One Year

6 + 6 = 12

The first six months were tough. The next six months flew by. I have made it through the first year of living without wine.

Last night we marked the occasion by going out to dinner with a few dear friends who have been close to me through this journey. When the server asked if anyone would like a drink before table my friends and husband all froze and glanced at me. “Uhhh….”

“Don’t be silly!” I said. “This is a celebration. Go ahead and be sure you drink a toast to me!” I turned to the waiter and ordered a non-alcoholic beer. “And could you please bring me a nice wine glass for that?”

His eyebrows flew up quizzically. “A wine glass for your beer, M’am?”

“Yes,” I answered winking, “it classes it up a bit.”

“That’s smart,” he said, more to himself than to me.

I’ve given up on virgin cocktails or listing out ingredients when ordering (“club soda with a shot of grapefruit juice and a half-ounce of grenadine”). Non-alcoholic beer is easier to order, it comes in the bottle so I don’t have to worry about accidentally getting alcohol, and if I remember to order a stem glass with it it looks and feels elegant (well, elegant enough).

The goal for me is not to approximate or replace the wine. The goal is to have something ELSE that I will enjoy for what it is.

As my friend wrote on the beautiful card she gave me (along with a scrumptious box of chocolate covered strawberries): “Now you get to have fun discovering new indulgences!”

We had a great night – lots of laughs with friends who don’t care a lick what’s in my glass. They enjoyed their cocktails but no one was out to get tanked – our purpose was to celebrate my success and encourage more of it.

At the end of the night my friend’s husband asked, “What do you think now? You made it to a year – are you going to have the odd drink here and there or just keep on having none?”

It was a sincere question, asked out of interest.  He is curious about my journey but we haven’t spoken about it together that much. His wife knows every detail but I think he understands that I am guarded around others. I took no offence to his question. I knew he was not implying that I should or could be drinking. He just wants to understand.

“No, oh no,” I chuckled. “This is a lifetime decision for me. If I ever doubt that, all I have to do is look at a bottle of wine. I want it ALL,” I laughed. “And that’s no good. This way is so much better.”

Second (Sober) Convention

It is early morning and I am alone in a gorgeous suite at a resort in Quebec. Last night I accepted a national award on behalf of my company at a Mardi Gras-themed event – a wild party and I had plenty to celebrate.

I did celebrate, in my new way. I celebrated with the new dress I wore, and with a pair of 4″ Fleuvogs (if you don’t know what Fleuvogs are, ask your wife. If you do know what Fluevogs are, you will certainly want to know that they are Paris Platforms in black and that I also have a pair of ice blue Macciatos that are to die for). I celebrated with a glass of sparkling apple juice while I dressed for the event, and another glass to toast my success before bed.

It was an easy, happy occasion and I felt comfortable the whole night. As I said “non, merci” again and again to the server offering wine at dinner, my only discomfort was embarrassment at my lack of bilingualism. Water was fine. And it was, it really was.

It was a whirlwind of a week that brought me here, and as I was packing the night before I left, I thought back to the last convention I attended just six months earlier. “That last convention was hard. Should I be worried?” I wondered. “I don’t feel at all anxious – is that because I truly am not or because I’ve just been too busy to think about it?”

I waited a moment to see if any clouds gathered over my head.

Nope. All clear. Sunshine and metaphoric blue sky all around.

It was easy. It is easy. This morning I popped out of bed at 6 am fresh as a daisy and eager to dress for the breakfast session. Many of last night’s revellers won’t even make it there.  Of those who do, I plan to find the various folks I met last evening and stop a moment to say hello, exchange business cards, and speak briefly about the points on which we connected earlier. There is a software developer who has a product I am interested in, a pair of brothers with a similar business to my own who I am hoping will be interested in exchanging a tour of operations, and a fellow who won an award last night with a project similar to one I am working on, whose brain I need to pick. I have my work cut out for me.

It is a remarkably different experience than Sober Convention Number One six months ago.

Back then I found it much harder to get through it all. This time it has felt natural and effortless.

This is who I am now.

The self-serve bar in my suite is not calling to me at all, except for the chocolate bars (which I have resisted). It is not a problem to not drink, even thought I am alone and no one would even know.

I just don’t do that any more. This is who I am now.

It is exactly one year today since the moment I knew I needed to stop drinking. My actual anniversary is in two days, because that’s how long it took me to listen to my heart.

One year….

Those of you who said, “It gets better,” were right. I could’t image that it would but it has.

Those of you who are reading this because you are struggling through the mucky parts, please be encouraged. Take heart.

It gets better.

It gets great!

