July was so good! Maybe 6 drinking days total. Then August has been shitsville. 5 days sober so far.
So many thoughts to dump out of this brain.
I’m not drinking today. I KNOW that Wolfie (my addictive voice, named a la the sober coach Belle Robertson) is going to come at me hard and strong and ask me what’s the harm in kicking my sober day 0 down the calendar one more time?
Problem is, Wolfie is a lying son of a gun. Actually, I feel sometimes like it’s disingenuous to believe him to be some nasty creature bent on my destruction. I much prefer to think of him (her?) as my anxious little ego, not wanting to change because change is scary as fuck. Change requires effort and discomfort and being ok with it all not being ok for a while. Change means leaving my comfortable norms (which aren’t that comfortable actually but at least they’re familiar). Wolfie doesn’t want me to change because Wolfie is anxious and scared.
So when Wolfie starts howling at 3 pm I’m going to say:
- No, Wolfie, I don’t need wine to relax. It actually makes me feel worse. I’m not buying any on my way home from work.
- No, Wolfie, wine isn’t my reward for a hard day. My reward is looking with clarity at the faces of my family and knowing that I’m giving them a better me. I’m not buying any wine tonight.
- No, Wolfie, I’m not just going to start tomorrow. I hate resetting my counter app. I hate waking up with shame and regret.
- Not today, Wolfie. Not fucking today.
I have built myself some strong and deep neuropathways and it’s going to take time to redirect them.
It will be uncomfortable, but that’s ok. I am learning to be okay with discomfort and to actually sit with it and look at it and start to understand it.
It will be hard but I CAN DO HARD THINGS.
Like Glennon Doyle says, I am a Goddamn cheetah. I am built to run. Wine is the fence holding me in.