I’ve been sober for 500 days, y’all! It feels surreal sometimes. There are moments when I still feel like that 20-something party girl who was dancing on bars and taking body shots off of strangers. I have moments where I ask myself, “Am I really a sober blogger?!?!”. Yes I am! And I fucking love it. While recovery has its ups and downs, I’m grateful for it every single day. These 500 days have been full of happiness, heartbreak, anger, new adventures, and personal growth. Here’s 5 of my recent favorites memories in my first 500 Days of Sobriety:
Tag: Texas
Back in my party girl days (years), I went to a few concerts. Dozens. 100+ actually. I loved getting drunk and singing along with my favorite musicians. I’d think to myself “OMG! Mick Jagger is like…right there!” Or when I was stoned I’d think “Man…I’m breathing the same air as Dylan”. While my passion has always been rock n roll, my taste in live music has ranged from Hanson to Britney Spears to No Doubt to Pat Green to Velvet Revolver to Lady Gaga to Snoop Dogg. One time I found myself barefoot in the mosh pit of a Limp Bizkit concert during “Break Stuff”. I eventually got elbowed in the face and decided to go back to head-banging in the comfort of my friends. And beer.
There was something about being around live music that made me feel alive. And by “alive” I mean “intoxicated”. I’d drink before, during, and after each concert. Since the lines for drinks were so long I’d often order two beers at once, proudly “double fisting”. Depending on what artist I was seeing I’d throw weed or coke in the mix, too. I’d get so drunk/high that I could barely remember the actual shows. I’d forget the songs they played, the people I met, and how I got home. Apparently “feeling alive” meant feeling nothing at all.
To live a sober life I had to change certain aspects of my lifestyle. Throughout all of these positive changes, something felt like it was missing. Drinking tea and reading books and laying low and avoiding bars was nice, but I wanted to feel the way I felt when I was at a concert. Ya know..that “aliveness”. That rush of live entertainment. Then I found Broadway.
My first Broadway experience was three months into recovery. I saw Misery in the Winter of 2015. I tried to suppress my starstruck groupie instincts, but it was tough. OMG! Laurie Metcalf and Bruce Willis are like….right there! I absolutely loved it.
Many of the things I loved about concerts (live entertainment, flashy performances, elaborate costumes, sharing a room with famous people) were available to me in a brand new way. Shortly after Misery, I saw Blackbird. OMG! Michelle Williams! Then Fully Committed. OMG! Jesse Tyler Ferguson! I found my new, safe addiction: live theater.
After seeing a few plays, I was ready to see a musical. OK, I’m lying. I was actually scared to see a musical (Yes, I’m serious). Even though I loved The Sound of Music, Grease, and Across the Universe, I didn’t think I was smart enough to follow a live storyline that randomly broke out into song. Insecurities are sooooo fun. I eventually got over myself and challenged that voice in my head telling me I was stupid.
For my birthday a few months ago, my aunt took me to see Wicked. I was excited to pop my musical cherry while simultaneously seeing my buddy/former co-worker Michael playing Fiyero, the male lead. After the show, he gave us a tour backstage. A few weeks later, I saw The Color Purple. Then Kinky Boots. Then School of Rock. And this week I saw Sunday in the Park with George. OMG! Jake Gyllenhaal!
I still go to concerts, just not as much as I used to. It’s hard for me to be in that setting and not feel tempted to drink alcohol. I find attending Broadway shows to be safe and relatively trigger-free because it’s a new activity I embraced in my recovery. I don’t have memories of being wasted at a Broadway show; I’ve only known it sober. Nobody’s shoving one another to get a better view. Beer isn’t spilled on my shoes. Joints aren’t being passed through the audience. At concerts, I’d bond with my friends over shots and beers and screaming the words to songs we loved. At a Broadway show, I bond with friends in silent appreciation of live theater.
The magic created on Broadway has opened my eyes to a world I knew nothing about. Growing up in a small Texas town, theater wasn’t discussed too often. I was in choir in 5th grade and I loved it. Then I learned it wasn’t “cool”, so I didn’t pursue it the following year. Kids at school made fun of anyone who was in theater, choir, or band. So instead of doing what made me happy, I joined the bullies. I just wanted to be part of something.
It bugs me that my relationship with alcohol has somewhat ruined my relationship with live music, but it is what it is. Sobriety has taught me that it’s OK to be less Sex, Drugs, Rock n Roll and more School of Rock. And that f*&%ing rocks.
When I was struggling with admitting the truth about my drinking problem, I spent a lot of time in a magical place called Denial. It was a diverse, overpopulated place filled with delusion, ignorance, and fear. I didn’t just camp out there, I moved in. I paid rent. I unpacked. I decorated. Living years in denial was expensive. Financially. Emotionally. Mentally. And physically. I lied to myself daily. I told myself that I was fine. I told myself that I was happy. The thought of addressing my drinking problem, giving up alcohol, and living a life without booze sounded next to impossible.
