A few days before Christmas last year, I sat in my therapists office, sipping in the lavender flavored air and her warm sage advice. I was in a good place. My job wasn't killing me too much, I hadn't had a hangover in what seemed an eternity, I was in yoga teacher training and continually becoming a more dedicated and regular practitioner, I knew what self love meant (really!), and my apartment was clean (this is a really big benchmark for adulthood for me). I actually remember sitting there across from her feeling…together.
We were talking about my upcoming trip home for the holidays to my mother's house. I told her that while in the past these holiday gatherings had tended to undo me in the worst possible way, and that I was actually looking forward to this time home and this big holiday affair. I was severely optimistic because this time, I was a grown up. A spiritually progressed grown-up by Oprah standards.
This year would be different because I was different.
So three days later as I sat in my childhood home living room in a ball on the floor sobbing uncontrollable hate tears, a string of "fuck-you assholes" hanging thick in the air somewhere between my mother and sister and I as they continued on unaffected in their game of cribbage, their normal "there she goes" giggling eye roll routine only stoking the hate fire further - I couldn't help but wonder.
What. The. Fuck. Happened. Read More
While this post is intended for the newly sober at Thanksgiving, it's actually a great post for ANYONE looking for a more peaceful, healthy, and flowing Thanksgiving holiday - sober or not - and is also a great post to keep in your toolbox for any high-stress social situation. Read More
What if I told you that every single relationship that exists in your sphere - from your cheating ex-boyfriend, to the girl that bullied you in the 3rd grade, to your deadbeat disappeared father, to the boss that backstabbed you and stole your idea, to the flight attendant at the Houston airport that kicked you off the airplane and called you racist because you took a picture of her when she was refusing to upgrade you back to first class after you had been laid-over in Honduras for 48 hours, to the co-worker that seems endlessly and confusingly competitive, to the sibling that seems to know exactly how to make you a raving psychotic anger monger - were there by design?Part of the universal plan to give you exactly what you need, exactly when you need it? There to show you the parts of you that you have forgotten to see, or have refused to see? There to build you into the most beautiful, kind, forgiving, loving version of yourself, one encounter at a time? Read More
I had my last last drink on April 13, 2013.
There is no way to describe what has happened in those months since. As far as I'm concerned, my life can be cut up into two boxes. The life before I learned what it meant to not drink, and the life after. The former a slow progression through a tolerable life with a severe longing for something more and a clear sense of never having or being enough. The latter not just the escape from that…the latter truly the having of things that I had always assumed were just not for me.
What unfolded was something beyond my wildest dreams. What unfolded was what happens when you decide for you and only you, and when you clear the space to make YOU happen.
Whatever benefits alcohol seems to provide I assure you they are trite in comparison to the possibilities of the life that stands beyond. Saying goodbye to the junk was saying goodbye to the life I had accepted as good enough and hello to a life that continues to unfold in magical, reality defying ways.
If you are looking for a little inspiration of what is on the other side...read these 19 things I have done in 19 months.
In the last three years, I’ve had some fairly significant shit happen on Mother’s Day. 2 years ago, my aunt – the one who hated me and never learned to spell my name right – passed away very close to mother’s day. I can’t remember exactly when because I was really too busy with work, eating a lot, throwing up, and being high and numb. Anyway, I remember it was around Mother’s Day because that’s when I realized that I might have been blaming the wrong parent for fucking me up (to be clear, I absolutely don’t blame either). That Mother’s Day – Mother’s Day 2011 – I came home to my apartment from a yoga class. My mother was visiting, we had special plans to go to brunch and museums, and I walked in to find her packed, tight lipped, ready to flee my apartment, ready to flee from me and my awful poisonous energy and sad pathetic life. I remember pretty much dying inside (my mother LEFT ME on mother’s day), but then being excited because I had found a bonus day to get high and watch 30 Rock. Read More