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sober lifestyle

Reinforcement

jenwielgusjournalism

“If I want to stay married, I’ve got to stay quit.”

The words shot out of my mouth like a knee-jerk reaction. No idea where they came from. But that’s what I said to the new chiropractor I visited yesterday when the topic of alcohol came up.

I’m not exactly sure how my “NO” writ large on the intake form turned into a conversation — do all back specialists ask new patients if they smoke and drink? This one did! — but somehow, I learned that this guy had given up booze for three years and “hated it,” so he “picked up” again. He assured me he was “good now” with alcohol back in his life.

My quick comeback surprised me. Even after 2 1/2 years sober, I’m still quite green when it comes to discussions of drinking in social situations. I’m unpracticed in talking about alcohol anywhere outside the safe bubble of recovery meetings, family gatherings, therapy sessions or grad school classes.

And yet, what I said was perfect. Succinct, 100% accurate, but not overly revealing. I thought about the entire experience on the way home from the appointment — one of many to come as I try to take care of an out-of-whack SI joint that’s making my life miserable — and my mind wiggled down a rabbit hole.

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sober lifestyle

Compassion

jenwielgusjournalism
Source: @centerformindfulselfcompassion on Instagram.

RRRRRIIIIIIIIPPPPPP.

A tearing sensation snaked up the right side of my back as I yanked the handle of the rower toward my midsection, and I instantly knew: I was done…probably for a good long while. I released the chain with a snap and toppled stiffly from the seat to the floor, as the digital timer ticked down the final seconds of my workout.

Tears filled my eyes. One thought consumed my brain.

WHAT. THE. FUCK.

I’d just spent almost two months nursing a pulled hamstring, reluctantly ramping down my exercise routine to easy walks and modified yoga, with occasional light rowing and ultra-light lifting. Over a Christmas trip to Illinois, I pushed a little, and was elated to make it around the flat terrain of my childhood hometown in a slow jog, without incident. My patience was paying off!

And now, this. Something worse. A jacked-up back that basically rendered my entire body useless.

OK, universe! I surrender! I’m listening! What exactly are you trying to teach me?!?!

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sober lifestyle

Repetition

jenwielgusjournalism

Turns out, the original title I had in mind for this post wasn’t original; the above excerpt is from one of my earliest entries in this sober saga, which is now, officially, 30 MONTHS long.

I don’t repeat headlines, but everything else in my life is one big rigid, predictable routine. From yoga and brisk walks in the early morning to fruit smoothies and honey vanilla chamomile tea in the late afternoon, to a few Tootsie pops and melatonin gummies before bed at sunset, every creature comfort a creature of habit could ask for is part of my daily procedure.

I won’t bore you with the details of my full meal plan, but trust me: It’s the same. Every. Day.

What can I say? I’m a highly sensitive girl, and giving up alcohol in some of the most topsy turvy times our society has ever seen, while going through a job transition and going back to school, is not something I’m equipped to handle completely naked. That is, without some kind of security blanket.

The most important thing: After 2 1/2 years of “one-day-at-a-time”-ing it, over and over again, not drinking has become as much of a ritual as drinking once was.

Halle-f*cking-lujah for the hard death of old habits…and the steadfast adherence to new ones! 🥳

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sober lifestyle

Power

jenwielgusjournalism
Setting out from my childhood home at 4AM Central, headed on a 12-hour drive across three states and a time zone, to the place I call home now.

Predictably, the drive from Chicago to Philly — which my hubby and I did Thursday in one fell swoop — knocked me flat on my ass. Every time we travel out to visit my family, the journey there is one big jolly sing-a-long, and the return trip seems like a never-ending chore.

So, it was noon when I finally dragged my body off the couch and away from the New Year’s Eve “Twilight Zone” marathon on SyFy, and went for a walk in the park.

No matter how lethargic and unmotivated I might feel, fresh air and movement never fail to give my brain a much-needed boost. I do my best thinking on the trails at Tyler State Park.

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sober lifestyle

Impermanence

jenwielgusjournalism

I stirred up some holiday spirit the other day by popping a beloved Christmas classic into my DVD player.

You know, the one where it finally dawns on a guy that his parents were burglars, and his childhood tradition of visiting neighbors’ houses to gleefully unwrap Cabbage Patch Kids, talking robots and other hot 80s toys was actually a criminal enterprise? And another guy realizes that the string of Santas who showed up at his door on Christmas morning, bearing such useful (and intoxicating) gifts as a jar of rubber cement, were really Johns looking for a “date” with his mom? 🤣

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graduate school, sober lifestyle

Perfectionism

jenwielgusjournalism

The professors made it clear: Even though they’re given a 1-to-5 scale to evaluate student performance in each semester of DelVal’s Counseling Psychology grad program, getting a 3 is the actual goal. That rating is labeled “Adequate” on the official form, but it means you’re A-OK. You’re on the right track, exactly where you need to be.

In fact, if an instructor wants to give you anything higher (better) or lower (worse), they’re required to include additional comments that explain why.

If that sounds fair, reasonable, acceptable…I envy your level-headed perspective.

I’ve spent my whole life chasing 5’s, and telling me I’m “Adequate” sets off short-circuits in my head.

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sober lifestyle

Turbulence

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I interviewed my first freelance client last Friday around lunchtime — after filling out 100+ mind-numbing applications for content/copywriter positions and sitting on hold with unemployment for two months, to no avail, I figured it was time to take matters into my own hands — and after a quick trip to the local tree farm with my husband to snag a Fraser fir, I was sitting down to an early-dinner splurge on Jules Thin Crust pizza, when by sheer force of habit …(deep breath)…I opened the email app on my phone.

Two hours left in the work week, and out of the blue, I had TWO job offers flooding my inbox.

Neither was ideal, but still…🤯

Up until that point, it had been radio silence, with an occasional sprinkle of rejection, nonstop since early October. I was so thrown off by this sudden avalanche of opportunity that before I knew what was happening, I had housed my half of the pizza — and then some — in less than 15 minutes.

Free advice: if you’re an Highly Sensitive Person with anxiety issues and an all-or-nothing personality, never check your phone while eating. 🤢

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sober lifestyle

Holiday

jenwielgusjournalism

I’ve started to get a “Twilight Zone”-esque vibe from this blog, where every time I write about being happy about something, it immediately goes all to 💩.

It’s like the classic episode — aren’t they all classic episodes? — where the husband-wife grifter team finds that old instant camera, and when they take a picture in the moment, it shows them what’s going to happen in the future. And most of what the camera foretells, with the (temporary) exception of predicting winners at the horse track, ain’t good.

You thought my 90s references were bad. This TZ episode aired in 1960.

No sooner did I start gushing about my newfound love of running, to the point that I was impulse-blogging from the running trail in a state of exercise-induced euphoria, that my hamstring decided to snap. Just one week after the aforementioned blog outburst, I drove all the way over to Yardley on a beautiful Sunday morning, gulping my usual turbo-charged pre-workout drink as I mentally prepped for a 6-miler, and when I got to the canal path and my feet went to push off toward Washington Crossing…

🏃‍♀️🧨💥☠️

Two weeks later, that hamstring still strenuously objects every time I move. 😩

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