Get SMART: What’s Working for Me

No one knows the stats on how many people just quietly quit drinking on their own, but some readings suggest that that it a very common occurrence.  This shocked me a little.  I guess I thought the only reason to quit drinking was because you’d hit the bottom, and the only way to quit was through AA.  I didn’t consider so many people quit on their own, or know that other methods and programs abound.

Like a lot of folks, I shied away from AA because I just don’t see myself as an alcoholic.  Drinking too much, yes.  Wanted to quit, yes.  Additive behaviour, yes.  Alcoholic, no.

I know AA to be a wonderful program, and I have been helped enormously by many people involved in AA who have shared their wisdom and insights through comments on this blog, emails, and other connections.  In fact, my own father went to AA as a young man, before he was married.  He was only 24 when he quit drinking, and although he quit attending meetings after he was married, he has always been proud of his sobriety.  I’ve always known my dad to be an abstainer, and he’s open with the fact that he was in AA as a young man.  I’ve always considered it to be a positive force, and I have had the best example of the results lived out right in front of me.

I felt I still had a choice, and I wanted to change my life while I held the power to do so.  I could see it was only a matter of time before my drinking patterns swallowed me whole and recovery would be out of my control.

I’ve discovered a recovery support program called “SMART Recovery” (SMART being an acronym for Self-Management and Recovery Training).  It is a program for recovery from various types of addiction through learning tools and techniques to support four main points:

• Building and Maintaining Motivation
• Coping with Urges
• Managing Thoughts, Feelings, and Behaviours
• Living a Balanced Life

I am benefitting from the program through its literature but have so far not opted to take part in any meetings.  There are online meetings as well as local ones, and podcasts of meetings are available as well (I’ve downloaded several).  There are free newsletters on the website: www.smartrecovery.org and a bookstore to order literature and support materials.

What most appeals to me about this program is the notion that the recovery process is not eternal.  Hold on, hold on – some of you are getting upset just reading that and are mentally preparing a scathing comment.  AA teaches that alcoholism is for life, that you are always a recovering alcoholic, never a recovered one.

I don’t dispute that point.  I don’t know anything about being a recovered/ing alcoholic.  I only know what it’s like to be me, and as I said earlier, I don’t believe myself to be an alcoholic.  In an addicted pattern, yes.  Hating my life and wanting to change this stupid, horrible, self-destructive pattern I’d engraved, yes.

To say, “The change is complete – I am now a non-drinker and I will continue to be” seems entirely achievable to me.  In fact, I feel I am almost there.  9 months and 2 weeks into recovery, and it is starting to feel normal.  I feel I have shaken the addiction itself, but there is still other work to be done.

There is so much more to recovery than just the simple (albeit difficult) act of keeping booze from your lips!  You really have to do a lot of soul searching and come clean with yourself about what you do and why you do it.

This past year, I have worked hard to understand why I am such a pleaser.  Why do I work so hard for approval from everyone including the grocery clerk, cousins I never see, and total strangers on the street?  Isn’t it interesting that I found my way into the performing arts, where approval is granted at the end of each song with a round of applause and maybe even a standing ovation at the end of the show?  And more ironic that I also have myself on a hamster wheel running a business where sales, profits, and awards motivate my every move?

Who am I if I’m not on centre stage?  Who am I if I’m not a top competitor in business?  What would it be like to just lay low for a while? To just tow the line and only do things because I either need to or want to, not because I feel obligated to in order to make others like me?

So back to the 4 points of SMART, I built my motivation to quit and now, having quit, I have to work on staying motivated.  (Going back and reading my earlier blogs sure helps!  I never want to be in that place again.)

I have learned to cope with urges and have adapted some great strategies.  I have found other ways to comfort myself and have good support in place.

Managing thoughts, feelings and behaviours is a work in progress and thank goodness!  I feel I am a better person because I am spared the humiliation of pulling the wine bladder out of the box and squeezing out every precious drop.  That alone is reason enough to have quit.  Beyond the obvious benefits of abstinence and sobriety, there is the fact that I am becoming a calmer, gentler version of myself.  I am finally being kind to myself.  I am getting better but have a long way to go.

Finally, living a balanced life.  This is the goal, really.  To balance out your comforts and pleasures short term and long term.  To be surrounded with good people, engage in positive activities. Be your best you.

I don’t want to get into a debate about which program is right or better.  Different programs work for different people.  The more options the better, as far as I am concerned!  The goal is to get everyone back to sane town, so let’s illuminate as many paths as possible.

Hitting My Stride

In an effort to keep this blog meaningful I have tried to only post when I have some new insight to offer.  Some of you have noticed that my posts are coming slower and slower – please take this as a positive sign.  Sobriety is become a normal part of my life.  I am adapting and honestly, there is little to report.

