Playing Catch-Up

It’s been a hot minute since I wrote (or wanted to share) anything. I’ve been struggling with who I am, battling myself on past mistakes and trying to find a way to keep moving forward. Safe to say, it’s not been easy, but I’m still here and even if it feels like I’m trudging through, I’m taking the right steps to get where I want to be.

The beginning of September marked 6 months of sobriety for me. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t surprised that I made it that far. I’ve said this a million times, but not drinking really was the easiest part of that six months. It was therapy, realizing how terrible I’d been not only to friends, but to myself, for most of my adult life. Accepting that I’d set out on a path of self-destruction because I no longer wanted to…be. Finding footing after things seemingly came crashing down on my psyche (most notably in the middle of the night when my brain wouldn’t shut off) was especially difficult.

 I was in this weird limbo (more like purgatory, actually) between wanting to stay soberish and wanting to “get back out there” and start living life…I’d say again, but I don’t believe I was actually living any kind of life when I was deep in that self-destructive shell of a person. SO…I decided I didn’t have to decide to be completely sober or not. I knew that I didn’t want to go back to the way things were, like ever, but I didn’t know where I was going. I drank at celebrations, I made better decisions and I also abstained at social gatherings. All of it felt normal to me, but that in itself was strange. I no longer knew what normal was, so I had to create a new norm for myself. I still spend a LOT of time alone, whether in my feelings or not, and I do enjoy the peace that comes with that. However, I find myself craving that connection I don’t think I ever allowed myself to have before. Ever the anxiety-ridden person I am, the desire to find connection is often clouded by my need for solitude and the comforts of my most controlled environment – home. I’m proud to have created a home for myself that gives me a level of peace I never knew I needed. When I do have the opportunity to connect with friends, it feels more genuine and I feel more present than ever before. Slowing down, apparently, has been the best thing for me.

Heading into the holiday season, I felt more relaxed and confident in myself and the boundaries I’ve set in place to protect my peace. I spent Thanksgiving with one of my best and her mom in Tucson and it was lovely…we had wine, watched Hallmark movies and sang karaoke until almost midnight. It was magic. Christmas will be spent with family, as per usual, but I feel good about myself going into it this year (I say that now, but it’s maybe not close enough to feel any of that big-family-gathering level of anxiety haha). I’m looking forward to the few holiday celebrations already lined up this month, seeing friends and family and enjoying the cozy vibes that my Christmas tree gives me every night. Having the week off after Christmas certainly doesn’t hurt, either. 😊

Self-Caring

Last weekend I was reflecting on how much real self-care I’ve given myself since getting sober. Not only is it beautiful to see myself starting to bloom after all those dark days, but it’s also a little jaw-dropping to see how much I neglected myself before making the decision to change. In just under five months, I’ve put myself first in ways I didn’t even know I needed to. I started therapy, which has been amazing and hard and beautiful and hopeful. I have started cleaning my house again…if you’ve ever struggled with depression, you know how hard that can be. I started taking care of my health and my appearance - aka showering more regularly, and actually putting effort in when I leave the house, and finally got a bunch of dental work done that was loooong overdue (I literally put my money where my mouth is hahahahelpmeimpoor). I’ve asked for help from friends and family more than ever before, which I never thought my pride would allow. I’ve also said no to more things that I would have typically either flaked or faked my way through previously.

Although they feel like such a big deal to me, these things are “normal” to others; so much so that I’m hesitant to bring it up in conversation, even though it brings me such absolute joy to recognize my progress outside of not drinking. It’s been hard to talk about this with friends because it seems to go one of two ways: they don’t see it as progress, or they minimize how far I’ve come. I don’t know if that’s a true lack of support or my own insecurities around where I am at this stage of life. Perhaps a bit of both. Perhaps they truly didn’t know how far down I was starting. Insert the iceberg effect, am I right? Don’t get me wrong, I am aware that a lot of things I’ve done in the last five months can be categorized as ordinary, but when guilt and shame are leading the way, it’s easy to stay focused on self-destruction and let self-care and self-love fly out the window. That being said, feeling vulnerable enough to talk about these things that feel so huge only for them to be reduced to “adulting” is like a slap in the face.

Regardless of how anyone else looks at me, I stan myself (are the kids still saying that these days?). I carry this progress with a beaming smile on my face, even on the days I have to remind myself that I am worthy of a good life. Even on the lonely nights when I feel like I have no one to turn to. Even in moments of weakness, when it’s easier to throw a pity party than to remain hopeful. But that’s my only option – to hold onto that beaming smile, remain hopeful and remind myself that I AM WORTHY.

Gratitude > Self-Doubt

A few days ago, I left a conversation with a friend feeling a lot of big emotions. I was surprised at how quick I was to put all the blame on myself for the recent distance in that friendship, and it spurred a mini self-doubt spiral that kinda took the wind out of my sails for a bit. I puttered around the house, talking it through with myself, as I often do (out loud, mind you…good thing I live alone). I cried, I rationalized, I felt defeated and was convinced I am not a good friend. I piled all of this onto myself in a matter of minutes.

I then went back and took to logic and reality – imagine that. Once again, I realized I was being way too hard on myself and, instead of wallowing in that, I chose to find a way to show gratitude to a couple of people who have really been there for me these past several months as I navigate the newness of, well, everything. I’d picked up a couple of blank cards with encouraging messages on the front on a trip to Target about a month ago and decided it was a good way to give back some love. I’ve never been much of a card-sender, as much as I love getting them and know the immense value our words can hold, especially when someone doesn’t know they need them.

Ever the terrible letter-writer, I typed out what I wanted to say in the notes app on my phone just to get the scribbles out (IYKYK). I then put pen to paper, or cardstock rather, and got to it. I found myself needing a little break in between because the emotions were swelling and I didn’t want to essentially copy and paste onto the next one. After I’d sealed and addressed the envelopes, I found myself tearing up at the gratitude that filled me.

I mean…how is it possible that I, a person who was a complete disaster just a few months ago, could now turn a spiral of self-doubt into a showing of gratitude? Is this what evolving really feels like? Reeeeally. This is how “normal” people regulate their emotions?! Well hot dog, let me keep that momentum going! I know I often mention therapy and/or my therapist, but damn, this is creating some AMAZING changes I did not even know were possible. These are the kind of changes that most people don’t get to see. This evolution is becoming something so special to me that I can only hope it continues to grow and progress.

Ch-ch-ch-changes!

It would be a gross understatement to say that things change when you cut out drinking from your life. The hardest to accept thus far has been the shift in relationships, more specifically, the friendship shift. I realize that I’m no longer the go-to happy hour invite, but was that really the basis of all of these friendships? Are people assuming I don’t want to be included because they’ll be drinking and I won’t? I’d feel like a complete douche if I offered up that it won’t bother me if they drink, because personally that would make me even more anxious about it than I maybe was before. So I just leave it alone, but I can’t deny that it’s sitting in the back of my mind. That’s my issue to deal with.

