Ugly-Beautiful

I read a post the other day about “sobriety bloggers” and how a lot of them seem to run out of gas at the 3-4 month mark, and try to return to the nightmare of moderating or just disappear altogether from the blogosphere because they have fallen back into active drinking.

Well, I haven’t done any of those things. Yesterday was four months sober.  But as I suspected it would with all of my kids being home for summer, it’s been rough trying to continue my laser-like focus on sobriety. Navel gazing and quiet contemplation of my co-dependent ways have taken a back seat to the urgent needs of three small children. Which is understandable. After our vacation, my two oldest kids plunged right into a week of day camps and I spent the week driving to and from opposite sides of the county and hanging out with my five year old in between picking up and dropping off the other two and dodging severe thunderstorms. I didn’t realize how much energy my first sober vacation had taken from me. Or how dependent I had become on the hour or two of quiet when they were all in school when I could write or read or go for a run.  Most nights have found me running after nine pm, when it’s just me and the fireflies glinting in the trees, punctuated by me suddenly flailing to wipe a spider web from my face and praying that the spider isn’t crawling somewhere on me.  The other night I almost hit a deer. I came around the corner and there he was, standing gazing at the pond. I freaked him out and he ran away, with me envious of his wild speed as I continued to trudge under moonlight. I guess I’m burning off the crazy. I’m not sure it’s working. I read my support group emails in the wee hours and use my smart phone as a light to read books about recovery while my husband snores and my kids have gone to bed and I steal time from sleep to do the work. It’s not ideal but it’s something.

Two weekends ago was our big neighborhood party that in years past has always marked the beginning of summer. Slip and slide and pool for the kids and volleyball and yard games for the adults and booze everywhere.  I woke up the day of the party feeling low energy, and having zero desire to be around a lot of people.  I expressed this to my husband and I told him that I was going to go but that I might need to leave early.  I got the kids dressed, sunblocked and pool ready and then decided to take my time getting showered and dressed and walk to the party, which is about a mile away on roads within our neighborhood. I thought having time to think and unwind might put me in a better frame of mind.  I got there and everyone was drinking. No one was really watching the kids in the pool so my paranoid ER nurse self plunked down with my bottled water and watched about 20 kids as they were swimming. It was blazingly hot, and try as might, I just didn’t want to be there. My son hit his head on the slip and slide and needed to lie quietly with his head on my lap in a shady spot with some ice and recover his dignity. He finally rallied and when we rejoined the party, all the other moms were doing shots and drinking margaritas while floating in the pool in their bikinis and I just felt like the sweaty, grumpy odd girl out.  Reaching into the cooler for water and brushing past glowing ice-cold wine bottles every time just got to be tortuous. I ended up leaving early and came home and immediately started thinking that I need to just re-vamp my entire social circle or it’s going to be a lifetime of miserable parties where I feel like an awkward stick in the mud who ends up watching everyone’s kids. Not helpfully, my husband who had been drinking and playing volleyball and oblivious to the fact that we had three kids at the party had the balls to tell me that I am miserable now I’m sober. Gee, thanks. Because going someplace I felt uncomfortable going in the first place and trying to have a good attitude and be in the moment as much as possible wasn’t hard at all.

I sat on my bed and stared at the wall for a while and had my first fleeting thought along the lines of  “might as well drink if everyone thinks I’m boring and miserable now.”  And I had an actual, physical response to that thought where I felt nauseous and said out loud. “oh, there you are, just waiting for your way back in, huh?”  And there it was, the moment when SH#T JUST GOT REAL.  The first few months were all about not drinking and triumphs like I was at the high jump and they kept raising the bar and I kept surprising myself when soaring over what seemed like impossible heights.  And then I jumped and smacked right into the bar, landing on my back and knocking the wind out of myself.  Because not drinking is just the start of it. 

I know I’m not the only alcoholic in the world who struggles with excess, boundaries, extremes, always pushing, pushing, pushing.  So it’s really not a surprise that I overdid it in taking on boozy scenarios in early sobriety. Like a test. Like I could breezily say “oh, it doesn’t bother me if you drink. I’m fine.” Except I’m not. I hate that everyone is drinking.  I hate that there was a pool full of kids with no supervision. I hate that I was left out because I wasn’t doing poolside shots. I hate that I have not one single sober friend in real life. I hate that all of my good intentions and hard work are boiled down to me just being no fun and miserable now.  I hate that my disease takes all of these feelings and tries to convince me that I should just start drinking again.

