Current foster child just told me all policemen are pieces of $#!+. I started to interrupt to say, “that’s not true,” but then they both went on to tell me the reasons why they think that. I couldn’t argue. I listened for about 45 minutes as story after story poured out. It took everything for me to not cry. That was not what they needed. They told me stories about when their dad, who they fiercely love, gets drunk and what happens when the police come. This isn’t about their dad drinking. This isn’t about the police. This is about how these young children, through no fault of their own, view the world around them and the authority figures in it. I am heartbroken for them. One said, very matter-of-factly, “It’s not really fair. I mean, I didn’t do anything and I have to keep moving and I have no control.” No. You don’t. Then they said, “why can’t we stay here?” This is a very short-term placement, and they leave to go live with family out of state in a few days. I’ve only known them a week and they leave soon. This will be a hard goodbye.

I’ve been thinking about “my story.” I’ve been asked to speak at meetings a lot. I’m a bit of a meeting nomad. My fear of commitment is keeping me from establishing a home group, even though I want to. I’ve always been terrified of committing to anything. The downside to this, however, is you get asked to speak a lot (they always ask the new person) and I got bored of my own story pretty quickly.

It took me time to figure out what I wanted to say so that it would be right and appropriate and check all the boxes. But then I found myself changing it up out of boardom. All still my story, just different angles. That’s the chameleon in me. I can spin a story like nobody – I was taught by my father. He could make anything funny and so can I.

SIDE NOTE: I just finished reading Under Our Roof by Madeleine Dean and her son Harry Cunnane. It’s written in a back and forth manner, sharing each of their stories of his addiction. I highly recommend it. Harry kept talking about being a chameleon, to which I can still relate. A story for a different post.

Anyway, I’m always thinking about my story and how to change it up but I recently started wondering what is really my story? Does it start before my dad left? After? When he got sober? Or when he started taking me to meetings with him? Interesting that I think my story revolves around my father, when I spent very little time with him. But he feels like my connection to AA so he is always part of it. But when does MY story start? Or how?

When I was about 5 years old, I remember, clear as day, having to say goodnight to all the adults. This meant parading me and my brother out in our adorable PJs to hug and kiss everyone goodnight. I didn’t want to though. I was taught not to be rude so I new better than to announce I didn’t want to hug my aunt’s boyfriend so I just held back, which was unlike me – I was very outgoing and always a pleaser. But he was really big, pretty sarcastic, and smelled like alcohol and I didn’t want to hug him. Actually, I didn’t really like him. But I adored my aunt so I figured he must be okay, I just didn’t want to hug him. Not only was I forced to give him a hug and kiss good night, I was then pulled aside and given quite the reaming by my mother. Essentially she told me I have no opinions, or that they don’t matter. If I am told to go hug and kiss an adult or other authority figure I am to do so without questioning it. And with a smile on my face. That message was painfully clear to me that day. And I took that message to heart and carried it with me for years.

I think that was the first time I realized my voice didn’t count. Or at least it’s the first time I can remember that my voice really really didn’t matter no matter what I said or the tears I cried the answer was still the same. I had to hug and kiss him, because I was a child and my job was to make sure the adults were comfortable and happy. It wouldn’t take long for someone to take advantage of that.

I didn’t have my first independent-on-my-own drink until years later, although I guess not that many years later. I was 13 on a school trip and we figured out where we could buy rum. And by we, I mean some other girl in my group. So we took ourselves down to the store pretended to be interested in the barrel of strawberries in front of the rum, and then with everyone else chickening out I brought my pint of strawberries and bottle up to the counter and paid for it. I remember thinking then as we all sipped our rum in our dorm rooms, is this the beginning? Will I end up in rehab or aa? Probably. That didn’t bother me at all, I was just curious if this was the beginning.