The new year has just begun, and it’s safe to assume some folks will stumble upon this blog as they try to navigate a January resolution to quit drinking.  If I am right about this, someone reading this is mucking through the first terrifying, shaky days of sobriety.  Is this you? You are not alone!  You are not a freak! You are not strange or even all that unique.  You got yourself into something very normal and there is a normal, tried and true process to get you out.  My friend, hang on.  Stay the course.  Keep the carbs and the water and the tissues handy and you will make it through.

You are doing something very, very good for yourself and you will not regret it.  Your life will be better, your body will be healthier, and your spirit will be stronger.  You will get yourself back.

I’ve spent the holidays at our ski cabin in the mountains, where happy hour starts as soon as the lifts shut down.  We gather to eat and drink, visit and drink, play board games and drink, listen to music and drink.  Drink in the hot tub then have a nightcap before bed.  This year, though, I am drinking pop or tea or sometimes even nothing at all.

I began my journey last year just as ski season ended and I truly wondered how on earth I would survive the season ahead.  By the time the hill opened again, I had 9 months of sobriety under my belt and everything has gone smoothly.  Everyone around me now knows I don’t drink, though few know all the details.  They all respect my decision, but no one seemed to think I had a big problem to begin with.  That’s okay, though.  They don’t need to know everything.  I know, and that’s enough.

I keep equating the experience to running.  I am not a serious runner by any means.  After I turned 40 I realized it was going to take more effort to stay in decent shape.  Running is quick exercise and doesn’t require me to drive anywhere special or face other people.  I prefer my elliptical because it’s gentler on the old bones, truth be told, but if the sun is shining I’ll head outside.  So let’s establish that I am a runner who would rather not run.

For me, the very hardest part of the run is getting off the couch in the first place.  “Just put down the latte and get outside,” I’ll tell myself.  The mental bargaining begins – talking myself in and out of going out for the run, all the while knowing I’ll be glad once I do it but still resisting the effort.  That’s a lot like it was talking myself in and out of quitting drinking.  Half of the battle was just working up to the realization that I needed to change things.

I was very confused and conflicted for a long time over whether I needed to quit drinking because I had mistakenly thought I had to be an alcoholic or hit “rock bottom” in order to quit.  I was definitely experiencing addictive behaviour towards alcohol but there was no “rock bottom” in sight and I didn’t truly fit the alcoholic profile.  I could see, however, I was drinking more and more and it seemed just a matter of time before things got worse. Everything I read seemed geared towards people who’d hit the bottom.  Did I need to wait until I was there in order to quit?  That made no sense but then came 4 o’clock and I’d shrug my shoulders and pour a drink.

Eventually I decided not to wait any longer.  If I wanted to change my life I could start where I was at, just as someone who wants to weigh 150 lbs can start working on that any time – they don’t have to wait until they are 300 lbs. to start the diet.  Once you know where you want to be, you can get up and start heading there.  Waiting and falling further behind makes no sense.

When I do finally get out there to run, the first bit is the worst.  I constantly check my watch and gulp for air.  My body seems determined to convince me it’s a mistake to exercise.  I notice every pain and gasp, and time seems to pass so slowly.  The first few months of recovery were just like that – I felt every discomfort and the hours crept by.  I wondered what I the hell I had gotten myself into.  I could not imagine ever enjoying myself again. Marathon runners and sober people all seemed a mysterious lot – were they faking their supposed joy in a miserable existence?  Or had they actually found pleasure in the struggle?

A ways into the run, it gets easier.  You hit your stride and get lost in thought.  Your legs take over and it almost feels like you’re along for the ride.  There’s noting hard about it.

That’s where I feel I am at right now – I’m off the couch, I’m through the worst of it.  I’m cruising along and now all I have to do is make sure I keep going.

A few months ago, living day after day without the comforts of wine seemed impossible.  I never dreamed I could be happy at all, that it would be effortless.  It is, though.  It’s just who I am, what I do.  I am right handed, I wear blue jeans, I drive a Subaru, part my hair off-centre, take cream in my coffee, have crooked toes, speak English (with a Canadian accent, apparently) and I don’t drink alcohol anymore.  That’s me, and I am great with who I am.

Gifts in Dust

Little gifts arrive at unexpected times, and who doesn’t like presents?

Imagine friends stopping by to drop off birthday gifts for you, leaving them on your kitchen counter.  Imagine that you let those gifts pile there, unopened.  Dust gathers on the wrapping.  Crumbs fall on them as you prepare food; the ribbons become spotted with wayward splashes from the sink.