Two days after the party, my parents arrived for a week-long visit.  Because they only see us once or twice a year, there is usually immense pressure to be the perfect hostess, make lasting grandparent memories, go fun places, etc.  This year, I cleaned up within reason, planned very simple non-gourmet meals and didn’t go overboard and neurotic in trying to appear perfect.  Which is a huge (HUGE) step for me.  My parents have always had standards that I could never meet and in somehow not trying to meet them, and in just being myself it ended up being a relaxed, natural and meaningful visit.  The kids enjoyed just playing games and doing puzzles and swimming in the pool and going for walks.  We didn’t do any giant day trips. We ate crabs on the deck. I ended up having an opportunity to tell them that I’m an alcoholic and was met with understanding and compassion. And pride.  Which shocked me.  But if we had done our normal overscheduled, cram as many happy memories into five days routine, there wouldn’t have been the quiet moment when my dad asked me “are you training to be on American Ninja or something? You look great and something has changed” which segued into a long talk about the last few years and sobriety and what I’m learning.  My parents both shared times of deep loss and depression and teared up as I told them how low I had gotten. They hugged me and told me they were proud.

So, in choosing different things, in learning to go with my gut instincts, I am navigating the real hard parts of this journey.  Because it really is no joke. The pink cloud has blown away and the voice is like a jackhammer in the background of my thoughts.  For a while it was quiet. It was peaceful. And now I am heading steeply uphill with no idea what lies at the top. But I know deep down that it’s still better than the nightmare that drinking had become.  I told a friend it’s like the first 100 days or so it was like being at basecamp on Everest.  I’m acclimating to low oxygen, getting my body used to a new reality which in this case isn’t altitude but being alcohol free.  But now I’ve left the safe place behind and I’m climbing uphill, uphill, uphill and my lungs are burning and my muscles are protesting and every step I hear a voice just saying “give up.  This isn’t worth it. Even your kids say you aren’t fun now. You don’t need to go so deep into this. You can drink again now that you know why you did. You can just change those things and manage your stress better.”  And with the next trudging step forward  I say “No. I want this. I’m not going back.”

Step. “Just quit”. Step. “No.”

So that’s where I am right now. I am trying to make huge changes. In the midst of the demands of motherhood and life and having all my kids home and feeling like I’m on permanent overload. My ADHD has my brain feeling like a Labrador and someone just threw two thousand tennis balls.

But I know what I want.  I want the vista at the top of this mountain. And I’m not stopping until I get there.

What is making this possible is the new friends that I’ve found in this journey.  They may live hundreds of miles away, but they are in pocket, just an email or a text away.  They get it.  We can talk about all the FEEELINGS. And how we struggle with how to handle the feelings that are hard to face. The anger, the pissiness, the lack of “me” time as a mom of small kids, the straight up blah parts of this.  Giving ourselves permission to not just be shiny happy sober people all the time.  Some days totally suck.  We see things in ourselves and our children and our partners that we feel responsible for. Things we want to run from. Unweaving all of this is exhausting.  And some days we are just mad and it’s not pretty and we have to reach out or drown.  But while I float up to my eyeballs in sadness and regret some days, I have other voices that are louder than the one in the background.  They tell me it’s ok.  It’s ok not to love every part of this.  It’s ok to be mad, disappointed, petty, selfish, overwhelmed.  And it’s ok to be stupidly happy over a sunset or something cute that my kids did. It’s ok to be annoyed when my kids steal my La Croix water and then leave it sitting around unfinished. It’s ok in that moment to be a little like Gollum hissing “my pressshusss.” 

So many of us are black and white thinkers. Things are either good or bad. Sober life; life unbuffered by the numbing effects of alcohol feels wrong at first.  The rawness of opposing emotions can be overwhelming when we have spent our whole lives labeling them as “acceptable” or “not acceptable”. We spend so much time trying to wrap it up in perfection that we miss the beauty in the ugliness. In not running from the ugly parts of ourselves, in just acknowledging them as just a part and not the whole, those things lose power. Yes, I have moments where I am not patient, I am monstrously selfish, I am hot-tempered and short-sighted.  But I also have moments where I am wise, loving, self-sacrificing, long-viewed.  The trick is to stop running from the moments when I’m the former.  Just allow myself to be angry or whatever.