I can get past not being invited to happy hours, obviously that’s not something I should be attending anyway. But sometimes it feels like I’ve been reduced to a mere acquaintance…and that hurts. Spending time with girlfriends meant long lunches, lounging by the pool in the summer enjoying drinks, laughs and conversation, rolling the day into dinner and then go home at the end of the night…often having had a little too much to drink. Occasionally, the night would end in a drunken spat, more often than not at my being drunk and triggered by something that was said. Now, spending time with those same girlfriends is chopped down to a scheduled 3-hour time span that barely squeezes in time for a meal and a quick rundown of life updates. It’s not my favorite to realize that I’ve been downgraded, or that time with me should be kept short, so other (more fun) things can be dropped into the schedule. To be fair, I could be the only one feeling this way and assuming it’s a conscious choice to keep the time short…I’m well aware of my neuroses, and this is all new to me too, but here we are.

This has meant a lot of time spent alone for me. It’s hard to want to reach out to people when you get the vibe that they’d rather go have a drink with anyone than endure a sober lunch with you. Was drinking really the most fun thing about me?! I certainly don’t think so! My ability to laugh and be lighthearted and funny has only opened up, where before it felt stifled because of the anxiety-induced overconsumption. Oy, what a paradox, huh? Even though anxiety still hangs around like an annoying shadow, I genuinely feel lighter and free to be nerdy and soft. It makes me sad that, in this moment, friends don’t seem to want that side of me. It feels backwards. I hated myself so much that masking everything that could be lovable was the only way I knew how to operate. Now that I’m learning to love myself and accept even the less fun things about me, I’m feeling more alone than I did when I was trying to hide those things.

I know this is all part of shedding that mask of insecurity and self-loathing, but that doesn’t mean it’s a fun process. Change, while inherently necessary and ultimately beautiful, is hard. I’ve had to look at my relationships and reassess who is good for me in this new space. The friends that were my go-to drinking buddies, I have had a fairly easy time stepping away from. There are friends I’ve gotten closer to in this, deepening the bond that was already there. Those friends have shown unwavering support, and I know without a doubt that they’ll be in my life forever and ever amen. But there are a few friends that have fallen into some kind of grey area, where it seems neither of us know how to navigate a path forward. I have so much faith in the way that I’m growing and learning that I will find a new way to bond with people to expand myself and my friendships. So here’s to leaning into this new version of life and all its hidden beauty.

The Mother Wound

Therapy can provide some really good insight into how and when certain character traits were formed. Not all good, but not all bad either. I mean, realizing you are a people pleaser at the age of 42, when you’ve been this self-proclaimed independent, don’t-give-a-flip-what-you-think-of-me woman can be a jolt to the ole nervous system.

Perhaps a more interesting revelation has been that my mother has narcissistic traits. In my pursuit of healing, I’ve learned that your mother telling you “I thought I didn’t have to worry about you because you were fine, you just did your own thing,” was actually emotional neglect. This ties directly into not feeling seen or heard growing up…and follows you well into adulthood. Don’t get me wrong, we had a roof over our heads, food in the pantry (sometimes thanks to the grandparents) and clothes on our backs…but going back to school with designer jeans when we had maggots in the pantry was always a bit curious to me. This is how my therapist helped me put together that appearances were important to my mother, but emotional support was not her thing. I get it – our parents do the best they can with what they know. They can only do so much, right? But it doesn’t detract from the damaged psyche we carry into our adult relationships or the way we see ourselves.

In the most recent installment of a complete lack of emotional support, my mother fat shamed me at a family gathering. I was in the kitchen grabbing a non-alcoholic beer when she approached me to ask how I was doing. It had been a particularly high anxiety day, so I chose to be vaguely honest and replied with “I’m not well, but I’m here.” Her immediate reaction was to ask me if I was pregnant. Keep in mind, I’m 42 and have said no to kids since the age of 27. Any guesses as to why??? I shook my head, but the incredulous look on my face must not have alerted her, because she followed this up with “well, I’m sorry but I had to ask because you look heavier than the last time I saw you.” When my eyes welled up with tears and I still said nothing, she doubled down with “I’m sorry, I just had to ask you instead of asking someone else.” Right…you just had to insult me on the heel of me admitting I was not okay mentally. Makes sense. She asked if I was upset, to which I only nodded. The nerve of her to judge me on my weight the second I walked in, and then jump to the grossest of conclusions! The twisted part was that, in some sick way, I still wanted her love and acceptance in that moment. I tried to explain my struggle with depression, to which she replied, “what’s making you depressed?” Ummm that’s not how depression works. Defeated (and absolutely deflated), I let the conversation fizzle when my brother walked in. The salt in the wound was that after openly judging me for my weight, she sat next to me while we were eating. Unbelievable. I cried most of the way home.

I confided in my aunt the next day, who was just as appalled as I was. When I got a text from my mother a week after this happened (not an apology text, in case you were wondering), I decided not to respond. I wanted to make sure that I was in control of my emotions, and I just wasn’t ready to have a conversation with her…and I damn sure wasn’t going to let this get swept under the rug. This past weekend, I learned that my aunt had a conversation with her about how hurtful her comment was to women in general, but more specifically how it was hurtful to me. Her response was…less than surprising. “Yeah, well she’ll probably never speak to me again; I can never say anything right; I’m just a bad mom.” Not one single iota of remorse. Not even a whiff. Some people really know how to play the victim to a crime they committed. Woof.

As heartbreaking as this situation was, it made it crystal clear that my mother is not a safe space for me. Reality is harsh sometimes. Knowing she truly doesn’t care about my feelings reminds me of a phrase she’d use growing up. She’d ask us what we wanted for dinner, and if one of us said “I don’t care,” she’d say “You don’t care, you don’t get.” Well, guess what, Mother? You don’t care, you don’t get. You don’t care about my feelings? You don’t get access to me. Plain and simple. Not exactly the full circle moment you’d expect, but such is life, right?

FOMO…Redefined

As I was coming up on 90 days of alcohol-free living, I came back to a notion I had when I was just about two weeks in. I was asked to ‘bartend’ mocktails for the sober curious workshop at my old gym and was really looking forward to it. Everyone who attended had myriad reasons behind why they were sober or sober curious, ranging from those looking to moderate to those who had years of sobriety under their belts, but there was one common theme: COMMUNITY. We were all just looking for like-minded people that we could connect with in and/or out of the gym. When the time came for my absolute least favorite thing, the round-robin introductions (ugh), the goal I shared was to reframe what FOMO meant to me.

