Here I am
Here I am.
I am three days without a shower, wishing I had more motivation to do things like clean house and put away laundry. I am certain that any motivation for laundry related tasks will never show up, but also certain that when the kids are not living at home any longer I will wish I had done sweet things like put away their laundry and tidy their rooms while they were at school. I will dream of having been a better, more June Cleaver like mom, enjoying these type of things. Guilt will follow and the realization that there is so much wasted time will show up, again. But I am also certain that we can resign ourselves to the fact that I will likely not ever put away my laundry, for forever. Husband, thank you for still loving me. I just do not see that motivation showing up in my life unless my mother in law is coming over and I think she might look into my room. Thank God she never does. All-in-all, while the laundry is never put away, things function pretty well around here. The Christmas lights are up, people go to work and school, the house is a home and we consider it to be a mostly loving, healthy and fun place to come home to. The dishes may pile up on occasion, but if you asked anyone that knows us, they would say we are pretty alright. No visible signs of fractures or failing foundations...figuratively speaking.
It's not the laundry, or the dishes. It isn't the professional situation I am in, which is currently uninspired and unsettled. It is never the wish for more or the lack of gratitude for these days and this life. It is always the alcohol. It is not our less than anyone else. It is not worry or drive. It is always the alcohol. There is not a lot that I go through my days and worry about more often than alcohol. In fact, I can't think of a single thing. It's a good life, kids that appear to be getting through life quite well so far, good jobs, and a better than average looking husband that appears to really love me...although I still find that to be fascinating and somewhat unreal. There aren't things that stop me in my tracks and bring me to my knees very often. Alcohol hasn't always done that to me, but it is now.
I didn't think this time in my life would come. I honestly thought that either the desire for a drink....or more like 7 drinks....would eventually wane and I would frolic through the rest of life more like a "normal" woman would. Or, I would fall. Hard. Fast and irrecoverably. I have seen it. I know it well. I lived it, and in the back of my mind I have really wondered if I would become it. People look at a homeless and hopeless looking person on the street and wonder how they got there. I look at the same person and wonder if there's any way we could get them back. I know how they got there. I saw it and I honestly fear becoming it.
It sounds ridiculous. I live a life quite far away from the things that I fear. We live in suburbia, with rigorous schools and an annoyingly white peer group. We have an income that keeps us from receiving college grants, but not really enough to actually pay for college. Our kids never fear if there will be enough, enough food, enough love, enough fun, enough gas in our cars. We have 4 cars, one of them is just for play. It's not lavish around here, however it is well more than "enough." But it still creeps in, the thoughts and worries that I am only one slippery slope away from a greased up saucer sled ride straight down, all the way down.
Today could be called my official "Day 1." Some would say yesterday was, but officially I was drunk after midnight yesterday, so let's start this out with some real honesty. I have had many "Day 1's." And, right now, I am not certain that I will not ever drink again. I can only say that for today, for my right here and right now, I'm done.
I have decided that the best way for me to cope, is to write. To be vulnerable and honest about where I am, where I have been, and a detail the days moving forward. I am anticipating this journey will be significantly more difficult that I am prepared to face. I've decided to write about it, because I feel scared and ashamed and very, very alone, and I figure I have a better chance of pushing through those difficult times if I am honest about them, on "paper." They say everything you put out there, in the inter-webs of online media is permanent (or, at lest that is what we keep telling our kids. "No it doesn't actually disappear forever. If you say something online, or snapchat someone a photo, be sure you are okay with your parents, grandparents, and church leaders and future employers seeing it." This whole idea of writing through this publicly now sounds like the stupidest idea I've had to date. Sigh.). So, I cannot undo these truths, un-tell this story, lock it up again to be hidden. It is out, and told.
Moms like me don't have this struggle. Moms like me can get it together, and always would have chosen a more get-it-together like path long before showing up here. I have several mom friends that have husbands that do not drink anymore, for various reasons, but at the end of the day it is the men with this issue, not the women. The women have it all together. They can always have 2 glasses of wine without going home to drink all night. They always wake up early, before their kids rise, pack their lunches, kiss their foreheads and send them off with a wave and a prayer...and then probably drink some green juice concoction that will keep them looking 29 forever and costs $19 on their Whole Foods budget. They never stay in bed so their kids will not see their eyes or ask them questions their brain cannot fully process yet. They don't plan their days around how much they'll drink the in the night. Or do they? I don't know. But I know we are not talking about it if they are.