So, that’s where I am. My house is a mess. My kids are either adorable or squabbling. I run every night in the company of bats.  My marriage is still teetering on the edge of something.  My 11 year old was invited to a sleepover by her 5 year old sister with all of their American Girl dolls and I have no idea how many more years are left of that sweet connection. My son has made his first real friend and he’s seven. I’m terrified that he’s going to get crushed or his quirkiness will be too much.  I have a snake living in my garden that I’ve named Winifred.  My minivan needs new brakes and I think I need a new job. My coffee intake has risen to an alarming level.

There are seismic shifts going on under my surface that no one can see. 

And in all of it, I’m trying to embrace the German idea of ” hasslich schon”. Ugly beautiful.  Because that sums up life perfectly right now.

Snake oil and hardboiled dreams

We are limping down the homestretch.

There are exactly four and a half days of school before we officially enter what I like to call the Season of Yes.
Yes, you can swim in the pool until the last bit of pink sunset fades and we have bats swooping over head and we can only see our way back to the house by firefly-light. 
Yes, you can climb out of the pool, and sit on the deck wrapped in a towel and eat your dinner straight off the grill and yes we will eat corn on the cob with gobs of butter that drips down our chins and eschew napkins and rinse everyone off in the hose afterward.
Yes, you can stay up late and watch old movies with me.
Yes, we can go for a long walk to the river because we have nowhere to be and search for the elusive blue beach glass that we have somehow decided brings good luck to the finder.
And for all of those reasons, I am counting down the hours until I can be summer Mom again. 
Because I have been out of energy and “done” since the last round of viral illness went through the house like wildfire and that was in early April. I have been sober for almost three months now and the energy that is involved in getting up every day, not drinking all day, doing the work, naval gazing, deep breathing, prayers, journaling, running, fighting cravings, going for another run, checking in with my amazing support group…  all of that LIFE stuff plus my sobriety stuff means we have missed parties because the beautiful photo card invitation with an adorably toothless child grinning at us has been buried under the mounting pile of bills and end of school year announcements about class parties and Field Days/ice cream/movie days and the avalanche of year end events and Oh crap there’s another awards ceremony this morning and just wear your pinchy sneakers another day because you are going to be barefoot in a few days anyways and when is it going to EEEENNNDDD-ness.
I am not sitting easy in new sobriety.  It has awakened major perfectionist tendencies in me. I lie awake, thinking of all the ways I can overcompensate for my screw ups this past year, or really, the last two years when my drinking really got to a toxic place. The insomnia, the scratchy burning eyes and the seemingly endless nights where I toss and turn and flip to the cool side of the pillow over and over, all while wishing for a big “OFF” switch for my brain.. I feel pressure to get myself together for summer so we can actually enjoy ourselves . Which is how I sort of stumbled across the lure of Pinterest. (I am not naturally one of those impossibly crafty, super Mom types that I call Pinterest Barbies… who are always posting incredible, inspiring things they have made out of raffia and popscicle sticks or whatever.. That I am even attempting to absorb organization by osmosis shows how dire it really has become).
I created an account and “pinned” some ideas, challenging (kidding) myself to actually try out some sort of enriching craft/ super healthy popsicles and the like this summer. Pins with perky titles like “40 Summer Bucket list activities.”  Nowhere do I see pins about plopping your kids down in front of a half hour of Princess Sofia so you can go cry in the bathroom because you are totally overwhelmed and not sure how you are going to make it through another 9 hours of this “use your words, stop yelling, what is this sticky mess, stop climbing the bookcase, did the cat fall in the fishtank again, say sorry, why do we work so hard and there is never any money and what if I’m just hopelessly screwing these kids up” type day while stone cold sober.
So, yesterday.  Due to distraction/nervous breakdown in progress/exhaustion or whatever, I forgot that when I signed the kids up for a week of summer camp, way back in January when I was still drinking,  I had “conveniently” checked the little magic box that said “Please withdraw the balance due automatically from my account on June 1st” because “Yay, I don’t have to remember to go online and pay it. How wonderfully convenient! Hooray me, for signing the kids up early, lets have a glass or wine to celebrate”
Except you have to remember to actually transfer money into the account before June 1st.
So yesterday our entire checking account was wiped out in one fell swoop and I’m sure the fall out will be fun the next week or so until we get paid again.  