I continued to have that thought with almost every drink I had after that day right up until I quit at the age of 46. My father left when I was two but he was still in the same city. When I was five he moved away for work. I still saw him once or twice a year depending on his schedule and hours. But I always felt close to him. For some reason I never blamed him for being away. Maybe that’s because my mother did. she was remarried and happy and wouldn’t have stayed with my dad even if he’d gotten sober while they were married but she enjoyed blaming him for bad decisions she made.

But I guess if I’m doing a deep dive into what is my story I have to remember that those few times a year that I saw my dad there was not one second during those visits that I did not know I was the most important thing to him. And he would show me off at all his AA meetings. and while I might have been more interested in the coffee or the cookies or sneaking a cigarette in back, I guess those messages got through to me. I think knowing the foundations of AA, even if only in the back of my mind, probably got me through many of my years of drinking and I guess instead of saying it finally got so bad I guess I could say it could have been much much worse.

I was painfully uncomfortable in my own skin. I was a really super happy kid but I didn’t understand the world. I was very concrete. things were as I saw them or so I thought. But I lived in a house where the most important thing was appearances so we were always perpetuating stories that I knew weren’t true. And I didn’t understand it. That goes on to this day in my family.

I remember my sister-in-law being hospitalized for an emotional breakdown and my brother was left with their three kids so he was at my mom’s so she could help out and when I arrived to also help out with my own two kids, I was shocked to find out they told the children she was on a business trip. And I was to perpetuate that lie. I didn’t mind not telling the children the truth. I did not think telling them their mother was in the hospital for a mental breakdown and wanting to kill herself was a good idea, but she was a stay-at-home mom. How stupid did they think their children were? well the answer is, their kids weren’t stupid at all, they just knew and understood this concept of making believe. I still don’t get that, Fortunately or unfortunately neither do my children. They call ’em like they see ’em and often it makes others uncomfortable. But I would rather sometimes be embarrassed and/or have people be uncomfortable than to pretend I’m living a life I’m not.

Drinking was fun, and damn I was good at it. I was always good at everything when I started it. My grandparents got me tennis lessons at one of their Florida vacation places the woman had previously coached Tracy Austin and decided that I was so wonderful I had to get into tennis immediately and she wanted to coach me. We were on vacation so obviously I was not going to stay there, but I really loved that I was super good at something. and I figured the only way I could screw it up would be to keep doing it. if I continue to play tennis maybe they would learn I wasn’t that great. all the adults were so happy and proud of me what if I couldn’t live up to it? so maybe I won’t play tennis. I will just let everyone remember me as the person who was super good at it when I first picked up a racket. And so went the rest of my life.

I’m not sure why I was so good at drinking. Maybe it’s because I didn’t throw up? Or pass out? Or at least it would take me a lot more than other people. I wonder if that’s a physical deficit. I think it’s your body’s way of warning you you should stop what you’re doing when you throw up and pass out. I was actually jealous of people who did that regularly. I thought I would never drink if that’s what it did to me. I don’t know if that’s true or not because it never did that to me. My body could keep going long past when it should. and, at least until the later years, I could pull myself together and look really good in the morning too. I never liked hearing how pretty I was because people always said it like I didn’t need a brain because… but it sure helped me with a hangover.

Another thing that came painfully easy to me is making up stories. I wasn’t a liar per se. To this day I don’t like to lie. And don’t lie to me. Big or small I don’t like lies. That’s not to say you always have to divulge every truth either, but I don’t like lies. Perhaps it’s my true Irish genes that differentiate between a good story and a lie, but there is a difference. I could come up with the perfect story in a fraction of a second as to why I was going someplace or doing something, which made me very good at covering my tracks, which made me very good at getting away with stuff. I was grounded for most of high school because, as my parents would say, I got busted for everything, every time. And while it may have appeared that way, it was just the tip of the iceberg.

I guess that’s why I was so good at drinking. Drinking made life easier, right up until it didn’t. That inner turmoil that I had, constantly feeling like a child in charge of making the adults happy, not understanding the stories we told to the outside world while looking inside my family and seeing it’s not true, and always feeling like the new kid at school because I switch schools a lot. All of this chaos inside me created a level of pain and discomfort that alcohol helped me get rid of.

