"Last Call for Alcohol!"- Celebrating 6 years sober.

Today I am celebrating 6 years sober! 

Each year that passes seems surreal, as though it's someone else's life. Six years ago I posted a "last call for alcohol” on Facebook with a picture of all the bottles from our stash lined up on the kitchen counter. I went to bed and had left them there overnight. Fifteen hours went by with only a few friends responding with their desires and requests. I could not tolerate the bottles on the kitchen counter. Hidden in the cabinet out of eyesight was fine, but lined up on the counter and the first thing that I saw as I came into the kitchen, made myself breakfast and prepared my coffee. It was too much. It felt too tempting at 8am, I was newly sober. I felt raw, like an open wound that the doctor tells you will heal quicker if you keep it airing out and exposed but all you really want to do is cover it up with bandages and far away from anything that might hurt it. I began pouring the alcohol one bottle at a time down the kitchen sink.

The first bottle I reached for was a small bottle of Jack Daniels. I couldn’t remember where this came from or how it came into our possession, it's not something that my wife or I would normally drink. Who did we buy this for? Did someone leave this at our house from a dinner party? The strong whiskey scent took me back in time to memories of underage drinking with Billy* in his giant yellow Buick. Billy was eighteen years old and had a drinking problem but he was a good time to be around when he was trashed because he’d let me drive his car. I was fourteen years old, far from getting a license of my own and yet I was his designated driver. At this age, I hung out with older kids and perfected the art of acting more mature for my age so that they would let me still hang out with them. For me, driving was more thrilling than drinking alcohol.

The next bottle was a plastic liter of well tequila. Images of Mad Mex flooded my mind; a restaurant in Pittsburgh, Pennsylanvia. My college friends and I would frequent this local joint because at 10pm the food and alcohol were half off. Not only did their food taste incredible to a bunch of college-aged kids who were living off of ramen noodles but the margaritas, especially the largest size named “Big Azz”, was really why we were there. Every 100-pound girl could get pretty tipsy off of a half-priced Big Azz, and in college, this seemed like a pretty important task.

Then I went right for the jugular vein, Seagrams Seven Crown. I twisted off the cap and this was my moment of wavering. I didn’t actually want to drink it because I convinced myself that anyone who drinks first thing in the morning; unless it’s a holiday, brunch or celebration involving mimosas, a person who drinks before the evening clearly has a drinking problem…an alcoholic. And I was not ever going to be “one of those people”. It didn’t matter that some nights I would consume two bottles of wine, the equivalent amount consumed as the person who started drinking at 9am, only I did it in a record-breaking three hours. None of that ever mattered to me, what mattered was that I drank when I deemed drinking was appropriate, which was in the evening. Keep in mind that at this point, with 24 hours of being sober under my belt, I was not yet admitting to myself or anyone else that I was an actual alcoholic. I only thought of my drinking as "being out of control". Of course, I realize now how ridiculous this train of thought was and with six years of sobriety, I confidently say that I am an alcoholic, in recovery.

A 7 and 7, had always been my go-to cocktail. And my moment of wavering was actually mourning that I’d never taste it in my mouth again. It goes down smooth; you can drink it fast or slow. The bubbles are nice and yet you don’t have that filmy feeling on your teeth from drinking rum and cokes all night. So many memories are associated with this one cocktail. I can recall the conversation with the bartender at the beachfront bar in the Bahamas in 1999. Him teasing me about not liking pineapple juice and over dramatically saying how disappointed he was that I wasn’t willing to try his latest drink invention. As he went on and on about the cocktail, my attention was elsewhere. The waves were crashing into the sailboat we had rented and I sat there sipping my 7 and 7, watching the gorgeous man I arrived in the Bahamas with wipe the salt water from his body. I remember thinking; let me drink a few of these so I will have the courage to tell him how in love with him I am.

The alcohol is slowing coming out of the liter bottle and swirling into my kitchen sink, and I tear up at a memory of being with my wife Lauren before we were married when we were simply friends who were both going through a very rough patch in our lives. We were at a dance club and I stood by the bar watching her on the dance floor with another woman and I felt so sad for myself. At the time I wasn't interested in being with her romantically, I was in the process of finding the courage to tell my husband that I wanted a divorce. I was in awe of her courage of being a lesbian, for being "out of the closet" and proud of who she is. I stood surrounded by people and yet I felt so alone, this was a constant feeling in all aspects of my life. I stared at all the women on the dance floor, dancing happily with each other in celebration as I idling spun my wedding band around my finger. I ordered another 7 and 7 so that I could numb the pain and loneliness that I was feeling and so I could continue to pretend that I was the happy-go-lucky girl, a facade that I used a lot and had become dependent on in my first marriage. 

