivity has skyrocketed. (Though, I still decidedly am not a morning person).

    Seeing these thin, legging-clad women bright and early brought me back to my twenties. Reminded me of this toxicity that I am unlearning. Reminded me that I have made changes, and that it is okay not to live up to the standards someone else put on me. But this morning also reminded me that women have it no easier in terms of what society asks of them. The grass is always greener.

    We all need to come to the middle and find some balance. These expectations on everyone are too much. We all need to define what is meaningful for ourselves—this should not be up to society.

    Who knew Lululemon could trigger me so much?