40 Days

I took a little break between my first month, posting every day, and today. I’m 40 days sober today.

Things have regulated themselves a little more, now that I have a solid month in my favor. My energy level and fatigue is less extreme. My cravings are fewer and less powerful. I feel confident but also am remembering to stay vigilant.

On Friday my cousin called to tell me that my uncle (his father) had died. He had been sick with leukemia for at least one year. It was very sudden and unexpected, this turn for the worse.

This was my mother’s brother.  The only ones left on that side of the family are me, my brother and the cousin who called me. My other cousin committed suicide in 2008. Our grandparents are deceased. My mom died in 2015. That’s it.

Since the family is so small as it is, I will be making the 350-mile trip to be home for the funeral this Thursday. I will  be staying with my father. This will be a huge test in my sobriety, as it always is. My father is an avid daily drinker.

Since I have no one to care for the children during this time (husband will be working), I am bringing all three with me. They will take Thursday and Friday off from school and we will spend the weekend.  I intend on making it the most positive experience possible.



One Month

One month ago I was in a sorry spot. I felt like crap. And I knew beyond a question of a doubt that  I have a problem that will never go away.

A little over a month ago I had been sober for over two years. And I threw that all away. The speed and force that alcohol consumed me again was unfathomable.

One month ago I committed, again, to sobriety. It was just as hard as I remember it being. The first few days were hell, the first week was hard, but things started turning around in week two.

I checked in here daily for the first month. I wanted to find a way to hold myself accountable while processing all the thoughts and feelings I had to deal with.


Today is Friday the 13th of October, 2017. Today I went to my first in-person AA meeting. I sat in the parking lot for a few minutes, but instead of chickening out, I mustered up the courage and went inside. I was welcomed sincerely and heartily.

Today I celebrated my one month sobriety at a meeting in the attendance of many others who can understand and appreciate what that one month means. All those one-days-at-a-times added up deliberately and consistently.

I am proud of myself. I am still sorry I relapsed, but in a way I think I needed to be taught one more lesson to drive the point home: This condition doesn’t go away. It’s a life sentence. But I can make something positive and good out of it. And that’s what I plan on doing. One day at a time, one week at a time, one month at a time.

Fatigue Induced Epiphany

I know what I’m going to do. Tomorrow I’m going to march my butt down to the local YMCA and check it out. I’m going to see what a membership entails and hopefully maybe get a little trial out of them so I can try it out.

The plan is to utilize the YMCA as my new gym. They have childcare provided on site, which eliminates the need for a sitter to come over our house to watch the kid(s). They have a ton of great classes offered and it is a great solution.

It doesn’t solve the sitter issue for doctors appointments, teeth cleanings, date nights and what have you, but it does solve the haven’t-been-to-the-gym-since-June issue.

So that’s what I’m doing. Tomorrow.

Totally unrelated, I’ve been up since 2:15 a.m. Not by my choice. The feisty little two-year-old decided he was wiiiiide awake. And there was nothing that could lure him back to dreamland. He’s napping now and I’m all hopped up on the coffee I drank to keep me going today. So I treated myself to something while he slept: A new show.

I started watching This Is Us. I had heard a lot of hype about it recently because the new season was starting. So I figured I’d check it out and see what all the fuss is about. So far so good.

Catching a few Z’s probably would have been the wiser choice, but I don’t mind being a slightly sleep deprived for the sake of a little entertainment.

Plus, apparently sleep deprivation causes epiphanies for me. YMCA. Oh yeah.

Can I Get A Little Help?

It’s so hard to find a reliable, consistently available and overall quality babysitter.

Ever since our previous sitter left due to being offered a full-time childcare position, I haven’t had any luck finding anyone with staying power.

Since my youngest isn’t old enough for preschool yet, and we have no family in the area, it is important to have someone to rely on when I need a little help.

Of the past 4 potential sitters, one was looking for full time work and landed a job, one had horrible allergies to our pets, one couldn’t handle the work load from school and babysitting, and the most recent one – today – just told me she was offered a full time job.

This is why the online meetings are my saving grace. They are the only meeting I can realistically get to until I  have a reliable sitter again.

Because of this, I haven’t been to the gym since…. (don’t judge) June. I know. It’s really bad.

Back to care.com I go to find yet another caregiver.

I need to remind myself that this is temporary; my youngest will soon be potty trained and old enough for preschool before I know it. And this will be a worry of the past.

In the meantime, I need a little help.

I Am Grateful

Today I am 27 days sober.  I am grateful.


I am grateful for the beautiful walk I went on this morning. That the rain let up. That I live in such a beautiful place. That I have the time and energy to go on walks. That my cravings are only sporadic and I can get through them. That I haven’t relapsed. That I have a family who loves and supports me. That I have networks online that empower me. That I love myself and this life enough to care enough to do this. That I care enough to do this and I am not debilitated by depression. That I’ve been given another day. I am grateful.


My mom was an alcoholic. I was reading my old writings and came across this entry from from August 19, 2009:

“Scream It or Stuff It”

Part of me wants to scream it at the top of my lungs.
Another part of me wants to stuff it deep down inside.

So here I find myself with my compromise: I am writing.

I’ve known I needed to write about this. To get it out. To express my feelings. I kind of went into it a bit with my very close friend. And I did talk at length about it with my husband. But now it’s time to “talk” about it with myself. To write it out. Just for me. To help me get out my feelings.

My mother is in rehab.

There. I said it.

I knew it was coming. It was just a matter of “when?” and “what would happen?” After all, everyone hits bottom in their own way.

Our trip back east last month was very difficult. Our trips back can be difficult to a degree, but the ones in hindsight don’t even qualify being deemed difficult in contrast to this past visit.

How much detail shall I go into here? How many stories should I share? Should I share any at all? That is why I’m here, isn’t it? But how much do I need to tell to get it out of my system? To wrap my mind around it? To get it off my chest? It’s up to me. And I don’t even know.

And I think I will leave things at that for now.

She was hospitalized and went to rehab several times after this entry in 2009, up until her death. It was an ugly downward spiral. She died May 7, 2015.


This morning I went running with my trail running group. We did a leisurely 4.3 miles in about an hour. The weather is the perfect fall temperature right now.

The rest of the day was spent catching up with some cleaning around the house, keeping an eye on my two-year-old, and doing some reading (when said two-year-old napped). Oh, and cooking, of course.

Twenty-five days strong today.


I love putting that sticker on every day I get through and seeing the calendar populate with festive little reminders of what I’m accomplishing every day. It may be juvenile, but it works. And if it works, who cares!