People use alcohol for many things; typically it is to let go of their inhibitions. To dance on the bar, show their boobs at Mardi Gras or sing a song at the karaoke bar. Some people feel as though they are more fun after a couple of drinks or are able to talk to anyone, letting go of their inhibitions of public speaking or being at a party where they don't know anyone. I like to call it: liquid courage. I’ve never needed alcohol for that. I’ve always been daring, I’m a push-the-envelope type of person. I’ll hog the microphone at any karaoke bar if you let me without a drop of alcohol in my bloodstream. Alcohol served a different purpose for me, it allowed me to remain numb. To numb everything I was feeling so that I didn't have to face my own demons. I wouldn't have to feel my own unhappiness.

For years I used drugs and alcohol as an escape from my life, to pretend that I was happy. I used alcohol to cover up my vulnerability. Like a costume, I would put on the facade of happiness and that I had my life all put together. But inside I was falling apart and feeling very confused. I never hit a rock bottom that resembled something you'd see on a television movie. I didn't lose everything and end up on the streets homeless like some people do. But at the same time, I lost myself. Alcohol allowed me to numb my feelings and stop living for me.

Yoga and meditation forced me to look within and was a powerful tool in my recovery. In the eight limbs of yoga, (the fifth one) Pratyahara is about withdrawing from the outside stimuli and directing our attention inward. Taking the time to observe our cravings and habits that are not good for us. When you are in this place of healing and vulnerability, when you get rid of the distractions of life and tune into your true spirit, lots of emotions will surface. Present struggles along with the past baggage that you've been carrying around with you from place to place. Becoming sober has taught me how to accept who I am. Every morning I wake up and say to myself, "Today I am going to be the best version of myself. I'm not going to pretend that I am someone that I am not."

The Social Life of Pie

It might come as a surprise to you knowing that I am a health coach and I am blogging about eating sugar-laden pies. Here is the thing, as a health coach, I believe in moderation. I believe that we have to find a balance for ourselves to live and be happy. I don't eat pie every day, but every once in a while is totally okay for me. Also as someone who identifies as an Alcoholic, I'm always looking for alternative ways to find social gatherings that don't feel awkward when alcoholic drinks aren't being served. Even for folks who don't drink often they might mistakenly assume that a Friday night dinner invitation warrants bringing a bottle of wine. And for some people, it's an uncomfortable conversation to have with guests that you might not know very well and have invited over with the intention to get to know better.

Recently I had a conversation where I admitted to the other person that I’ve never actually made a pie before. I’ve made all kinds of desserts but never a pie. Their mouth hung open, shocked. She even said, "Come one everyone has made a pumpkin pie, it's so easy!" 

Nope, never. 

Here is a bit of my backstory.....my entire childhood my mother, my sister and I would take turns helping a neighbor Mary who lived a few doors down and was in a wheelchair. Mary was grandmother age, never had any children of her own and we started helping her soon after her husband died. We actually didn’t even know her before that. My mom was and still is such a caring, kind person, she saw a person in need and immediately wanted to help her. We took care of Mary and welcomed her into our lives, without seeking recognition or reward. (My mom, of course, did a lot more than me and my sister.) Our job, as kids, was to go down to Mary’s house in the evening and take her shoes and socks off and put on her slippers. Every third day it was my turn and Mary would have made a pie and her and I would have a slice (or two!) and talk. I really cherished that time with her and Mary’s pies were delicious! I’ve never tried to make a pie of any kind before now, yet they hold this very special place in my heart. 

So all of this is to say, I'm starting a little social pie experiment. 

I found this cookbook, First Prize Pies by Allison Kave on the shelf of my local library and was immediately drawn to the beautiful cover. After flipping through it for a few days I knew I had to own this book. The photographs are beautiful, I love the font that is used in the recipe writing and the actual recipes are both unique and yet familiar flavors. I have a fondness for eating food that is in season and this cookbook has pie recipes that are divided up by seasons, our meeting was clearly meant to be. When I saw that, ideas began to run wild.... what if I made a pie each month and intentionally invited friends over for pie and tea. Doesn't that sound lovely? It's a beautiful confluence of my love for cooking, of my purpose to live intentionally and devote time to relationships which have meaning in my life and also my goal of learning and developing a new skill. 

I'll keep you posted on this slice of my life!  ;) 

Rituals- How a Simple Action Saved my Sanity

It's 5:45am, I'm tired and wishing I went to bed earlier the night before. I sit in my kitchen with a cup of coffee and my journal. I begin to write, pen on paper, as the dogs munch on their food in the background. The house is still except the sounds coming from me and the dogs and this is why I get up at this insanely early time. To enjoy this stillness.

