Tag: alcohol

sober lifestyle

Pride

jenwielgusjournalism

Today, November 7, 2021, I celebrated 28 months of continuous sobriety by rising with the sun (“Fall Back”=Earlier Daylight=Much Happier Morning Person) and heading to the Delaware Canal towpath for a celebratory 5-mile (give or take a few feet) run.

Overcome with the euphoric combo of runner’s high and genuine pride at how far I’ve come, I snapped a pic at my end point to commemorate the occasion.

It might be my favorite self-portrait ever. I look so happy to be alive, and why wouldn’t I be?

Three years ago, at my lowest point, I legit did not want to go on living — like, I was pumped full of tequila and bawling out on my back deck, mere moments from calling the suicide hotline, but I called my mom instead, and together, we backed away from the ledge.

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sober lifestyle

Universality

jenwielgusjournalism
“…There is so much stigma around the word alcoholism or the label of an alcoholic. The real work that needed to be done in my life was to actually accept failure, pain, brokenness and self-sabotage…”

Source: @jessicasimpson on Instagram

Did you hear? Jessica Simpson is four years sober!

I would’ve had no clue, but my husband saw something about it on the news and told me I should go check out her revelatory Instagram post. He knows I don’t give a 💩 about celebrities under normal circumstances, but he’s seen me melt into a puddle whenever I learn someone else — anyone else, from Jon Snow to our server at a local restaurant — is in recovery. He figured I’d enjoy adding another name to my “You Are Not Alone” ledger.

Of course, he was right. I have an extra-mushy soft spot for all people who find the courage to be open, authentic and vulnerable, whether it’s in private or on full public blast, and to share their messy, imperfect humanity with the rest of us messy, imperfect humans.

All you folks with self-awareness who don’t take yourselves so seriously, you have a fan in me!

That includes you, Jessica Simps! 👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻

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graduate school, sober lifestyle

Compensation

jenwielgusjournalism

This week has been all about making up for lost time. I don’t know if one can actually do that, without injuring themselves…but dadgummit, I’m trying!

It’s like every moment I’m awake, I want to cram it to the brim with activities I enjoy. I want to take full advantage of my freedom and experience life on my terms!

So, I’ve basically been walking/running around Bucks County like a madwoman for days on end.

When I entered Tyler State Park on foot Friday afternoon, eyes fixed upward at the pure blue sky (when they should’ve been checking the path for those little round ankle-killers that fall from the trees 😬), I’d already run from Washington Crossing to Bowman’s Hill Tower on the canal path earlier that morning, then flowed through my usual yoga program on my deck shortly after breakfast. On Thursday, I walked in the park twice, in addition to working out in my basement and doing another hour of yoga. On Wednesday…

OK, Jen; they get the point. 🤐

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sober lifestyle

Regression

jenwielgusjournalism

I started weighing myself again.

This is dangerous territory, where someone like me typically dares not tread. I mean, for one, who wants to look at their gnarly, mutant, never-been-pedicured toes? And secondly, when you’ve struggled most of your life with body image issues, to the point of eating disorders and exercise addictions, knowing that number can…(understatement alert!) royally mess with your head.

And yet I marched into the bathroom last weekend and stepped up onto the dreaded measuring device — and into a substantial collection of dust — as if pulled by some irresistible, mystical force.

You know shit is 🤬-ed up when a former anorexic/bulimic starts seeking solace in the scale.

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graduate school, sober lifestyle

Education

jenwielgusjournalism

The last thing the professor asked us to do in our orientation session Thursday night was go around the room and share one word that described our feelings about the upcoming semester — our first as “Cohort 9” in Delaware Valley University’s three-year MA in Counseling Psychology program.

It’s actually my first as a student, period, since the start of this century. 😳

Anyway, the other noobs were like, “Nervous!” “Overstimulated!” “Ready!” And your trusty wordsmith over here blurted out… “Summit.”

It wasn’t an adjective (still isn’t, actually). It made no sense outside my own head. So, true to form, I took up more than my share of allotted time, explaining myself to the group.

