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Being back in the land of my childhood has always felt a little strange, ever since I packed up the little green Saturn passed down from my dad and moved across the country for my first post-college journalism job in the spring of 2000.

This is what happens to all adults, right? The whole “you can’t go home again” thing? Your idea of a sacred place, and the people in it, seems to stay stuck in time, clouded by a mist of nostalgia, and it never quite matches the reality of your experience as you continue to grow, change, evolve.

This is not a bad thing, though it drudges up some difficult emotions. Growth and change are supposed to happen. Life is evolution, whether we like it or not. There are seasons we weather, lessons we learn, stuff we lose, other stuff we gain, and our perspective shifts based on what we’ve seen/heard/done on our journey after we “launch.”

Reconciling the past and present in your head and heart is never easy. Try doing it as a 45-year-old recovering alcoholic and graduate student. 😳

“Home” is an entirely different, bittersweet Bizarro World for me, now that I’m experiencing it at four years sober.

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In late June, I wrapped up the second year of my three-year Counseling Psychology grad program and Month 6 of the mandatory internship that morphed into a part-time job as a real-life drug and alcohol therapist. I took a much-needed week off so my husband and I could head west on our annual July 4 junket from Philly to Chicagoland to visit my family of origin.

Friday, July 7, was both our last day in town and the fourth anniversary of my last drink.

That absolutely perfect coin you see up above was a gift from Hubby, who placed it next to my pillow so I’d find it when I woke up at my usual ungodly hour (awww…my little recovery fairy! 💗🧚🏼‍♂️🪙)

Below is me celebrating my milestone on the previous afternoon, by happily guzzling a bottle of water at the Cubs-Brewers game in Milwaukee.

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This scene alone is evidence of great transformation — not only am I drinking water, but I’m smiling after seeing the Cubs lose for the second time on our trip — and if you accompanied me to a sporting event between the ages of 19 and 41, you understand why. You also probably recognize that hat, considering I’ve had it since 1997, but I digress…

I was one of those people who always had some kind of boozy beverage in hand — probably both hands — from the moment I entered the stadium until the vendors announced last call. And let’s not kid ourselves: I was drinking in the parking lot for at least an hour prior to that, and probably for a good while in my living room before we even left for the park.

You might be able to get away with repeating that routine over and over in the stupidity of youth, but it gets pretty problematic for a middle-aged woman with serious moderation and emotional regulation issues. 😐

I legitimately thought I needed to be drunk to enjoy myself at any kind of social outing — particularly ones where drinking was the norm — so I was a basket case the first few times I ventured out to a baseball game as a newly sober pup. You might remember that I started keeping score as a way of keeping my anxious mind and idle hands busy, and that’s a tradition that still lives on today.

I can honestly say, with a heart so full it could burst and eyes welled to the brim with tears, that I’m significantly less anxious in Year 4 than I was in Year 1.

Maybe it’s that I’m more hydrated. Water is legit becoming my beverage of choice these days, as I turn into a boring old lady learn to actually connect with and listen to my body, and I barely even notice, much less covet, what other people around me are drinking. 😳

Or maybe I really did reach a turning point somewhere in the past six months. Maybe those “promises” they talk about in 12-step circles really do come true if you stay the course and give it time!

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Vacations to Chicago almost always include Cubs games. This one had two: a soggy evening at Wrigley Field and a hot, sweaty afternoon at (checks notes) American Family Field. I mixed score-keeping in with dancing and playing Taboo — we were in a suite, and it was a long rain delay — with my two younger sisters and their kids, and talking and laughing with my parents and brothers-in-law.

I also spent some quality time with my 90-year-old great aunt, who’s been like a second mom to me all my life and was one of my biggest supporters when I played sports. She collected and saved all my newspaper clippings when I went on to become a sports writer.

She still reads this blog faithfully (hi, Auntie Mick! 👋🏻) and sends the occasional note of support via snail mail to mark my sober milestones. Here are a few examples:

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Now that my life has taken a few twists and turns, landing me in a completely different place personally and professionally, and my passions have shifted from the realm of balls and strikes to the world of mental health and addiction, it’s an intriguing study in sociology to see how family members react to “the new me.” It’s interesting to assess how my adult version fits within the old family system.

It’s both painful and beautiful to feel your blood relationships changing. Some get closer than you thought was possible, turning into cherished friendships, while others grow more distant as the common ground between you continues to shrink.

It’s both liberating and frightening to realize that the people you considered infallible authority figures are really just flawed human beings the same as you, and YOU are the only (Earthly) authority you must answer to.

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I feel like any recovering addict who’s lucky enough to have an intact family on the other side of drugs and alcohol — and make no mistake: I am one lucky girl! — goes through this process. It’s even more dramatic when you’re enrolled in a grad school program focused on social justice, which challenges everything you grew up believing about yourself, the world, and your place in it. Plus, becoming a therapist means opening and expanding your heart and mind in ways you never dreamed you would!

As you change, mentally, physically, emotionally and spiritually, you naturally begin to question customs and buck tradition. Your transformation strains the safety and security of sameness that can be such a staple of family life.

That process is difficult for all involved, and you just have to accept that not everyone is gonna jump on your recovery/personal growth bandwagon. Some folks will always be more comfortable keeping addiction, mental illness, or any “unpleasant” topic swept under the rug as dirty little secrets — and keeping you in the neat little box of who they thought you were/wanted you to be.

“Expectations are resentments waiting to happen,” as they say in AA. I’m learning that recovery requires letting other people be whoever and wherever they are, not expecting them to say/do/be anything else, and positioning yourself accordingly. And maybe that means backing away. Recovery requires letting go of others’ baggage so you can focus on making peace with yourself…which ultimately will radiate more peace out into the world.

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At four years sober, I can honestly say I feel more at peace with myself, more comfortable in my own skin, than I ever felt before. But I’m still a work in progress. I still slip into a hot tub to relax on a vacation and immediately think: DRINK, mentally reaching for a long-necked bottle from the cup holder like I’m trying to stroke a phantom limb. And when I realize, “No, you don’t do that anymore…” it hurts.

I’m still figuring out exactly how the woman I am today squares with the girl who left home and moved away more than two decades ago. That, at times, hurts too.

The greatest gift of recovery is knowing that it’s OK, even necessary, to feel that pain. Because enduring, rather than escaping, life’s pain enables you to feel the greatest pleasures.

In four years of sobriety, I’ve learned that I can experience joy without being intoxicated. I can be still without instinctively grabbing onto the nearest distraction and be around people without immediately plotting a quick escape. (well, OK, I’m still working on those 😉). Participating in life doesn’t have to be a huge f*cking problem. Paying attention isn’t always so g-d painful.

A baseball game can end badly for the team on the field and still be a huge “W” in my book! I feel like that realization alone should earn me my Mature Adult Card, once and for all. 🤣

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Things are most definitely different now than they were at this time in 2019 — and 2000, for that matter — and thank goodness for that! Getting sober, going back to school in mid-life, and entering a helping profession in troubled times has shaken my world to its core. It has forced me to grow and change, and it hasn’t always been pretty. It’s also given me purpose, which imbues my life with a meaning it didn’t have when I was sleepwalking through my youth. It fills me with hope that whatever comes, I have what it takes inside me, and my support system, to handle it.

Contrast that with four years ago, when I thought I needed alcohol to handle everything, and that’s what recovery is all about. It’s growing up, coming into your own, finding — and starting to finally follow — your internal compass, so that wherever you travel and whomever you encounter, you always feel at home.

Amazing how not being drunk makes navigating your way through life a whole lot easier. 😉