Me 2.0

I am many things: wife, mother, teacher and writer, to name a few. Six months ago, however, the roll I identified with most was alcohol-dependent lost soul. I had come to the point where I was just existing in my life, loathing who I had become and how my life had “turned out.” I teach pregnant and parenting teens and one of their writing assignments was to describe the 2.0 version of themselves. I started to draft my own response, and got caught up in the description of “where I am now.” This is what I wrote: I’m overweight, hiding in dark colors. I have no interests, just tasks to complete and the desire to numb out. My eyesight is bad because I haven’t been to the eye doctor in over two years. I’ve had a toothache for months and I’m half-heartedly doing a healthy eating plan even though I consume hundreds of calories a night in wine. I’m tired. I have no energy. I’m out of shape and squishy. Nothing brings me joy, or peace. I fight a daily battle with myself, and I just want peace. I don’t take care of myself, nor do I love myself. I surrender…

A few days later, I stopped off at my parents’ house to pick up my six-year-old daughter. My routine was to drive from work to my parents’ place (dubbed the wine house), make a beeline for the fridge and pour myself a generous glass of wine (which turned into three) and complain about my overwhelming life. On this day, my daughter had gymnastics and I decided I couldn’t wait out the 90-minute gym class to continue my nightly rendezvous with wine. So, I dropped her off, visited the liquor store and returned with a bottle of Chardonnay in my oversized purse. During that class, I took too many trips to the bathroom to be considered normal and polished off the bottle of wine. While my daughter was practicing and performing, wanting my attention and approval, I was head-back in a bathroom stall with five-year-olds next door going “potty.” I got home and don’t remember the rest of the evening except that I cried to my husband for hours about how bad my drinking had become, the bottles stashed in my underware drawer, the sneaking and lying and outright shameful behavior. I begged him to help me be “done.” He held me and said he would, though we all know that no person, no matter how much they love us, can save us from ourselves.

That was not the first time I had vowed to stop, but it is hopefully and with God’s help, my last. I woke up the next morning, feeling like death, but also a shift, a small shoot of determination growing inside that whispered “even if”. I will not continue to abuse myself in this way, even if it’s the hardest thing I’ll ever do. This blog is to share my experiences around drinking, surrendering, and my daily journey to uncover my authentic self, rather than just existing. My hope is that someone who reads this will relate and find the encouragement he or she needs to step out of darkness and fear and into the light of life.