The most common understanding of FOMO (Fear of Missing Out) is that you will miss out on an invitation to a social event, whether it’s brunch, a fancy gala or a simple gathering of friends. In my desire to live alcohol-free, I started to look at FOMO as missing out on the memories of these experiences because of the effects of alcohol: potential over-consumption of booze, the inevitable hangover and the holes in the sequence of events that made the night a blur. The blur was diminishing my ability to appreciate the time spent or to actually enjoy myself. I didn’t realize it at the time, but in my extreme efforts to numb myself from feeling, I was also fraying the edges of how I showed up for myself and others.

Needless to say, it was time to redefine what FOMO means to me. I no longer want to miss out on being fully present and engaged with the people in my inner circle. I want to ditch the unfortunate habit of repeating the same story I told an hour ago and I am determined to cherish the time that others share with me. While I value my alone time to be able to decompress and recharge, I also want to ensure that I’m not showing up empty-handed. I don’t mean in the way of bringing a gift for the host(s), but in mind and spirit. Countless times, I showed up when I was depleted and had nothing to give or add to the conversation, simply out of fear of not being invited the next time. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to see my friends, but mentally and emotionally, I was fried…and everyone was none the wiser. I put a smile on my face and gave vague updates so many times, it felt like I was always on autopilot.

Today I am three months in on this AF journey, and I’m more selective about how and with whom I choose to spend my time. I don’t let the feeling of obligation allow me to betray my boundaries and I honor myself by saying no without explanation. When I do show up, it’s deliberate and more authentic each time. These days, I’ve noticed that my smile feels more genuine and that’s a damn good feeling.

Out of Bounds

Let’s talk about boundaries. In my (current) opinion, the most elusive thing you can uphold is a fricken boundary. Sure, it’s easy to set them and feel good about what they’ll do for you (and your peace of mind), but holding them has always proven to be challenging at best. It’s hard enough to expect others to accept, let alone respect, your boundaries once you’ve verbalized them. Expecting (or demanding, rather) yourself to accept, respect and hold the boundaries YOU set for yourself?! How dare you think that’s on me! HA!

I never considered myself a people pleaser until I started to look more into what that actually looks like. Disrespecting and/or not honoring yourself in order to make others feel comfortable is the foundation of people pleasing. Child’s play. But I always looked at it from the lens of being there for someone, or supporting them in their time of need. It never occurred to me that betraying myself time and time and time again was me doing the very thing I said I don’t do! Imagine that. So it was no surprise when I did start to verbalize my boundaries to some of those close to me and they were swiftly dismissed. Telling someone you are no longer available to meet up just for drinks, but would meet up for dinner, is one thing. Having them turn around and invite you to happy hour the very next day/week and you abandoning that notion will only leave you feeling defeated or stuck.

It's easy to get upset at others for not respecting your boundaries, but how is it their fault if they’re essentially following your lead? I’m the one responsible for honoring myself and my peace. If I’m also the one letting the edges fray, it’s not fair to point the finger at someone else for acting accordingly. Now, if you voice your boundaries and someone continually disregards them, it kinda does one of two things: 1. Shows you where they are in their life; and 2. Shows you how thin the line of respect being walked is. Ultimately, if a friend or family member refuses to accept or respect a boundary you set, whether in general or with them specifically, you can then put them where they fit in your life…even if that means they no longer do. My favorite quote on the subject is this: “The ones that get upset by you setting boundaries are those who benefitted from you having none.”

It took me truly stepping back and spending time alone to reevaluate my habits and attempt to uncover why it seemed so easy to ditch my own plan for someone else’s comfort. Now that I have, I can’t unsee those patterns and am no longer interested in disrespecting myself to make anyone else feel good. It’s wild to me that after all these years of assuming I knew certain things about myself, it comes down to resenting in others what I wasn’t willing to admit about who I was. Leaning in and listening to my intuition, turning down invitations even when it sounds like a great time and honoring my need for downtime and reflection will only serve me more and more as I sit with the why behind it all. Learning and unlearning isn’t always the worst thing in the world, but it’s also not the easiest. I know well enough by now that healing isn’t linear and neither is growth. I choose to embrace it.

Welp…I messed up…

I’d already made the decision to go soberish for real, so let’s talk about how I drank on Saturday and made the stupid decision to drive home. Thankfully, nothing happened, but honestly I feel like my luck has run dry on that front. It would only be a matter of time before something tragic and/or life altering happened that I’d have to live with for the rest of my life. I caused my friends to worry and they definitely let me have it. It wasn’t really until the next day, after I’d gone out to inspect my car, that it kicked me in the gut. The dumbest (and most frustrating) part is that I had planned to not drink at all that day! I even brought stuff with me for moscow mule mocktails…but instead, I drank all day and ended it with the dumb decision to drive. The series of apology texts was different this time. It was more of a “thank you for saying what I really needed to hear/face” and “I’m going to heal whatever it is that’s broken in me so this never happens again.”

I took all of Sunday to reflect and lament over the unnecessary risk I’d taken for the last time. I had to face myself and admit that moderation does not work for me. Period. So now, out of more necessity than anything else, I had to make the choice to really change. I’m sure I sound like a broken ass record at this point, but yesterday was my first sober day of the rest of my life. I’m going alcohol-free for good. With no more chances left in the bank, I’m doing this for myself. In my last post, I said I couldn’t live with causing harm to someone because of my stupidity…but I also can’t live with the shame anymore. My private shame is no longer private.

My fear has been (and still is) that everything will change – but now I’m asking myself, what if it all changes for the better? What if I really lean in and get to see everything with clarity, feel everything without that inhibitor? I’m going to try to change the fear into focus and see where it takes me. Wish me luck…lord knows I need all I can get.

It’s a Date…

Monday 2/20/23, I decided I am ready. I’m done struggling with alcohol, knowing goddamn well that the blurry nights, questionable decisions and fuzzy memories is no way to live. I’m done feeling disappointed in myself any time I have to go back and retrieve my car (and my memory) from the night before. This last time, oddly enough, was not even the worst time. My hangover was a little more than mild, but my mental and physical energy were low and I felt sorry for myself once again. I did rally and go to my cousin’s indoor soccer game and then lunch with my aunt, so I was happy that I was still able to spend my Sunday doing things that make me happy. This morning, however, I was fed up with myself for letting it happen again. Spending money, uncomfortable uber situations, going to bars by myself – it’s just not the life I want anymore.