I could be as dramatic as the next girl, but generally drinking made me happy, put me in a good mood made me extra daring, definitely funny for a crowd, and always great to be around. If you wanted to have fun I was a chick to follow, always just a little bit on the edge.

Also, I come from a drink at lunch family. “Only people with a drinking problem have to make rules for themselves like I can’t drink at lunch or only after 5…” So in my house the way to prove that you did not have a drinking problem was to have zero rules around drinking. That did not work in my logical brain. But I ran with it.

For me it was not a matter of if I would quit drinking it was just a matter of when. I remember a scene from ghostbusters, I think I was in my teens, where she’s unpacking groceries and pours herself one glass of wine as she preps dinner and has the TV on and I remember wondering if I would be able to do that. Just have one glass of wine alone by myself in my apartment. I couldn’t wait to become an adult and find out. I quickly realized, however, TV and movies were not realistic. No one can have just one glass of wine. I mean why would you even bother?

I could also rally anyone with me. Especially those who didn’t really drink, they loved being with me. I gave them an excuse to let loose and have fun, or at least that’s what I called it. I was a judgment-free zone, you do you – as long as you have a drink in your hand and you’re following me, of course.

I always went through cycles. I would get super healthy, eat well, exercise and not drink or smoke for a little while. Then slowly I would start drinking again. Keep in mind that during these health fits, my goal was never to quit drinking permanently just to reset my mind and body.

At first my drinking would be relatively normal but would soon escalate. Slowly, I would start smoking again. At first only when I drank. and then I would have to drink all the time so that I could smoke. Then I would get very comfortable with both, I was always an unapologetic heavy drinker. I figured everybody knew what was coming so it was up to you to be there or not. And then at some point for some random reason I would decide to do a cleanse or diet or dare that would have me “getting healthy” again. And the cycle continued.

The biggest problem with being someone who can quit on a dime, is it you always believe you can. It’s okay if my drinking gets out of control because I know I can quit. See the irony there? Makes perfect sense to me.

I know that’s not my full story but it’s a start. I’ll let you know when I have more.

Why don’t I mind that my grandfather expected me to clear the table and not my brothers or their friends?  Here’s why…

I never minded that my grandfather expected me to clear the table, because I was a female, because I also knew that it never, for one second, dawned on him that I might not be the absolute best at whatever it is I chose to do.  Nor did he, for one second, believe that clearing the table for a bunch of boys was an easy feat. The fact that I was willing to make the dinner and/or clear the table for them was an honor I bestowed upon them.  I had the power to say no, but I choose to save that for something larger, more meaningful than clearing the table, which was something I was happy to do if it was important to him.  

He may not have had the same level of blind faith in my mother or my aunt, or even my brother for that matter, and candidly I wouldn’t know, but he definitely believed it of me. He believed the women he held dearest, his mother, aunt, wife, and mother-in-law were nothing short of superheroes.

When, at the ripe old age of 31, after recently marrying at the ripe old age of 30, I told my grandfather that I was going to law school he enthusiastically said, “Oh good!  That’s great! Ya know, that’s the best education you can get. No matter what you do later, that is the best!”  

Now, what he meant by “no matter what you do later…” can be debated all day long but I know what he meant.  He meant that no matter what I did later, I would have had the best education and that is important. Even if he believed I should have a family and stay home to raise my children, he knew that was no easy feat and would have the same amount of respect for me if I did that as if I was appointed to the Supreme Court.  

If I chose not to do that, whatever he believed my “later” activity should be, he would roll his eyes and mumble something about not being able to control young women – and YES, as I sit here today at 49, he would have known I was still a very young woman 😉 – and then remind me to work hard, get a good education, and fall madly in love!

