“Bring it in; I need something for the blog!” I directed Hubby as I pulled out my phone, flipped the camera and “cheesed” with the souvenir cup of Coke Zero he had just brought me from a Wrigley Field concession stand.
This was a few days before my 5-year sober anniversary, and true to form, my brain was whirring away, jumping ahead, scheming and plotting and writing checks it was far too cluttered and chaotic to actually cash.
Case in point: It’s two weeks later, and I can’t even type one paragraph without my own words sidetracking me off onto a random tangent. 🧠🔃
There’s a lot going on right now with my transition from the Class of 2024 to working as a full-time therapist in a private group practice, which is turning out to be equal parts “dream job” and “be careful what you wish for,” in the sense that great freedom brings great Imposter Syndrome. Cutting through all the anxiety to form coherent thoughts, much less sitting down to craft them into sentences, much less imbuing those sentences with wisdom, is proving exceedingly difficult as of late. 😰
So…this post might be all over the place and not have much of a point, other than to commemorate two momentous occasions: the aforementioned sober milestone (July 7) and Hubby’s and my 17th wedding anniversary (July 21). I feel like…and this is totally not a copout just because I’m lazy….these events are so meaningful that they really defy the English language.
Too bad I don’t speak High Valyrian.
Gotta love those rare moments of levity in a (very very) mad world! I must admit that I still struggle to “lighten up” after five whole years without alcohol. Why else would I choose to unwind on a summer’s day by cozying up in a dark corner of the George R.R. Martin universe, where an episode without at least one beheading is considered a dull affair — and it’s a blessed day when the character getting de-capped isn’t lying in a crib. 😳
At the very least, I have learned to put Cubs games in proper perspective.
I feel like I’ve written the same thing every year around this time, because every year around this time, my husband and I travel out to Chicago to visit my childhood home. And sitting together at Wrigley, chilling with jumbo sodas and an old-school scorecard and not really caring about the outcome on the field (at least in my case), it just naturally makes me contemplate how much I’ve — we’ve — evolved since the summer of 2019.
Reflecting on the gifts of recovery never gets old, even as living sober starts to become old hat. It’s important to remember what sickness felt like so I never lose the motivation to stay well.
After years of booze-fueled obnoxiousness in baseball stadiums all over the country — did I ever tell you about the time I almost fought some lady in the stands at PNC Park, or the time I stormed off and ditched my friend at the game because I “was so pissed the Cubs were losing” (read: was drunk beyond all capacity for reason)? Come to think of it, that was also at PNC Park, and it might actually have been the same time. 🤔 — I can confidently say that those kinds of embarrassing childish antics are not me, anymore. It only took ’til age 41 to be able to say that, but still…
Today, I’m a partner in an adult relationship who keeps her impulses in check (for the most part!) and takes responsibility for her own behavior.
Maturity comes from hanging in when life gets painful and figuring out how to handle that pain. Use booze to continually avoid or numb it, and you never learn. From my early 20s before I even met my hubby until my late 30s when we’d been married 10+ years, I saw any social outing as an excuse to go HAM on whatever hard beverages I could get my hands on. I never had an “off” switch, so I’d either devolve into a volatile brat he had to babysit, or a loose cannon ready to blow up his night at any second. He couldn’t relax, never knowing if things would be OK or if he’d have to, once again, put out one of my fires.
When I picked up that first drink, it was like a Targaryen being born. The gods flip a coin.
Sometimes, it was OK, in the sense that I just got sloppy or sleepy and didn’t burn anything down. So the cycle continued. Another day, another changing of subjects when Hubby brought up my drinking or suggested we try a different dance. I was functional! I had never lost a job (at that point…) I deserved to “blow off steam!” Everything was fine! 🙄 Again and again, whether our date night was a sporting event or dinner down the street, I would say “f*ck it” to responsibility and restraint, sticking him with the burden of keeping us safe and getting us home.
It’s a hard pill to swallow, even now: the truth of what I was. It’s a miracle, having the chance to face it, own it, atone for it. To catch myself in free fall before everything fell apart. Hubby gave me that chance, stuck around to support me while I climbed out of the hole, then took my hand and walked with me down this new path we now share.
Any long-term marriage needs to evolve to survive. I’m confident in saying we’ll both be eternally grateful for the pain that nearly broke us before it forced us to grow.
It brought us here, where recovery is a matter of routine. A lifestyle. Each of us stepping up to the plate and taking care of our own shit so the other can do the same. Which means we both can go out and have a good time together.
And we do! See?
Being back in Chicagoland at 46, when I haven’t lived there since 22, can be really challenging. It’s “home base” for all the systems (family, education, religion, class, culture) that shaped a past version of me, a girl I’m still trying to make peace with but also break free from, to both integrate and outgrow.
My therapist has asked me every year since I started seeing her, back in 2019 right after I quit drinking, why I keep choosing to spend my sober “birthdays” in my old neighborhood with my family of origin, when that environment seems to whip up such a maelstrom of mixed emotions, and I always come back from the trip a little off-kilter. This year, given the latest job transition, maybe a lot.
Could be she’s tired of hearing me repeat myself. And you might be, too, if you’ve been around for a few of these anniversaries and the posts have all sounded similar or made the same basic point. I guess every big milestone brings me back to the fundamental truths of addiction and recovery, and those never change, no matter how much we feel like we’ve evolved.
Getting honest, getting out of your cluttered, chaotic head where anxiety schemes (and plots!) to keep you stuck, getting into the habit of serving someone/something other than yourself, and letting go of outcomes because they’re really beyond your control…that’s a pretty good recipe for a peaceful life and a strong partnership!
Unlike back in my drinking days, when doing the same thing over and over was insanity at its worst, now that my consistent sober practices have molded me into a more balanced, mature person and much better wife, I can deal with repetition because I don’t want different results.
Jen Wielgus Journalism 