I finally understood why people say, “hitting rock bottom doesn’t always mean losing everything.” It didn’t make sense to me until this morning. I think rock bottom can be different for everyone, and for me, it was the sheer fact that I drove when I shouldn’t have…again. Yes, I ultimately got an Uber home, but that Uber should have happened earlier in the night. I had this funny thought on the way to the soccer game: “I don’t speed because I don’t have ticket money, what makes me think I have DUI money?!” Something happening because of my recklessness is not anything I can handle, mentally or emotionally, not to mention financially. So here I am, brought to my knees thanking God, the Universe and all my guardian angels that it didn’t come to that…and knowing it will be the last time I take that risk. Ultimately, the day I decided was day 1 of legit soberish…meaning I am not aiming to drink at all, but if I do choose to (only on occasion), it won’t be more than two drinks, be it wine or beer. One fear I have is that I’ll trade one vice for another. I don’t want to turn to snacks or overeating in place of drinking, so I will have to make a conscious effort to keep it relatively healthy as much as possible.

February 20th also happened to be the new moon, signaling the transition from Aquarius season to Pisces season. What I read was this period is all about endings and beginnings. Things like situations/habits/relationships coming to a close to make way for bigger things to come. I’m definitely feeling that energy, and perhaps that is what’s fueling this newfound conviction. I’m mostly keeping this to myself, as I am not ready for questions, comments or judgmental “jokes” from anyone. Not to mention, I can’t imagine anyone has faith in me following through with this, considering I’ve been trying to get here for the past 6ish months. I figured this was as good a time as any to start “75 soft” as a way to get myself back to a healthy state (and frame of mind)…and I can use it as my excuse when I pass up a drink. With only my three closest friends in the loop, I feel like I am finally starting this journey…for real this time. I’m sure there will be a myriad of emotions as I wade through, but I’m confident I’ll be able to stay strong and make this change once and for all.

Carrying the Weight(Watchers)

I haven’t written anything since my last post in December. Here we are, just dipping our toes into 2023 and what do I do?! I weigh myself. Topped out at 192.6 this morning and let me tell you…I was neither surprised nor crying after seeing that number. My first thought was “well FUCK…it’s no wonder I get winded doing literally anything these days.” My next move was to rejoin WeightWatchers so I can turn this shit around. I know I know, the past few years have been rough all around. But of course, hindsight will simultaneously be 20/20 and kick you in the face.

I got a link from a friend to join Noom, which is kinda what spurred this little spark of fed upness. I went through their entire questionnaire and once you finally get to the end, instead of showing you the damn program, they first tell you it costs $70 PER MONTH. Got me fucked up if you think I’m paying $70/month for the six months you said it would take to lose this 45lbs…but thanks for giving me an arbitrary goal date. 😊 So back to WW I go – I’d much rather pay $25/mo for a little extra attention to what I’m eating than what Noom was offering, and I will happily track every morsel that passes these lips. Perhaps it’s that today is 1/11, perhaps the Universe is telling me to level up…whatever it is, I know I’m not staying here. I think 2lbs per week is incredibly reasonable. You know…once I give up my vices of French fries, Taco Bell and beer/wine.

Speaking of treat yo self, my birthday is in a couple weeks, so treats will be abundant. I have a friend coming to visit next weekend, and the following weekend I will be visiting my bestie/wifey and her hubby in Omaha for my birthday weekend. Ironically, the three of us gals are all sick of our own shit, so we are all getting back on the WW train. Nothing like a tribe of support to help you smack the snacks out of your own hand. I’m ready to make the changes necessary to drop this weight for good. I’ve proven to myself time and again that I’m more than capable of NOT binge eating/drinking and also of losing weight/getting in shape. Needless to say, I’m doing this for myself, my health and my ability to walk up and down the stairs to my 2nd floor condo. Sheesh.

Stay tuned for updates on the rollercoaster we all know this can be – maybe this time it will feel more like an adventure…here’s hoping!

Holidaze

Drinking my way through the holidays seems to have always been the norm for me. So much so, that I have been a bit nervous about what a more present holiday season would feel like. For as long as I can remember, I’d go out at every opportunity from Halloween to New Year’s and get absolutely smashed. As I’ve said before: PROBLEMATIC.

The past few years I’ve been very selective about which family gatherings I choose to attend. Thanksgiving I’d typically spend with friends and attend Christmas to do the family gift exchange. Given the history of razzing, poking fun at others’ expense and endless comments on someone’s weight gain/loss or what they’re eating or not eating, I find it hard to quell my anxiety around family gatherings. It’s still a few days before Christmas, and this morning I found myself so agitated at the smallest things I was on the verge of tears three different times before 10am. I feel like my psyche is either breaking down in anticipation of this weekend…or trying to bolster me.

In years’ past, I’d typically ride with my mom to wherever the holiday was hosted. For a while, we had a routine of me meeting here somewhere off the I-10 and hopping in with her (always made me nervous to leave my car somewhere and never fully made sense to me). When I broke my foot a few years ago, I couldn’t drive with the boot on, so she drove us and I was at the mercy of her timeframe. The tables have turned, so to speak, and now that she doesn’t have a car, she depends on a ride…but that hasn’t changed to her being at the mercy of my timeframe. Last year it took me over an hour to get this woman in the car. Moms and socializing, am I right? This year, I decided to take a different approach. The week of Thanksgiving I offered for her to ride with me but encouraged her to stay there for the weekend. Knowing I was driving back by myself, I felt a lot less tense. It worked out pretty well on the first run, so here’s hoping Christmas goes just as smoothly. I’ve already spoken to her about making her transportation arrangements, so she may only be riding back with me (the hardest time to wrangle her) …my hopes aren’t high, but I guess we’ll see how it goes.

UPDATE 1/11/23:

I wanted to come back and give an update on how it all turned out. The weekend of Christmas, I spent a lot of time with a lot of people. Friday was spent with friends, cute pups and lots of laughs and wine. Saturday, Christmas Eve, I went to my Aunt Vicki’s house in Buckeye for a small gathering, as my cousin’s wife was making pozole. My aunt warned me that morning that she’d been sick and was finishing her 3rd round of antibiotics. I decided that since she’d been taking antibiotics consistently, I should be fine. Had a great time there, loaded up my mom’s crap into my car and was home by 9:30. Sunday was Christmas Day and my brother and sister-in-law were hosting. I got there around 12:30, which was early for me compared to past holidays. It was nice to get there before the masses and definitely helped with the typical overwhelm of the ever-growing crowd.

I was taking my mom home that night, which is why I loaded her stuff into my car the night before, and I can’t even tell you how obnoxious the amount of stuff she had was. My entire car was full of her stuff. I had to FIND a small spot for the few gifts I received, as there was not much room left. It was like she was moving somewhere! I took a video to show a friend that I was not being dramatic about how jam-packed my car was. It was so bad that my back hatch would not close properly and caused me to have a mild panic attack thinking something was wrong with my car when the interior lights didn’t dim and the remote wouldn’t beep when I locked it. It wasn’t until we left and the car dinged that a door was open. I got out, lightly smashed the back hatch closed and bingo…that was my problem. We finally made it to my mom’s just before 10pm and unloaded everything. I was relieved when I got home and the lights and remote lock were in perfect working order. Overall, I had a lot more patience than I anticipated, so I’d call it a success.