Yesterday was my 6 month sober anniversary.  I have attended exactly 3 AA meetings, all of which were on a business trip and each of which was crucial.  I had my 90 day anniversary in one of those meetings and it meant so much to be surrounded by people who personally knew what I was going through and where I was.  I knew then that I needed to go to more meetings.  I came home ready to find a meeting that would be my “club” (my father always called his regular meeting placed The Club).  I would meet new people and be an active participant, not only with my own sobriety, but I would help others with theirs.  I have not darkened the doorway of an AA meeting since.

I also haven’t written a single post.  I’m not entirely sure why.  Lord knows I have plenty to write about, but the spirit hasn’t moved me.

I’ve looked at meeting schedules and there is actually one in my town.  But, with 4 children, it is always easy to find a reason that something is impossible. I rarely discuss my sobriety with anyone or how it impacts me.  I have gotten to a place where I think it’s just my problem – and it is!  But that doesn’t mean I have to keep it to myself.  That doesn’t mean I can’t ask for help or support.  That doesn’t mean I have to suffer (and yes, sometimes it is suffering) or rejoice alone.  But with whom?

My best friend is empathetic and tremendously supportive but she is going through her own life transition and can’t be there for all the minutiae.  While I know my husband wants to be supportive, he has treated my sobriety much the way he treated my drinking – by ignoring it.  I’ve told my children, extended family, and most other people the reason I have stopped drinking is that I can not drink while taking one of my medications – which has the benefit of being true but gives the conversation a different slant.  I have a good friend who has been sober for 20 years and we have some great conversations but I don’t get to see her very much and I don’t want to be a burden – even though I know she would never think that, it’s my perception so it’s my reality.

So, at 6 months and a day, I think I need to find a meeting I can get to and commit to it.  I’m still not completely comfortable with what I envision as an enormous commitment to a 12 step program.  I really don’t see myself getting a sponsor and actively working the steps.  But I do sense I need the connection.  A connection to those who have been in my shoes.  Somewhere I can talk about the minutiae and everyone gets why it is so trying, so sad, and so hilarious all at the same time.  I’ve had times that I want to cave in and drink and those times are hard and will continue to be – although, hopefully, fewer and farther between – but I do know that my commitment to my sobriety is very strong.  I’m not afraid of slipping so much as how I will get through those tough times.

So, at 6 months and a day, I am committing to finding a meeting.

I was all zen and good until they changed the group status back to Closed, meaning it could be seen on my Facebook page as a group I belong to.  I panicked and bailed.  So much for my fortitude.

I just found out that Facebook may be suggesting a group I joined to my Facebook friends because I am a member.  This might not be such a big deal if the name of the group wasn’t Alcoholics Anonymous (not affiliated with the actual AA, just the name of the FB group).  An old colleague of a member sent her a screen shot of the suggestion with the message, “Not judging but thought you would like to know.”  My first thought was, “Oh, fuck!”  Then I started reading the comments from others.  Some people were thrilled it might be out in the open.  Some people professed their pride in their sobriety.  Some tried to figure out if this was really happening and if they could find a solution.  Some simply said, “outta here!”  I understand all of those responses.

A few weeks ago, when I searched possible Facebook groups focused on recovery, I actually came across a few where friends of mine popped up as members (some I knew were in recovery, some not) and I purposely avoided those groups.  I know that may sound counterintuitive.  After all, that does mean they are in the same boat as I am but it just wasn’t a conversation I wanted to invite.  So I went with one that had no mutual friends.  And now this.  There are a number of people who would receive the suggestion and just laugh and assume it’s a joke.  But then I think of all the people who would be like, “WTF?” and reach out to me to find out what is going on.  Or those who would see it and then not say anything to me but tell everyone else and talk about it behind my back.  But isn’t the right thing to do just leave it be and say nothing?  What would I do if that happened?  I have no idea.  This is about when the panic attack started to set in.

The only reason this did not turn into a full on panic attack is that I found out about this AFTER I saw that the group was switched from Closed to Secret.  So, any damage done is just that: done.  And, for the moment, it is safe to be there.  But then I am also sad because if the group is Secret then potential members can’t find it and get the needed support that so many others benefited from.  This whole anonymity thing sucks.

