Epiphany

I used to use to be someone else. To be outgoing, clever, confident. Where was my self esteem? I found it in a bottle.

I used to use to be bold, wild, carefree. Instead of quiet, cautious and full of worry. The life of the party. Promiscuous.

I used to use to be creative, and tragic, and full of drama. My college days. Didn’t all writers drink?

I used to use to run from reality. Had I married for the wrong reasons? Did I have what it takes to be a “success”? Who was I becoming?

I used to use to confirm my suburban, mommy-needs-wine identity. Staying at home, raising a toddler and running a house are important but exhausting. I deserve my wine and Wii girls’ nights.

I used to use to drown my grief. Now I had REAL reasons to drink. A broken marriage. Divorced with a three-year-old and an infant. Disbelief. Loneliness. Anger that this was my life. Wake. Process. Deal with it, or don’t. Drink. Repeat.

I used to use to navigate dating and being a single mom at 30. Liquid courage. Waste away to nothing as you swim in isolation, self-doubt and fear.

I used to use to celebrate finding true love. This is who I’m meant to be and be with. Let’s have fun, and adventures, and lots and lots of wine.

I used to use to cope with the pace of my life. Three kids to three schools and a 45-minute commute to work by 8:30. Reverse commute to pick up three kids and get home, homework done, dinner made, to and from practices, and prepare to do it all again the next day.

How to decompress? I don’t have time. I need to drink to flip the switch. To unwind. To disconnect.

The problem was, in the process I was disconnecting from my family, my patience, my peace, my memory, my rational thoughts, my motivation and my purpose. From my will to live.

And what do I have to show for my 28-year investment in this liquid “gold”?

It didn’t make me outgoing, clever, confident, bold, wild or carefree, but did make me look like a fool and bought me lots of bad experiences. Physical bruises, mental scrapes, hits to my pride.

I didn’t help me access my creativity (though maybe made me tragic and full of drama). It did chase away my dreams of becoming a writer and killed my productivity and persistence.

It didn’t keep my reality from rearing up and smacking me in the face. It did contribute to horrible choices that ultimately made my reality 1,000 times worse.

It didn’t make me a better mom, or better able to handle the very real challenges of raising children. It did offer an abundance of missed opportunities to truly enjoy the precious moments that come with raising children.

It didn’t drown my grief, or take away my loneliness and anger. It did stuff down these feelings for a span of hours only to have them pop up again the next day, like a Jack-in-the-Box, that never fails to pop up and yet always manages to surprise.

It didn’t make me more interesting, or desirable to other people. It did bring out my insecurities, shame and desperation.

It didn’t make falling in love more special, or note-worthy. It did make all of our “firsts” blend into a mesh of mostly irretrievable memories. Blurs at best.

It didn’t help me cope with my busy-ness. It did wipe out productive evening hours and priceless time I couldn’t spent being present for and engaging with my family.

And as if that wasn’t enough for me to want to end the self-destruction and abuse…In the last few years it made me sneaky, selfish, volatile, self-loathing, and even suicidal.

And yet, I fought for it. When all the “positives” were proved false and all that was left to look back on was a trail of shame, regret and waste. Why?

Why not fight for life instead? Why not wake up every day of your life and fight to be present and to experience everything, good, bad and in-between, with a clear head, open heart and willing spirit?

Why not show up for yourself–and others–instead of disconnecting, disengaging and anesthetizing? Why not fight for physical, mental, emotional and spiritual health? Why not take care of yourself, and nurture yourself instead of self-abuse and neglect?

It makes no sense. Addiction makes no sense. It cloaks you in blindness, steals your joy, time, money and sanity…until there’s nothing left.

The biggest lie I’ve ever bought into. And the biggest opportunity to make my way out of the darkness and turn my face to the sun. Thank God, I’ve seen the light.