That is, until Monday evening when I started to feel a little under the weather. 🙄 I woke up Tuesday feeling like absolute poo. My regimen quickly became Zyrtec-D (seems to work better at keeping my sinuses open than OTC cold meds), ibuprofen for the headache, tons of water and edibles to send me into all the naps I needed. Luckily, our office closes the week between Christmas and New Year’s Day every year, so I didn’t have to use (waste) any sick or vacation time. But dammit, I had some fun things I wanted to do with that free week! Instead, I was posted up on my sofa all the way through the end of 2022. C’est la vie, I suppose. It could’ve been worse.

I finally started feeling human again by the end of the week and even washed my hair on NYE because I didn’t want to go into the new year with dirty hair. 😉 I texted my friends to let them know I was going to stay home in an effort to not get anyone else sick…I barely made it to 10pm, but I did wake up at 11:59pm and saw the clock turn to midnight. It felt like magic. The day after New Year’s Day, I took my Christmas tree and decorations down and ran my typical weekend errands to prepare for returning to work the next day. Overall, I’d say the holiday season this year held more peace and less anxiety, a lot more laughs and fewer tears, and all around a lot more love.

Giving It A Go…

Yesterday was my company’s holiday celebration. We did a museum tour in downtown Phoenix, starting at Phoenix Art Museum, then to the Lisa Sette Gallery and finally the Bentley Gallery. We saw some amazing art pieces, got background stories on the artists as well as the series displayed. The art was beautiful, heartbreaking, inspiring and perfect for our group. After the third and final museum, we had a reservation at Palma, in a little cabana on their patio, where we had drinks and sushi and laughed at all the stories we shared. We walked next door to Cham Pang Lanes, hoping to play some duckpin bowling, but ended up just having one last round of drinks and laughs to end our day. Easily the best Studio V holiday soiree we’ve had to date.

At our last stop, I wanted to take a photo of the group (behind the camera, that is)…after being shot down on being the photographer, I posted up at the end of the table for the group pic. Everyone looked so beautiful and vibrant and the surroundings were so festive! When my eyes landed on myself in the picture, however, I wanted to cry. I felt pretty cute all day, wore the jeans that make my booty look good (hey girrrrl), and even put on eye makeup which is a rarity for me. This group photo did nothing to reflect the way I felt about myself when I walked out the door that morning. My face was blown out and my loose sweater just made me look like Large Marge (RIP). So, what did I do? I had salty snacks for dinner and felt sorry for myself and the way I looked in that damn photo.

Don’t get it twisted, this is not a “woe is me” post. After I let myself wallow in my pity last night, I woke up and decided that today is my day one. It’s December 15th and I have exactly six weeks until my birthday trip to visit my bestie in Omaha. More than that, it’s my day one of really trying to go alcohol-free for good. I was already planning on doing Dry January, but what’s an extra two weeks, right? Sober October was a mild fail, although I do think it’s changed my habits for the better. I’ve still had a few nights of going overboard, but not to the extent I’d gone before (losing keys, doling out apologies, you know the usual), so I’d say being sober curious has started to sink in more and more. I’m not perfect and neither is my journey (that sounds like a tag line for an informercial).

I am doubling down on this day one and taking these next six weeks to change my diet and exercise habits as well. I have my Amazon cart stacked with a foldable exercise bike, a mini stepper, some light weights and a rack to hold it all in a neat corner in my spare room. My home gym (I use the term loosely) will be complete and I will force myself to get comfortable with working out at home. I still have my box gym contract through April 2023 and I took advantage of my old gym BODI’s black Friday sale and bought a 20-class pack, so I will have those options as well. As far as “diet” goes, my plan is to just take it back to basics and shop the perimeter of the store: lean meats/proteins, fresh produce and healthy snacks like hummus and veggies, protein bento box, etc. I’m not into doing any extreme fad diets, as I want something far more sustainable, so I’m going back to tracking meals (mostly for protein intake) and not overeating (or over-snacking, if that’s a thing).

Let’s just say that, at this point, I’m sick of my own shit AGAIN, but this time I want to stay committed to doing something about it. So here goes…let’s see what we got.

UPDATE: I had a holiday gathering the Sunday after I wrote this post…that turned into a full-on Sunday Funday and I went way overboard and was hurting almost all the next day, regretting not having enough self-control to just not keep the party going. Although these nights are happening fewer and further between, it’s still too much. I’m too much…and I’m so ready to be done. I’m listening to Euphoric by Karolina Rzadkowolska on Audible and it is an eye-opener FOR SURE. I’m so looking forward to starting her 8-week program to go alcohol-free for good. Today is Thursday 12/22 and I have a work event today and a friend’s birthday tomorrow, so I will likely partake in the toasting with a drink. However, I know I won’t drink over the holiday weekend, so I will likely start the program next week. Wish me luck.

Feeling Feelings

One of the biggest factors in drinking to excess was escaping my feelings. Something I didn’t consider is that I was escaping the good feelings, too. The more I was alone and allowing myself to sit in my feelings, the more depleted and defeated I felt. It’s a whirlwind to go from up, down and everything in between in the span of a day. I felt such a myriad of emotions, it was hard to focus on any one thing. It’s no wonder escapism seemed the easier path, in its own way.

Consistently having to pull myself out of a negative frame of mind, while 1000% worth it, is effing exhausting! I have felt so fragile that the tiniest thing (a bad/weird hair day, a spilled coffee or an outfit mishap, to name a few) could throw me into a near complete breakdown, tears, shakes and all. I sometimes feel like I’m losing my mind, but in a good way…is that even possible? Perhaps it’s the whole fucking point. Losing my negative mind to make space for a healthy and abundant mind.

I never really got on board with saying affirmations in the mirror, but I did start giving myself little pep talks in the frenetic moments that promised to push me over the edge. Physically saying out loud to myself “we are not going to let this ruin our day” or “is this really that big of a deal?” has done wonders for me. I suppose that’s my version of the mirror affirmations. More often, I find myself laughing at the ridiculous ways a morning can go wrong (hello toothpaste on the shirt right before walking out the door!) and trying to “let it flow and let it GO.” I used to think those little quotes were so cheesy, but it’s amazing how they can snap you out of the doom and gloom that you’d grown accustomed to.

The more I let feelings pass through instead of desperately clinging to them like a lifeline, I feel more equipped to handle the bigger feelings and be honest with myself (and my therapist) about how I really feel about past situations or traumas. It’s not really holding onto the fact that I felt used or discarded by someone, it’s recognizing that I have a fear of abandonment. It’s not just apologizing after lashing out at someone, it’s admitting that I didn’t feel safe, seen or heard in that moment and it triggered me. These feelings and big emotions don’t resolve themselves, and they sure as shit don’t need any “help” from alcohol. Identifying and unlearning these defense mechanisms I thought I needed is no easy feat. But without walking through that process, I was robbing myself of feeling all the GOOD.