When M, the older child that we were trying to adopt from the foster care system, was living with us I learned to do this. To get up earlier than anyone else in the house. I knew that the moment he would wake up and emerge from his room he'd come downstairs and be disappointed that it was me and not my wife in the kitchen, every single weekday. He'd immediately want to start a fight about something; the choices he had for breakfast, the lunch that my wife made for him not looking good or simply having to go to school. The morning stillness became necessary for my soul to battle the storm ahead. And this survival skill, it stuck.

M is no longer living with us, I no longer have to prepare myself for a battle in my emotional spirit on a daily basis but I discovered how important it is for me to have this moment of calm reflection so that I can function as my best self. The time that he spent in our house was hard but I cultivated this skill of getting up early and journaling, I learned so much about myself and my needs for self care in the process of parenting him.

The coffee maker has a timer, when I arrive in the kitchen it's ready for me to pour a cup. I read an entry from a book and then I journal and drink coffee. The books have varied from spirituality and mediation, bible quotes and inspirational snippets from leaders of companies. I have no agenda other than to freely write. It doesn't matter for how long. It just matters that I do it. I know that I will feel better in my body and spirit if I do this thing every morning.

Do you have a morning or evening ritual built into your day to sit and reflect on everything that is going on if your life? Try pulling out a journal or notebook and writing out your thoughts. Any type of book will do, it doesn't have to be pretty or inspirational, a composition book will do the job. As you write ignore the misspellings and incorrect punctuation and freely write the things that come to your mind. Set aside a time to do this every day. The more you practice this ritual, the easier it becomes to do. The writing content doesn't have to be anything spectacular, that isn't the point. The point is to connect to your soul, to reflect on your life and the choices you are making. Don't read what you wrote, just close the book and move on with your day or evening. This isn't for judgment or ridicule, this is simply to put the thoughts on the page. Having a book to read an entry from has helped me to start getting my thoughts on the page. Here are some that I have used and enjoyed:

• Meditations on Intention and Being: Daily Reflections on the Path of Yoga, Mindfulness, and Compassion
  
• When Things Fall Apart: Heart Advice for Difficult Times
  
• Shalom for the Heart: Torah-Inspired Devotions for a Sacred Life
  
• The Secret Power of Yoga: A Woman's Guide to the Heart and Spirit of the Yoga Sutras
  
• Flip Calendar - God in Every Moment     

Sobriety is My Celebration!

Today, August 14th, 2015 marks my anniversary.... I have been sober for three years. 

To be honest, being sober for three years has been the hardest thing I have ever done. It's a daily struggle, a daily commitment, each day I honor my emotions and tune in to my true authentic self. And I celebrate each day that passes, not just the years, but each and every day of being sober. 

I no longer count how many drinks people have at parties. I can sit down at a dinner party next to a person drinking wine and I can hear them. I can actually hear them! I can hear their story, I can see them and experience our time together. Because we addicts, there is an entirely different mental game that goes on in our heads. As you casually sip your wine, we can taste it in the back of our mouths. Which then leads to wanting a sip, and then the mind bounces through thoughts. And that desire for a drink is all encompassing, it feels like we are drowning. And you continue on talking as we pull out our plethora of tools; breathing techniques, counting, focusing on something other than each sip you take or how you hold your glass in your hand and so we look at your hair and we try to change the subject. And if the mental game becomes too much we excuse ourselves to the bathroom. That is where I can be found doing downward dog, right there next to your bathtub. I reconnect with my breath, I make the commitment to myself to be sober another hour, another night, another day. Once I feel steady, I return to the party. 

These moments have happened less and less for me this year. But then another mental game begins to play out, I start thinking maybe I don't really have a drinking problem. Am I really an alcoholic? Maybe I can control it and just have a glass of wine every now and then. But I know this story is the same story so many addicts have lived through before me. I remind myself of the blackouts, the mornings trying to feed my kids breakfast while fighting the nausea of a hangover, the dinner parties and conversations that I don't even remember. I know by listening to other addicts that have been sober for years more than me, thinking you have control over this addiction is a false sense of security. Because we don't have control! 

Each year that passes I feel stronger. I feel more in tune with my purpose and I feel less shame about being an alcoholic. It's a label that I can wear proudly because I am sober. And I feel so much better in my spirit and in my body than I ever did after a bottle of Chardonnay.

Mammogram: My date with the Beast!

For my thirty-six birthday I decided to give myself the gift of a breast reduction. I have always had large breasts and felt that it was time to finally take matters into my own hands and have the surgery that I've been dreaming of for years. I had enough money saved and knew it was the right time in my life, I was done having kids and I had maintained the same weight for years. During the required mammogram before the breast reduction the doctors discovered a tumor. Within a month I was lying on the surgery table to remove the tumor. (You can read more about the journey here.)

Since my breast surgery I have had to get a mammogram every six months. The type of tumor that I had removed, Phyllodes, has a high reoccurrence rate and grows rapidly. Thankfully I have not had any reoccurrences and this past week after the mammogram appointment the radiologist announced that she was going to recommend that I move to yearly mammograms. It's almost been two years since my surgery and I am beyond thrilled to not have to endure the emotional tumor of getting a mammogram every six months.