I have always been in awe of people in recovery.  I think it is something they should be proud of.  But that is probably because I grew up with my father in recovery and I saw what an impressive thing that was.  But I also know that many people see it as a default.  If you are “recovering,” not “recovered,” that means you could slip at any point, and what does that mean?  People don’t know and I think we have proven as a society that we are deathly afraid of what we don’t know or understand.  And, thus, the stigma lingers on.

I have a friend who was on a business trip with a colleague and realized she needed to borrow the woman’s car to get to an AA meeting so she came clean to the woman.  The woman said she would sooner have believed my friend was a Russian spy than an alcoholic.  Why?  Because my friend did not fit whatever profile this woman had in her head of what an alcoholic was.  Perhaps, had she known all along, they would not have become friendly enough to have shared a room on a business trip and been close enough for my friend to feel comfortable to ask to borrow her car.  Because, in this woman’s mind, there was a very negative connotation attached to the word alcoholic and my friend did not fit in to that perception.

A month ago I would have left the group before reading any comments to the initial post and if anyone mentioned it to me I would have said someone added me as a joke.  I also would have been in a full monkey-tilt panic for days.  But today I took a deep breath and made a decision not to let it get to me.  I decided not to freak out about what was done.  The group is Secret now so I do not have to worry about it for the moment, so I won’t.

My comment to the group:

“I’m 6 weeks sober and desperately trying to hide it from friends, family, and co-workers. I completely understand people who are scared and choosing to leave. But I am making the decision to not let this get to me. I am choosing not to freak out. I see the group has been changed to secret now, which solves the problem for the moment, except potential new members won’t be able to see it. Everything I’ve done for the last 6 weeks has been scarey as hell. Why stop now? Thank you to those staying and offering ongoing support. For those leaving, I completely understand. Thank you for your contributions and I hope you find the ongoing support you want and need moving forward!”

Weird experience tonight.  We are visiting an old friend of mine and her family.  She and I have been drinking together since way back and we both have dealt with (and still do) addiction in our extended families.  I was obviously going to tell her what was going on but I was still nervous about it.  I sent her a heads up text that just said:

BTW I don’t drink anymore but I don’t mind if others do, in fact I encourage it.

She responded:

Cool.  Can’t wait to hear about the transition.

When the kids were settled in with video games we settled in with drinks… me with my non-alcoholic wine and them with real stuff… and we talked about what was going on.  It was the first time I really felt comfortable telling it like it is but I think that has more to do with the people I was talking to than my actual comfort level.  But this was not the weird part.

Soon we gathered everyone up for dinner.  It was a BYOB restaurant so I took mine and they took theirs.  But, again, this was not the weird part.

The weird experience happened when we got home.  Kids were getting ready for bed and we were having more drinks and there were several wine bottles and beer bottles on the kitchen island where I was sitting.  Some open, some not.  I was finding them ridiculously distracting.  I could barely focus on conversation and I kept losing track.  I had my non-alcoholic wine and it wasn’t like I wanted to reach for it (I mean, to be fair, I always would prefer a real glass of wine to the juice crap I’m trying to fake myself out with but it’s not like that was the issue).  It was as if you were speaking to someone and a squirrel was running all around in the background.  I am very distractable but it’s not usually by inanimate objects like a wine bottle.  Then it started to bother me that it was all I could think about.  Finally, my friend cleaned the kitchen and put away the wine and I was able to relax but it was the weirdest experience ever.  The fact that everyone else was drinking wasn’t bothering me but the bottles near me was consuming my attention.

I keep saying it doesn’t bother me if other people are drinking.  Maybe I need to revisit that.  Hmm.

While RSVPing to an invitation to a hot tub dinner party, I informed my friend that I have quit drinking.  Her response?

“It’s fine with me if you want to be sober for this shit show…”

Best. Response. Ever.