Anything good that came into my life, historically, I found a way to self-sabotage. Well that’s an entire post in itself, now isn’t it? But with the bad comes the good. I’m washing myself of those tired old ways of surviving and, in turn, learning how to LIVE in the good, rather than dwell on the bad. Just this past weekend, I had a moment of pure JOY. I was driving in the rain and had to figure out how to use the back window wiper thingy. I turned it on and could not stop laughing at how tiny and cute this little wiper was! I’m sure anyone who saw me at that red light thought I was in the middle of a nervous breakdown, but I kept giggling about it and it made me feel so good, I didn’t care if anyone else thought it was silly. It’s amazing how, sometimes, there is magic even in the minutia.

I want more moments like that.

The Backslide

Trying to quit or cut back on alcohol can be a slippery slope. One day, you’re feeling so good you don’t even think about it. Cut to a happy hour outing and suddenly you’re right back into having multiple glasses of wine and feeling like a pile of garbage the next morning, wanting a little hair of the dog. I can’t put my finger on what it is that’s so appealing about “just one more,” but goddamn it gets me almost every time. I’m pretty hard on myself when I start to feel myself sliding right back into these old habits. Weeknight happy hours can easily turn into stopping somewhere else on my way home for one more. But my question is WHY?! Why can’t I just go the fuck home and end the night on a high note?? Yes, I can see the reminders of why I don’t want to be a drinker anymore, but I find myself getting frustrated because I seem to lose focus so easily. Therapy has been helping…I have one therapist that helps me work through my childhood trauma and how it’s affecting my adult life, and an addiction counselor I talk to regarding my struggle with alcohol and wanting a mostly sober life.

As I’m typing these words, I realize that perhaps I need to fill my time better and/or get a new hobby. I’m trying to get back into working out, but with the holidays looming, I’m feeling that seasonal depression whispering in my ear. I know that I don’t want to drink my way through the holiday season, so something’s got to give. In my logical brain, I know I will have to keep my head down and be incredibly deliberate if I do choose to drink. Holding that boundary is all on me (my friends don’t peer pressure me in any way, aside from hanging out a little longer LOL).

I know that if I don’t want the recurring reminders of why I want to make this change, I need to not do the things that prompt those reminders. One of the sober accounts I follow on social media, Daniel Patterson, recently talked about how it took him 4 years to get sober. Trying and failing and backsliding and trying again is apparently just part of the game. I hope it doesn’t take me four years, but hearing that from him (and others) did give me some solace in a regretful moment. I have to keep reminding myself that healing of any kind is not a linear thing. Changing behaviors is so hard! Nevertheless, she persisted.

Showing Up

Showing up for myself is something I thought was a given…turns out, it actually takes a lot more effort than I imagined. To really be present, to find and appreciate the moments that bring you joy is deeper than just posting an Instagrammable memory. Showing up authentically and allowing yourself to be seen and heard is an incredibly vulnerable thing, which is why it doesn’t always come easy.

A lot of showing up for yourself comes in the unseen. When no one is around to hold you to your word, keeping promises you’ve made to yourself is where you can build the foundation. I’m notorious for buying new planners and using them diligently for the first few weeks, even carrying them with me everywhere I go, only to inevitably let them start collecting dust. Instead of picking one back up where I left off, I convince myself that this other style of planner will be better suited to my goals and “I’ll for sure stick to this one.” HA! Joke’s on me. I’m pretty sure I have at least five of them in various places in my house (even one on the bookshelf because it has a pretty cover…they’ll never know). It’s not my greatest habit, obviously, but I think what it boils down to is the goals written in all of those journals lack commitment. I mean, who is going to hold me accountable to my goals if not me, right?! They’re a high level, probably generic, set of goals that I think I should be making to better myself, be it physically, mentally, financially or otherwise. Woof. I can’t say it’s fun to admit that I lack conviction when it comes to my fucking LIFE.

Socially, showing up for others can seem easier saying no to honor yourself. But that’s a huge part of the problem. Saying yes when you know you don’t have the bandwidth only perpetuates the overwhelm. It robs you of the time you could be giving to yourself to decompress, to check in with yourself, to get things done, have a good cry or to just REST. I have struggled with this a lot this year, saying yes when I know (assume) someone needs me to show up for them, swiftly ignoring my own need for downtime and quiet comfort. It would be easy to assume it’s just FOMO, but I seem to have no problem being more selective when it comes to group gatherings where I’m likely to be overstimulated. I think it’s the 1:1 connection that I crave that whispers in my ear to just say yes…now that I’ve recognized what I need is connection, rather than socializing, it’s glaringly obvious I need to evaluate that further.

Setting and holding boundaries can be one of the most important ways to show up for yourself. People, whether intentionally or unintentionally, will try to bend those boundaries when it benefits them. It’s up to me to hold tight to the boundaries that preserve my mental and emotional health. I saw a quote once that read “The only people who get upset by you setting boundaries, are those who benefitted from you having none.” People who consistently test your boundaries are only there to serve themselves. It gets tough when you start to stay true to yourself and get the “you’ve changed” attitude. Well, guess what, my guy? We are supposed to change. Change is constant and ever-present in life, so to say it with a negative connotation when I’m holding a boundary I’ve set for myself only shows me you either don’t respect me or aren’t ready or willing to change. Either way, it only strengthens my need for that boundary. And so we carry on…

I am walking a path to that continues to provide further clarity and understanding of who I’m meant to be, or perhaps who I’ve always been deep down, and I’m getting closer with each entry I write. I can feel weight falling away, clearing that path for me. I am ready to start embracing the light and the joy and ready to really honor myself by continuing to learn what brings me happiness, what serves me and what holds me back. This is how I show up for myself.

Threading the Needle

I’m a long-standing member of the secret drinker’s club. The “no one will know if I drink at home by myself unless I tell them” club. Contemplating what sober-ish is going to mean for me is definitely forcing me to look at my private behaviors – which includes my clandestine affair with wine. On Fridays after work, I love to go trolling for snacks at Trader Joe’s (it’s pretty much across the street from my office). I have a few go-to snacks, the classic chip & dip combo, popcorn, etc., but by the time I circle around toward the registers I have to pass the wine section. Most times I can easily just breeze right past it, happy with my collection of snacks and be on my merry way. Other times, however, I slow down…pretend I’m browsing like I don’t know what I’m looking for, grab one of my favorite reds and stash it in my basket quickly like I’m going to get caught.