I suspect that women and alcohol use, good women, good moms, good wives with good lives is much more talked about that I realize, because I am not currently looking under rocks and digging up stories. However, I know it is stigmatized and full of shame, embarrassment and secrecy. So, I will write. And be honest. As honest as I can be, more honest than I feel prepared to be. I am ready to face today with hope and expectancy. I am praying God shows up and meets me here.
I will set my expectations in advance. (This is what I am learning while navigating a tumultuous relationship with my mother. More on that later.) Boundaries and expectations that have been defined, in advance of certain impending conflict, will serve as a beacon, a guide, a lighthouse for my path. I need to have some idea of which was is up because I already feel like I've been tossed around in an avalanche, am all alone under the heavy snow, and have no way of seeing which direction to start digging to find air, and light, and sunshine... and freedom. It has been crushing me, crushing my spirit, my body and my mind. I want out. Which way is up?
I expect the struggle will be real. Thankfully there are so many memes about this. I am sure I will be able to find humor within the struggle.
I expect the struggle to be realer than I can even imagine or laugh my way through.
I expect that pain and struggles with be magnified as I face them. And, I hope I am strong enough to face them all the way through without giving up or coping out on the hardest truths.
I expect that my husband and I will have to find a new normal. I am terrified of growing apart from him. And also, I know we both need to be more individually healthy, to make "us" the best it can be.
I do not expect to fail, because setting the expectation to fail up front would be incredibly undermining of all this effort and commitment. However, I am so frightened that I will fail. That I will never get this right. That I am predestined for this scary path all the way down.
I expect to feel better and to look better.
And after that, I just do not know what to expect other than for God to show me His face in a realer way, that His truth will be louder in my ears, and that peace and an understanding of myself lies on the other side. If there is even an other side. Who knows?
I don't know the rest. I am looking forward to Day 2 and terrified that I will never see a day 37, 137, or 337. But what would be the good in worrying about that already?
Here I am. Expectant and scared. Ashamed and hopeful. Well intentioned with mountains of doubt. Sweetly Broken. Send buckets of grace, fast.
Back tomorrow to tell you more of the story. It already has a working title; "Day 2."
I am three days without a shower, wishing I had more motivation to do things like clean house and put away laundry. I am certain that any motivation for laundry related tasks will never show up, but also certain that when the kids are not living at home any longer I will wish I had done sweet things like put away their laundry and tidy their rooms while they were at school. I will dream of having been a better, more June Cleaver like mom, enjoying these type of things. Guilt will follow and the realization that there is so much wasted time will show up, again. But I am also certain that we can resign ourselves to the fact that I will likely not ever put away my laundry, for forever. Husband, thank you for still loving me. I just do not see that motivation showing up in my life unless my mother in law is coming over and I think she might look into my room. Thank God she never does. All-in-all, while the laundry is never put away, things function pretty well around here. The Christmas lights are up, people go to work and school, the house is a home and we consider it to be a mostly loving, healthy and fun place to come home to. The dishes may pile up on occasion, but if you asked anyone that knows us, they would say we are pretty alright. No visible signs of fractures or failing foundations...figuratively speaking.
It's not the laundry, or the dishes. It isn't the professional situation I am in, which is currently uninspired and unsettled. It is never the wish for more or the lack of gratitude for these days and this life. It is always the alcohol. It is not our less than anyone else. It is not worry or drive. It is always the alcohol. There is not a lot that I go through my days and worry about more often than alcohol. In fact, I can't think of a single thing. It's a good life, kids that appear to be getting through life quite well so far, good jobs, and a better than average looking husband that appears to really love me...although I still find that to be fascinating and somewhat unreal. There aren't things that stop me in my tracks and bring me to my knees very often. Alcohol hasn't always done that to me, but it is now.
I didn't think this time in my life would come. I honestly thought that either the desire for a drink....or more like 7 drinks....would eventually wane and I would frolic through the rest of life more like a "normal" woman would. Or, I would fall. Hard. Fast and irrecoverably. I have seen it. I know it well. I lived it, and in the back of my mind I have really wondered if I would become it. People look at a homeless and hopeless looking person on the street and wonder how they got there. I look at the same person and wonder if there's any way we could get them back. I know how they got there. I saw it and I honestly fear becoming it.
