47

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It’s fun having my real birthday and sober birthday on the same day — of the month, not the actual date— because it gives me an extra excuse to treat myself.

Not that I need any excuse. I’m pretty spoiled, y’all, though like most humans, I sometimes get mired in the uncomfortable business of being human in a capitalist dystopia and lose sight of my big, beautiful and immensely privileged picture. I ignore the abundant gifts surrounding me and slip out of “an attitude of gratitude” into the scarcity mindset that consumer culture loves to perpetuate and exploit for profit. Shoot, look at the pic I chose to open this post!

If I haven’t mentioned it 70 times already — that’s my tally of sober months as of April 7, 2025 — quitting drinking absolutely opened the door to “building a life I don’t want to escape from,” but it did not totally stop me from self-medicating anxiety/depression/stress or stuffing my feelings with other obsessions/compulsions.

Will it ever? The 47th anniversary of my first appearance on Earth finds me addicted to sugar, exercise, online shopping, social media, sleep, self-isolation (and, as always, alliteration 🤣)….

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I’m giving myself some grace in not acting completely “grown-up,” though. I don’t know how anyone who cares about anything can live in this f*cked-up sociopolitical climate, amid the unsettled weather of a changing season, and be expected to go about “business as usual” without grabbing onto an occasional “quick fix” to soothe, numb, quiet the noise…whatever it takes to keep on moving.

It’s like Chappell Roan sings in her popular song “Good Luck Babe,” which I just recently discovered, because being 47 with a satellite radio subscription means total immersion in 90s grunge, or 70s/80s yacht, rock (and Dateline NBC): “You’d have to stop the world just to stop the feeling.”

I can’t, as much as I might want to. I’ll never be someone who doesn’t care and doesn’t feel. Heaven knows I spent decades of my life trying to be both, but nowadays, I’m sober and a therapist (still feels weird to say!) so that ship has officially sailed.

I’m also a partner, growing old with my best friend here in a cozy little townhouse filled with creature comforts, from Yankee candles and value bags of candy to flavored coffees, smoothie mixes and specialty mocktails, to the Mt. Fuji, Harvest or Jules takeout “linners” spent watching “The Pitt” or “White Lotus” before falling asleep on the couch.

⚠️ BTW, bad idea combining an ER drama with food; it’ll turn your stomach AND trigger your tear ducts/snot faucet‼️

Caring can be dangerous, but it’s my duty, in the office and at home. If I’m gonna be “good” at playing either of my responsible adult roles, I will always have to work hard to keep my inner addict from running amok.

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I had the opportunity to tell my recovery story at a local treatment center on MLB Opening Day (thus the reemergence of the Nick Castellanos Obvious tee you see above). This was both empowering and humbling, because it made me realize how f^cking blessed I am to have been granted a fresh start before I went and blew up my entire life. Make no mistake: that’s where every alcoholic’s road is heading, unless death finds them first.

“I don’t deserve these gifts based on what I did in the past,” I told the group, “but I can try to be worthy of them with every thing I do today.”

I came into this world on April 7, 1978, was effectively reborn on July 7, 2019, and in the past 5.8 years, I have been able to regroup, reroute and chart an entirely new course that feels meaningful and keeps me hopeful. I’ve also received some lucky breaks and been supported/uplifted by others, all along the way.

I’m here now, thanks to a combination of good fortune and intentional action (which sometimes means stopping to rest!) When I move forward, it’s with an overall openness to what the universe is trying to tell me, and a willingness to keep “putting myself out there” and seeing what happens — even though sometimes “what happens” is extremely painful.

At this advanced age, I think I finally grasp that the pain is inevitable. The only way to avoid it is to stop living.

The Buddhists know what I’m talkin’ about.

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Rumi wrote: “When you start to walk on the way, the way appears.” That sums up my experience in recovery; after setting down my last drink and taking the first step into a sober life, then proceeding one day at a time through fear and doubt, it seemed like the journey just naturally unfolded. Like most folks who ride their demons into the darkest pits of despair and somehow make it back to the light (probably via some 12-step exposure and therapy), I emerged from addiction wanting to make myself useful to humanity.

Walking that path has not been easy, or comfortable, or straightforward, or…always fun. Going to work full-time in a helping profession has been a total game-changer, driving me to the edge of what I can personally handle as a highly-sensitive girl (calling myself a woman still feels strange! 🤷🏼‍♀️)

This work is heavy and hard, and there are no definite answers to what’s going on with people or how to help them, and the “results” we get from all the brainpower, heart and soul we pour into each interaction are rarely cut-and-dried or clear to see.

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Maybe this is my attempt to explain to all my loved ones why I seemingly went dark after the holidays, failing to return texts and calls or engage in any discourse about the new baseball season. I guess I lack the capacity to manage all the swirling thoughts and raw emotions I’m carrying, without draining all the juice from my social battery. At the end of each day, I’m just done, and tomorrow always comes too fast to feel recharged.

I can promise I am trying to use my big adult coping skills. I recently discovered a great trick for getting through the not-so-fun times: reframing difficult events, challenging circumstances and seemingly negative outcomes as life happening for me, not to me.

It’s tough; the point is not to spray perfume on bad shit or deny pain to chase pleasure. It’s to change my perspective. To see rejection as redirection, take closed doors as an invitation to go open a window and air it out.

Opportunities are abundant; they don’t always arrive in the same forms or follow any kind of schedule, and you have to start walking for that path to appear.

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I hate to say that “clean living” has become “old hat” over here, but one of the great gifts of sobriety is not having to want, or even think about, a drink. Another one is embracing, rather than trying to deny, your cheesy, cringey, middle-aged authentic self and the no-frills, low-maintenance, relatively quiet and simple life you prefer to lead.

It’s such a privilege to be able to lean into who I really am and not feel like I need to apologize. It’s such a blessing to be 47 and healthy, with a healed liver, strong heart and lungs — and dare I say, a youthful glow that’s 100% au naturel? 😉 I am SO grateful for all of it; let me never take this life for granted!

Check me out, chilling on the deck in my birthday suit — I mean that I treated myself to a brand new swimsuit for my birthday…you just can’t see it in the pic 😂 — with my current favorite “beach day” beverage.

The world may actually stop, the way we’re headed, before I make it to the end of my path. Thank goodness I’m done trying to stop the feeling, because at least now, when it’s over, I’ll say I tasted true happiness.