When I occasionally go through my bank and credit card statements to evaluate my spending, my “food & booze tally” only consists of purchases from bars, restaurants, Total Wine and the drive through liquor store near my house. I’m acutely aware of the times I’ve gone to Safeway or Trader Joe’s and snuck in a bottle of wine knowing I won’t count it in the tally. She thinks she’s so smooth. In the moment, I’m trying to convince myself that I can drink and keep it in control or have just one and be fine. Well if that’s not missing the effing point, I don’t know what is.

Is the secrecy a problem? Absolutely. Do I think it makes me an alcoholic? There are plenty of other things that could land me in that category, but no. What it does, though, is defeat the purpose behind what I’m doing here. Let’s call a spade a spade. If I really want to look at my behaviors and find my way through to be able to feel and process emotions, have good and bad days, heal and strengthen relationships with myself as well as with others, I no help to myself by shame-drinking in private. The only way forward is through, right? So, here’s to being honest and transparent with myself where  alcohol is concerned.

That being said, my intent with this sober-ish mission is to inherently change my relationship with alcohol. To no longer use it as an escape or a crutch. To be able to enjoy it as an indulgence, not a hobby. To not let it take over my weekend (or any given evening) and throw my whole body out of whack. The thing is, I don’t know if that’s attainable for me. My mindset in testing these theories is so fundamentally backward, I’m just setting myself up for failure. As always, I’m still learning and growing through this…

Trying, Failing and Falling

It’s safe to say that changing a long-standing habit (good or bad) is not a linear thing. I have been trying for months to change my drinking habits in different ways, but I seem to be on a ferris wheel where effort is concerned. During the week I have been good about doing my own thing (gym, cooking for myself, reading, etc.) or saying no to things that don’t serve me, but when the weekend comes around, my efforts seem to be tucked right into my back pocket and off I go to meet a friend for drinks on a Saturday afternoon. I wonder if it’s because there’s more time in the day to get things done and the downtime is my weak spot. It could also be that the weather is finally nice here, making the go-to meet up drinks on a patio. Whatever the excuse, I still find myself questioning why it’s still so easy to give in and go for the patio drinks, rather than stick to my plan and do something that doesn’t involve drinking or lead to that inevitable downward spiral. 

I heard a quote recently that said “I hope you fail. If you fail, that means you’re trying. Knowledge, bravery and courage are all built from failure.” So I guess I am back at square one, but still trying. While I feel like I don’t know what I’m doing, I do know that I want to keep moving in this direction. The more times I stand my ground, the more I want to hold on to that feeling. Knowing I will wake up sober and have zero chance of a hangover-related shame spiral or a frantic search through my calls/messages make the effort of saying no and sticking to it so worth it. So failing…and giving in…is actually helping me, which is kind of a surprise. It’s just another reminder of why I’m doing this and what I want to get out of not drinking.

I was talking to a girlfriend about how I have a hard time being proud of myself for things I accomplish, big or small. I have a propensity to minimize things that internally feel huge, but also seem like ‘normal’ things that people do. Recently buying a new car, upgrading my living room setup, adding décor/style to my home where there was little to none before…these things feel huge to me. Outwardly, however, I think to myself “well this is shit people do every day, so why would anyone care that I did it?” It’s a lot of the “who do I think I am?” mindset, rather than “FUCK YEAH, I did that!” I have a hard time believing that anyone else would be proud of me, or as proud as I am of myself. It feels like a private victory, because most people don’t know how far down I had to start in order to dig myself out of the dark and twisty. I feel fucking GOOD about the things I’m doing to better myself, but I’m so used to keeping it to myself that I don’t know how to share without feeling arrogant or self-involved. It’s easier to shrug my shoulders and put up a front like it’s no big deal. Piling more things onto the list of what I’m learning and unlearning, I suppose.

In short, I feel like failure can be two things: a catalyst or a catastrophe. It’s all about how you are able to take a step back and look at the failure to decide whether you see it as a reminder of what you really want (catalyst) or an end-all to the plans you made for yourself (catastrophe). The best part is that you get to choose. Give yourself grace in failure, sit with what you’re feeling and get back on the path that gives you peace AND feeds your soul. Retrace as many steps as you have to (that’s the trying and falling part), but always come back to what makes you feel good, inspired, peaceful and whole.

Chicken or the Egg?

People talk about “hangxiety,” and that bitch is REAL. It begs the question…which came first, the chicken or the egg? I know that having started therapy at the ripe old age of 14, I definitely had some anxiety and depression creeping in, though I couldn’t grasp what it really meant or how it was affecting everyday life. Also having started drinking at an age younger than I’d like to admit, I wouldn’t come to live through the hangxiety until somewhere in my 20s. Even though it’s known as the morning-after shame spiral (at least that’s what I call it), I started to notice it seeping into everything even days after the drinking binge. Feeling irritable at work, too anxious to go to a group fitness class or even the grocery store, was becoming a regular occurrence and no longer felt like it was isolated to the hangovers.

In the ‘typical’ sense of hangxiety, I would often wake up after a night out, and the first thing I’d do was check my purse to see if I lost anything or went home without my card(s). I’d then spend the day feverishly going through text messages (and even Instagram DMs), lamenting over what I might have said or done that warranted an apology, or how badly I embarrassed myself. All while simultaneously telling myself I deserved to feel every second of that hangover. The problem was that drunk me, in an assumed effort to protect sober me, got in a habit of deleting calls and messages. That made the morning after anxiety level skyrocket because, well, I couldn’t even explain my antics to myself. I’d send out “test” messages and if someone didn’t respond, I’d assume I was a dick to them the night before and they never wanted to speak to me again. History has proven that I’ve done things to deserve that exact reaction, so the assumption really wasn’t far off. I’d call my best friend out of state and cry about how embarrassed and/or ashamed I was, how stupid I was to spend/waste money when I’m trying to do and be better (and when I know better) …and the cycle of self-loathing would begin. The spiral would continue throughout the day, the sadness of losing a friendship would set in, the frustration at not even being able to remember whether I had something to apologize for kicking me in the gut…and then I’d get a response that let me know it wasn’t life-altering and I was (am) a lunatic. Until the next time…

Any progress I’d made in therapy, in working through traumas, or in the gym, would feel immediately reduced to zero. It’s hard to get your head out of that gutter, especially when you’re the one who put it there. I often felt depression closing in on me and the ‘dark thoughts' were so regular it was alarming…and another vicious cycle of drinking to numb the thoughts and feelings would begin, which only led to shame and regret, which lead to more dark thoughts, and the pattern continues. It wasn’t until I became sober curious that I started to analyze that level of anxiety and depression, solely based on how much I drank the night/weekend before. On the off weekends that I didn’t go out or drink, I felt pretty good – not great, but good was a-ok with me, considering the alternative. Once the pattern was crystal clear and right in front of my face, it was undeniable. I had a problem that could easily be solved…or so I thought.