All I could think about during the 3+-hour session was the slow climb to the top of the big drop on a roller coaster — clickety clickety clickety 😳 — and that crazy-making anticipation of the terrifying free fall to come — clickety clickety clickety 😰.

You can’t turn back. You can’t get out. You have no control whatsoever. And you know you’re going to get thrown completely, wildly, out of your comfort zone. 😱

I’m so afraid of this exact scenario that I rarely even go on those coasters.

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sober lifestyle

Reality

jenwielgusjournalism

I was “running” — I have to put it in quotes; that’s how far I’ve fallen from my own standards — so slow on Saturday morning that I was able to take the attached, crystal-clear picture in mid-stride.

Not sure if that’s a sufficient illustration of rock bottom, or if I should tell you about the time a few weeks ago, when I huffed and puffed my way to the top of a hill in the park, and I felt so awful that I stopped “running,” and doubled over and grabbed my knees. I was wheezing so loudly that a dude walking his dog stopped to ask if I was OK.

I’m not proud to admit that I took my frustration out on this poor Good Samaritan.

“I’m fine,” I snapped. “It’s hot out. And I’m not in good shape.”

I turned in a huff and started back down from whence I came, my descent mirroring the trajectory of my physical fitness over the past three months.

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sober lifestyle

Disenchantment

jenwielgusjournalism

My phone was buzzing away on Friday afternoon, but I was busy banging on a keyboard, finishing out my work week. And by the time 5 o’clock hit, I was so eager to get home and eat my Door Dash sushi, I barely glanced at the long string of texts my family had been firing into our group thread, as I…well, dashed out the door.

I didn’t see the news until this morning.

It’s probably a good thing that I’ve kept baseball beyond arm’s length over the past couple years while I was preoccupied with getting sober, working on my marriage, changing careers — you know, all that annoying “real life” shit that adults have to deal with. There was a time I had a finger planted on the pulse of my favorite sport, but now, it can’t reach me to deliver a debilitating gut punch.

The Big Cubs Breakup has me feeling numb.

I’m in disbelief but not really shocked; the selling-off our 2016 World Series heroes was by no means a bolt from the blue. You’d have to be completely off the grid to miss the telegraphed signs of an imminent fire sale, and if you’ve followed sports for even a little while, you know these things are par for the cyclical course.

I feel more like one would if, say, her parents had been threatening to ground her for months, and all of a sudden one day, she found herself confined to her room with TV and phone privileges revoked.

They did it. They actually did it.

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sober lifestyle

Quality

jenwielgusjournalism

You could say that pole did us a favor; an obstructed view of last Monday’s 13-3 debacle was the next best thing to changing the channel. The Cubs have been unwatchable over the last few weeks, so it’s fitting that my husband and I organized a family trip to watch them play live at Wrigley Field, as part of our annual summer visit to Chicagoland.

We’ve lived together in the Philly area for almost 20 years and have an abysmal track record when it comes to Cubs-Phillies games. We probably should have warned my parents, sisters, nieces, brothers-in-law and aunt when we bought the tickets: “Guys, the steel beam blocking half the field will probably be a more pleasing sight than the final score.” 🤷🏼‍♀️

Of course, as lifelong Cubs fans, we’re all used to making light of losing, and we ended up having a blast. Or at least I did!

I sat next to my two younger sisters, a rare treat considering they both live in Illinois and have busy lives with jobs and kids. We spent three-plus hours sweating in 90-plus heat, me sucking down water and diet cola and keeping score on a $1 scorecard (cheaper than Citizens Bank Park!) We clapped and danced along to the ballpark organ and made snide comments (Patrick Wisdom’s pitch selection? Not very wise! …For those of you who missed BP, here’s Eric Sogard on to pitch!) that entertained some out-of-town fans in the row below. We laughed, long and loud and from the gut, just like we did when we were kids at the game with our friends.

It was real, honest-to-goodness “quality time,” the likes of which I rarely — if ever — experienced as an active alcoholic.

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