Honestly, signing up for a “high interest savings account” where you can transfer funds by electronic transfer and have money available for withdrawal in 4-5 business days SOUNDS like a good idea when you set it up. But not when you have $1.12 in your checking account and you will be bouncing literally every “automatic bill pay for dummies” transaction like some kind of hyper kangaroo and you get hit with 30 dollar non-sufficient funds fees every time (Gee thanks, bank people, for flogging me for not only being totally forgetful but also poor, that’ll show me) and your cupboards are empty and 4-5 business days is a wicked long time, let me tell you.  And I’ll be that weird lady with the giant jar of spare change at the coinstar making a ridiculous amount of noise with my three kids all clamoring for a turn over the clanking noise of coins….
All of which to say is that in my utterly overwhelmed, unhinged state, I decided that yesterday was the day that I was going to make an effort to feed my kids something other than string cheese, fruit, crackers and yogurt which is what they had in their lunches for about the last, oh…. too many days. I was going to do something Fabulous! 
Peering into the empty fridge, I found five eggs.  Enter that thing I pinned about “You too can make perfect hard boiled eggs in your oven.. imagine the ease, the no mess, the PERFECTION… the beautiful, delicious egg salad sandwiches soon to be yours.”
And that is why Pinterest is exactly like a modern day snake oil salesman.  It promises a short cut, an easy out.
And in my desperate, foolish and sleep deprived state, I went right along for the ride..
The result:
I don’t know about you, but hard boiled eggs that resemble yellowed BPA-laden circa 1978 Tupperware just aren’t real high on the list of Appealing Things to Eat. And the smell?
The smell is like Satan’s own Sulfurous Potpourri wafting directly from the depths of hell.
The glaring lesson to be learned is the same one we have been learning since pre-school.
Be yourself. And most things that are worth doing take time. Shortcuts and “magic fixes” rarely are either short or magical…
In all of the whirlwind and pink cloud days of being sober, I imagine that I have to change everything that I am, or make up for the things I lack or which I overlooked.  I have forgotten that though I am going through a big change, and putting things back together,  I can still enjoy being what I am. Or if not enjoy, at least accept.
I am a disorganized Mom who has a daughter who might have mulch in her hair more often than not from some daring swing set trick, but who also has the best heart, practices compassion as effortlessly as most people breathe.  She draws pictures that make me smile no matter how bad the day. She makes up crazy songs and gets busted reading books late into the night because her mind is voracious. She’s a dancer with the energy level of a humming bird on crack. She is all wild hair and skinny arms and her will is as strong as mine which is a little scary.
I have a son who may wear head to toe mismatched camo outfits ALL THE TIME… but has an incredibly rich imagination, the best giggle, boundless enthusiasm for engineering, minecraft and monster fish. He practices scooter tricks and tells the best knock knock jokes. He has a tender heart and sensitive soul that is sometimes hard to see under all the quirks. He’s the kid who really thinks about the underlying messages in Marvel movies and who discusses them with real sincerity and insight while I’m tucking him into bed with his beloved stuffed animals. He always needs one more hug. 
I have a frequently naked, ornery, adorable preschool girl who explores the world fearlessly and is scary-smart/ beautiful.  She can color a picture for an hour, hold her own at the skate park with teenage boys zooming past while she wears her Captain America helmet and rides her pink scooter. She is obsessed with owls and will spend hours curled up next to me reading a book or just because she is still my little one. She is my garden helper, and actually works hard helping pull weeds and has always sung to the plants to help them grow.  This year she been serenading the broccoli every day.
I need to just accept that God is using me; the hot mess, the hopelessly non-crafty, flawed, recovering, distracted but well-intentioned Mom to grow these little ones into joyful, incredible people. And that’s a role that I can handle.  Because they are amazing.  Maddening and amazing. And I can do it without gallons of wine.  I can do it better without gallons of wine.
And it’s best to just do it in my own imperfect way. If I’m learning anything in sobriety, it’s that nothing can happen overnight. I have to take it easy, not rush ahead or be extreme.  That goes against my natural temperament.  My brain has identified the problem so it wants to fix every broken thing, right every wrong, eradicate every problem RIGHT NOW. But that’s not how this all works.  I have to take my time. There aren’t any short cuts or quick fixes.
So, I’m going to chalk those eggs up to folly.
I will gracefully keep busting out those cheese sticks and keep reminding myself that if I keep getting up every day and doing the right thing, and then the right thing after that, then ultimately…
Every little thing gonna be alright.