Every time I stand in the paper gown and hold my breath while the machine presses down on my breast I say a prayer in my head, "Please God don't let there be anything. Please God!"

"Okay you can breathe." The technician calls behind her glass encasement.

I try to release all of the worry but it's hard not to feel as though you are back in time, to the day when they did find something. Each and every time I have panic attacks as I drive to the appointment. I practice the breath work that I do in meditation and I try my best to remain calm but it feels as though I am on an emotional roller coaster. On the outside I look the same, but on the inside I am in turmoil. Flashes of my journey during the past two years enter my head, in between prayers to God and then doubt about making the decision to not have the full mastectomy....I think I age ten years in those thirty minutes before my appointment.

"We are going to miss seeing you.", my friendly technician says to me. I have been fortunate to get the same technician almost every time. She's probably about my mom's age and has amazing skills on being gentle while also being efficient and getting the images that the doctors need without having to redo them because of a skin fold or another type of hiccup. She makes this stressful process a wee bit easier to manage. We often end up in a conversation about yoga and I instruct her on some yoga poses to do in between patients. I live and breath yoga. Everywhere I go I have incorporatedit into my life.

"When you leave we all talk about your images.", she says chuckling to herself like she's a child telling a silly secret. "Huh?", I reply with a hint of worry. "Your pec muscles are gorgeous! Tell your yoga students that pec muscles make better mammogram images because the muscle pushes the breast tissue out. I've never seen a woman with pec muscles like yours." "Thanks, I think." She gives me a wink as I nervously laugh to myself. All of those chaterungas are paying off!

I haven't fully accepted and embraced my new body, I'm still healing physically and emotionally. I still feel betrayed by my body, yet at the same time I am in awe of my strength to not only endure this experience but to share my feelings and experience openly online and in my yoga classes. I've embraced the vulnerability of breast cancer. This two year journey has been eye opening. When faced with a life altering decision, you look at the world differently. You don't take things for granted. I've become very clear about my goals and how I want to share my message with the world. I'm continuing to surround myself with the people who lift me up and encourage me to be the best version of myself. 

And today I celebrate one year and 6 months of being sober!

You don't need breast cancer to reevaluate your life...put yourself on the to-do. You deserve it! Let's honor Valentine's day by focusing on self-love and sharing the best version of YOU with the world.  

   

11 months of Sobriety

Today…I celebrate 11 months of sobriety. Yes friends I’m still not drinking. It isn’t a phase I’m going through. It isn’t a new fad to go with my yoga lifestyle. I’ve been working really hard at being sober.

11 months ago I woke up hung-over, feeling like complete shit and I promised myself that I will never feel like this again. I never want to waste an entire day of living because of drinking too much. I had gotten together with friends the night before and we were kind of celebrating my ability to drink again. At least I was. It had been 8 weeks since my breast (tumor) surgery and I was no longer on pain medication. I drank that night like I was making up for lost time.

My mom asked me recently, “I know you aren’t drinking anymore…but did you feel like you had a drinking problem?”

Yes.

It has taken all the courage inside me to admit this.

Yes, I have a problem with alcohol. It took breast cancer to wake me up, it took meeting my wonderful wife to wake me up and it took time. I've had numerous moments in my life that should have shaken me awake to sobriety...but I wasn't ready to accept that I had a problem. Until now.

Over the last 11 months I’ve used yoga and food to fill the empty space inside me. I’m coming to terms with the realization that I can’t do it alone anymore. I’ve reached out to two friends who I know of that religiously go to Alcoholics Anonymous meetings. Thankfully they opened their hearts to me and have offered to help me navigate this new course of my life.

So in a month it will be 1 year of sobriety, I feel like I should have a party but I don’t quite know what a party looks and feels like without alcohol. I’m still stumbling through this journey of being sober.  I get uncomfortable when people offer me a drink, not realizing that I’m no longer drinking. And I smile and say “no thanks” and try not to notice that I’m the only person in the room without a beer in my hand.

I’m still figuring things out.

I’m not quite comfortable yet calling myself an alcoholic. I don’t wear labels well. I fully admit that alcohol and me shouldn’t be friends. But like the first time someone referred to me as a “special needs mom” I was horrified! I didn’t want to be in this club! Now, as you know dear readers, I am a huge advocate for special needs. I even did a PSA for goodness sakes! But there was a time in my life when I didn’t feel comfortable wearing that label either and over time I embraced my son's diagnosis and now proudly wave that Autism flag. I’m proud to be in that club.

I’ll get there.

One day.

Today…I am simply 11 months sober.

And I’m pretty freaking proud of myself.