It sounds ridiculous. I live a life quite far away from the things that I fear. We live in suburbia, with rigorous schools and an annoyingly white peer group. We have an income that keeps us from receiving college grants, but not really enough to actually pay for college. Our kids never fear if there will be enough, enough food, enough love, enough fun, enough gas in our cars. We have 4 cars, one of them is just for play. It's not lavish around here, however it is well more than "enough." But it still creeps in, the thoughts and worries that I am only one slippery slope away from a greased up saucer sled ride straight down, all the way down.
Today could be called my official "Day 1." Some would say yesterday was, but officially I was drunk after midnight yesterday, so let's start this out with some real honesty. I have had many "Day 1's." And, right now, I am not certain that I will not ever drink again. I can only say that for today, for my right here and right now, I'm done.
I have decided that the best way for me to cope, is to write. To be vulnerable and honest about where I am, where I have been, and a detail the days moving forward. I am anticipating this journey will be significantly more difficult that I am prepared to face. I've decided to write about it, because I feel scared and ashamed and very, very alone, and I figure I have a better chance of pushing through those difficult times if I am honest about them, on "paper." They say everything you put out there, in the inter-webs of online media is permanent (or, at lest that is what we keep telling our kids. "No it doesn't actually disappear forever. If you say something online, or snapchat someone a photo, be sure you are okay with your parents, grandparents, and church leaders and future employers seeing it." This whole idea of writing through this publicly now sounds like the stupidest idea I've had to date. Sigh.). So, I cannot undo these truths, un-tell this story, lock it up again to be hidden. It is out, and told.
Moms like me don't have this struggle. Moms like me can get it together, and always would have chosen a more get-it-together like path long before showing up here. I have several mom friends that have husbands that do not drink anymore, for various reasons, but at the end of the day it is the men with this issue, not the women. The women have it all together. They can always have 2 glasses of wine without going home to drink all night. They always wake up early, before their kids rise, pack their lunches, kiss their foreheads and send them off with a wave and a prayer...and then probably drink some green juice concoction that will keep them looking 29 forever and costs $19 on their Whole Foods budget. They never stay in bed so their kids will not see their eyes or ask them questions their brain cannot fully process yet. They don't plan their days around how much they'll drink the in the night. Or do they? I don't know. But I know we are not talking about it if they are.
I suspect that women and alcohol use, good women, good moms, good wives with good lives is much more talked about that I realize, because I am not currently looking under rocks and digging up stories. However, I know it is stigmatized and full of shame, embarrassment and secrecy. So, I will write. And be honest. As honest as I can be, more honest than I feel prepared to be. I am ready to face today with hope and expectancy. I am praying God shows up and meets me here.
I will set my expectations in advance. (This is what I am learning while navigating a tumultuous relationship with my mother. More on that later.) Boundaries and expectations that have been defined, in advance of certain impending conflict, will serve as a beacon, a guide, a lighthouse for my path. I need to have some idea of which was is up because I already feel like I've been tossed around in an avalanche, am all alone under the heavy snow, and have no way of seeing which direction to start digging to find air, and light, and sunshine... and freedom. It has been crushing me, crushing my spirit, my body and my mind. I want out. Which way is up?
I expect the struggle will be real. Thankfully there are so many memes about this. I am sure I will be able to find humor within the struggle.
I expect the struggle to be realer than I can even imagine or laugh my way through.
I expect that pain and struggles with be magnified as I face them. And, I hope I am strong enough to face them all the way through without giving up or coping out on the hardest truths.
I expect that my husband and I will have to find a new normal. I am terrified of growing apart from him. And also, I know we both need to be more individually healthy, to make "us" the best it can be.
I do not expect to fail, because setting the expectation to fail up front would be incredibly undermining of all this effort and commitment. However, I am so frightened that I will fail. That I will never get this right. That I am predestined for this scary path all the way down.
I expect to feel better and to look better.
And after that, I just do not know what to expect other than for God to show me His face in a realer way, that His truth will be louder in my ears, and that peace and an understanding of myself lies on the other side. If there is even an other side. Who knows?
I don't know the rest. I am looking forward to Day 2 and terrified that I will never see a day 37, 137, or 337. But what would be the good in worrying about that already?
Here I am. Expectant and scared. Ashamed and hopeful. Well intentioned with mountains of doubt. Sweetly Broken. Send buckets of grace, fast.
Back tomorrow to tell you more of the story. It already has a working title; "Day 2."
Comments
Post a Comment