My attempts to cut back have been futile at best, and my willpower seems to wane at the first sniff of a happy hour invite, but I know that I won’t be able to enjoy any kind of life if I continue to allow the drink to be at the helm of the ship. In order to course correct, I have to sit with the discomfort of missing out on social events until I feel my determination is strong enough to say no (and mean it). At this point, I’m willing to do whatever it takes to avoid being cloaked in shame the day after a drinking binge…ever again. So bring on the outdoor adventures, exploring parts of my hometown I’ve never seen and perhaps finding some sober friends to lend a bit of support.

Hold Up…Weight

One painfully noticeable effect of alcohol is weight gain…but not just overall weight gain. I’m talking “I used to have an athletic build and now I look seven months pregnant” kind of weight gain. On my body, it looks kind of like a “ponch” that a 60-year old man would have – fairly flat on the ribs, rounds out in the middle and then a little baby fupa that I never wanted. So here I am, the heaviest I’ve ever been, asking myself how the hell I got here. How did I let it get this bad? I’ll tell you how. I didn’t care about going to the gym because there seemed to be no point. I stopped looking in the mirror. Anytime my pants got a little snug, I’d call it body positivity and go up another size. I’m not bashing body positivity if that works for some, but for me, there’s comes a point where that can be toxic positivity. The toughest thing for me to accept is that I don’t look and FEEL the way I know I can.

I mentioned in my week one reflection that the first week of Sober October typically results in binge snacking (aka having snacks for dinner), which is really just swapping one vice for another, am I right? The problem is, this has been another long-standing vice that I’ve never paid attention to. I’m more of a savory-over-sweet gal, so I go for the chips. Almost any chip, but the saltier the better. I’ll go to Trader Joe’s 100% confident in swapping the chips for cucumbers or cauliflower - pretty bomb on occasion, not gonna lie - but inevitably, I end up grabbing the TJ’s corn dippers (my favorite) with cauliflower jalapeno dip. I then proceed to go home and make that my dinner and don’t stop until my stomach hurts.

When I cut out alcohol, I do get back into working out more regularly, whether that’s walking the canal behind my house, doing Peloton app workouts in my living room (least fave, if I’m being honest) or going to the gym and trying to remember what the heck I’m doing when it’s not a group fitness class. The second week of Sober October this year I exercised five our of seven days. A couple days were just walking, which I’ve really come to enjoy, and others I surprised myself by stepping into the gym, ignoring the anxiety of being an out-of-shape person surrounded by the fittest people (all in my head, I know). I was proud of week two me…then I decided to allow myself a cheat weekend and have a few (several) drinks and that proud, anxiety-ignoring person hibernated for a couple days. That was how I started week three…not my best. I’d planned to go for a sunrise walk with a couple friends mid-week, which meant getting up early enough to physically be somewhere by 5:30am - it was still dark out. My biggest motivator that morning was not bailing last-minute…and the coffee shop we’d planned to make our turnaround point. I ended up really enjoying the walk, the conversation and the beautiful sunrise pics I got along the way. I’m already looking forward to next week’s sunrise stroll.

This brings us to motivation vs. discipline – I’m aware that motivation can be fluid, and that it’s discipline that will really get you where you want to be on your health & fitness journey. Logically, I know these things. But emotion, especially when it comes to emotional eating, is not logical. Instead, emotions feed off of each other like fire and gasoline. I can have every intention of going to the gym and then a swift breeze of anxiety rolls in and there goes my motivation. So I try to convince myself my body, shape and size, is normal (quite possibly the most subjective word in the English language) and tell myself I’m embracing it. The “love yourself the way you are” is ever-present, but it’s pretty heavily focused on body shape/size, rather than how you feel about who you are.

I believe that health and fitness is all-encompassing, so why do I try to compartmentalize it? Perhaps to make it easier to emotionally digest…one part physical shape and size, one part actual physical health (i.e. blood sugar, cholesterol, body fat – things you are forced to monitor when you’re a gal my age) and one part mental health and fitness. That last one is a doozy, let me tell ya. The physical and the mental go hand in hand, so why is the discipline part so damn hard?! I don’t know about you, but historically I’ve relied so fervently on motivation to get me going, keep me working out consistently and keep me from giving in to something that would only be temporarily satisfying (aka snacks and booze). So where can I get me some discipline - do they sell that on Amazon?! UGH…add this to the list of things I am still learning about myself as I go.

If you read the title of this post to the tune of Dr. Dre’s song The Next Episode, we can be friends…and if it didn’t click until you saw the song reference just now, no one will ever know ;)

Week Two Slip-Up

Week two I was feeling great. I’d gotten back into the gym, was busy at work and felt really good about the changes I could feel happening within me. Namely, being able to feel good about purchasing a new car, believing in myself in started this blog and managing my moods and my money in a healthy way I’d never done before. Then the weekend hit. Saturday I met up with some friends for an Oktoberfest event. I had zero intention of drinking and even ordered a CBD water they had on the menu. After having been there for a while, though, that stronghold I had on not drinking crashed and burned. I ordered a half-glass of wine…and then a few more. Ultimately, I only had two glasses collectively, and told myself I’d just tack on a day to the end of Sober October and call it good. But then I stopped on the way home and got a bottle of wine…cue the bangin’ headache the next morning and then a little hair of the dog. I went to brunch, had a few drinks and was still feeling okay (aka not beating myself up for taking a cheat weekend). Having had drinks both Saturday and Sunday, I really felt it come Monday. My face was puffy, I was exhausted even though I went to bed at 8pm Sunday and I wanted nothing more than to take the day off so I could lay around and pull it together.

I wasn’t upset about the little Sunday treat of mimosas at brunch because I also got to spend some time with a good girlfriend that I rarely get to see because of her nursing and school schedule. She also happens to be my landlord, so we had the chance to finally hammer out some details about the lease and the needed repairs/maintenance to the place. That was a huge relief for me, because the not knowing was a humming ball of anxiety just sitting in the pit of my stomach. Now that we’d gotten that part out of the way, we were able to just enjoy the beautiful day and each other’s company. After I dropped her off at home, though, I had the urge to go watch the Sunday night game somewhere (not that I gave a crap, I just think I wasn’t ready to go home). All that to say, while it was fun, I still paid for the weekend in more ways than one.

I reflected on whether to just add that time to the end of the month, but ultimately decided to extend it until my coworker’s wedding in mid-November. I am still 10000% on board with changing my frame of mind to becoming an occasional drinker, or non-drinker, rather than a regular binge drinker. I keep going back and forth about going full sober or just being sober-ish, which I’m sure is noticeable in these posts. I think the takeaway is that I still don’t know what the hell I’m doing, but I’m trying my best and loving the way I feel without it more than I love the way it used to make me feel (escapism, anyone?). Anyway, I’m hoping week three continues to fuel the good feels and here’s to no more slip-ups!