I didn’t know anyone who was sober. All I knew about sobriety was what I saw on TV or in movies: someone who’s lost everything and they have to go to AA to rebuild their lives. I told myself that I wasn’t one of “those” people. It was nice to pretend that everything was fine and that I had a healthy relationship with alcohol. That was a big fat lie. Here’s a few other lies I told myself so I could keep drinking…
Stoner Liberal to Binge Drinking Conservative to Sober Democrat
For nearly 15 years, I self-medicated my depression and anxiety with drugs and alcohol. While dealing with the narcissism of depression and the side effects of substance abuse, I was too self-absorbed to empathize with anyone’s problems that didn’t directly involve me. That included my family, friends, and especially politics. Now that I’m almost a year sober, my growth as a person has amplified my political awareness. I always kind of knew who I was politically, but I was easily swayed into other camps - just like I was easily swayed by any drug or drink that crossed my path.
[The full article is published on The Huffington Post. Read the full piece here.]
Copy Editor: Alisson Wood
The photo above is me passed out in the grass at 3am. I was 27 years old. While I don’t remember anything about the celebrations from that night, I remember telling myself that I “needed to celebrate” being back home after a 3 day weekend in LA. I blacked out completely. I somehow ended up in my front yard. I vaguely remember my roommates picking me up and carrying me to my bed. We laughed about it the next morning. One of my roommates sent me this photo and I posted it on Facebook because being a party girl was, like, soooooo cute. I continued to drink this way for two more years.
Some would argue that being a party girl (or boy) is never cute and I’m sure they have valid reasons for that. I would argue that - in moderation - there’s nothing wrong with having a phase in your life where you have a few too many drinks on the regular, act silly with your friends, and hook up with someone you barely know… as long as you’re safe about it. Yes, you read that correctly. This sober woman supports others getting drunk, safely. My toxic relationship with alcohol has nothing to do with other people’s relationship with alcohol.
My body was clearly giving me signs that the party girl lifestyle wasn’t for me anymore. These are some of the red flags I ignored for years, and wish I hadn’t:
Back in my fitness instructor days, my Instagram account proudly endorsed the #eatclean movement to the point of annoyance. I, like many other fitness professionals, thought that this hashtag would inspire people to make nutritious food choices. While it may have inspired some, I’m finally realizing that using phrases like “eat clean” could be down right insensitive and borderline damaging.
In case you missed my last post, I recently participated in Scare Your Soul, a challenge that encourages you to live outside of your comfort zone for 3 days. On day 1 & 2, I tackled my body image issues. I wanted day 3 to remain on the same body positivity path, but I was stumped as to how to go about it. My roomie / editor, Alisson, suggested that my third and final challenge should be eating processed foods for a day, every meal. I cringed and said “Nope. No way. There’s no way I can do that”. Then I realized that’s exactly what I needed to do. She encouraged me to do this because she thinks I’ve become a pretentious food snob (this is how we talk to each other, we’re very close) who only eats artisanal, organic, hipster foods. She suggested that maybe eating like I used to will remind me where I came from, and get me back in touch with my roots.
Feedback taken.
Challenge accepted. Let’s eat dirty.
It was the summer of 2009. I was 24, living with my at-the-time boyfriend and bartending full time at a fine dining restaurant in Waco, Texas. I was in my own delusional drunken world, unaware of anything that was going on around me - unless it directly affected me.
That July, a group of seven sort-of friends met in Houston, Texas to celebrate their mutual friend’s Bachelorette party. Each of us rocked heels, dresses, and clutches as we frantically texted from our Blackberries. After a sushi dinner with lychee martinis, we got into a limo and sipped champagne. The maid of honor gave each of us a pink, zebra-print mask with a sassy adjective. I screamed and begged for the one that said “Wild”. I got it.
I was worried about being sober at a wedding, especially in my hometown where I spent half of my life in a drunken haze. My former self saw weddings as a guaranteed path to intoxication and finding a hook up. Everyone else is going to be hammered, you can be, too! Make sure you get a bottle of Jack Daniels in case the reception is beer and wine only. Oooh…we can pre-game with the whiskey!
While most of my blog posts are written for a general audience, this one is specifically written with people in recovery in mind. Here’s a list of tips for attending a wedding sans booze:
I have an addictive personality. I don’t just like something…I LOOOOOVE something. And I want everyone to love it, too. I’ve been told that my excitement can come across as pushy, aggressive, and judgmental at times, so I’ve been working on scaling that back a bit. But to be completely honest, I’ve been “working on” a lot. From being more vulnerable to being less judgmental to communicating more clearly to improving my running pace to having a flatter stomach to writing more often to being a better listener to eating less sugar to blah blah blah. You get the idea. It’s f***ing exhausting and I don’t know how to give myself a break.
This Mother’s Day, I decided to celebrate it in a unique way: by having my mom interview me. This all started when Mom mentioned that even though she reads my blog, she still has some questions about my issues with alcohol.
I’m an only child and she raised me as a single mom, so we developed a very tight bond. We are more like sisters than mother and daughter. From politics to religion to health to dating to sex, no topic has ever been off limits. She even bought me my first vibrator when I was in high school. She wanted me to know that despite what society projects, there is nothing wrong with female sexuality. She raised me in a progressive household, creating an interesting juxtaposition in a predominantly conservative community of Waco, Texas.
The following conversation took place on a drive from Waco to The Woodlands. We discussed addiction, feminism, homosexuality, Texas conservatives, and much more…
Mom: Do you think you’ll ever drink again?
SobrieTea Party: I would love to be able to have a beer, but one drink could lead me to internally justifying a night of partying with my friends. I don’t want to risk that.