Does this seem ridiculous?  I can’t fathom ignoring a pile of gifts with my name on them.  It’s as crazy as throwing out Halloween candy (well, at least the little chocolate bars – fruit chews I can do without).

Please put on your metaphor hat, if you haven’t already.

It’s one thing to be given a gift.  It’s another thing to receive it.

Until I open the gift, examine it, try it on and use it I haven’t really received it.  It is mine, all right. But until I truly accept the gifts I’ve been given, they just gather dust waiting for me to notice them.

I can think of gifts I have given to others that weren’t well received.  Sometimes it was disappointing, sometimes annoying, and sometimes truly hurtful.  I put time and effort into choosing (and in some rare cases, even making) something special for someone, only to never see it worn/used/displayed.

On the other hand, is there any better feeling than to see someone I love cherishing a gift I’ve given?  The child to can’t sleep without that teddy I chose, the friend who looks fabulous in that scarf and wears it often.  A thank-you is appreciated, but to actually see a present I selected be used and enjoyed is the best evidence of gratitude.

Back to the presents on the counter, the ones with our names on them that we are ignoring.   What stops us from opening them?

I don’t want it. (Too bad – it is yours now so you have to decide what to do with it.  It is your responsibility.)

I don’t deserve it. (Maybe, maybe not.  That doesn’t change the fact that you own it.  Why waste it?)

I might not like it. (Only one way to find out.  Give it a whirl.  Someone chose it for you for a reason.)

It’s going to be too much work. (You are working around it as you leave it on the counter.  Why not transfer some of that effort?)

I didn’t ask for it.  (True, but it was given to you just the same.  You own it.)

I’m afraid of what’s inside. (Ahhhh.  Silly child.  Why would someone who loves you given you something bad?  And what is the worst that can happen?  If you don’t like it, you can change it to suit you or find another use for it.)

In order to quit drinking, I have realized that I used wine as a tool for comfort, and I needed comfort because I wasn’t acknowledging things that were bothering me.  Sometimes I confuse denial with strength.  I mistake animation for joy.  And for the past decade, I was confusing numb with comfortable.

Giving up alcohol has meant finding other ways to comfort myself, and also decreasing the constant need for comfort by clarifying my thinking and behaviour.

The funny part is, I really am a happy, bubbly person.  I am strong.  I’ve always considered those special gifts.  Yet I had to muck through how to still be myself while not ALWAYS being happy and strong.  I don’t want to be sad or weak, but sometimes it is necessary and called for.

I want to be liked, that’s my comfort zone.  Happy, strong, liked.  Now I am learning that I can’t trade “liking how I feel” for “being liked”.  If I fake being happy or strong in order to be liked, I will create discomfort within myself and that’s when the cravings start.

What I need is a way sort out if I am being authentic.

So I shuffle through the pile on my metaphorical kitchen counter to see if there is a forgotten gift there that might be of use and ah, there it is: discernment.

I blow the dust off the bow and remove the treasure from its wrapping.  It is tucked in my pocket for now, and I can pull it out whenever needed.

Weeks To Live

Every once in a while we are asked to consider what we would do if we only had a few weeks left to live.

I thought about this the other day and realized I wouldn’t do much differently.  I’d want the usual routine of family life I now enjoy, morning coffee and paper in bed with my husband and our pups, dropping by the office during the day, family suppers, activities with the kids, evening walks, visits with my sisters and my friends.

Interesting.  “Nothing different?” I asked myself. “I guess I could start drinking wine again.  What would it hurt?”

I caught my breath.  Would I do that? Could I do that?

“Why not?” said my Itty Bitty Shitty Committee.  “You’d be dying anyway, so what the heck?”

I thought about it.

If I only had a few weeks, I could probably go back to having wine with friends and with dinner, to give myself a bit of worldly pleasure before leaving it all behind for good.  If I only had a few weeks, I could surely keep control over alcohol. I wouldn’t even be alive long enough for things to spiral.  It wouldn’t matter.  It would be so small in the grand scheme of things.

Yep.  That’s what it would take to make it okay for me to start drinking again – terminal illness.  Good to know.

Some part of my brain sat back and observed “the committee” in action.  Some new, calm part of me that inserts itself between thought and deed was adding a secondary assessment of all this.

After a brief pause, she spoke in a warm, assertive tone.

“Really?” she asked kindly.  “Is that really what you’d want, to undo this achievement in your last days?  To see disappointment in the eyes of your sons instead of respect and love? To fog the mind and avoid absorbing every second of life? To withdraw and comfort yourself instead of reaching out and comforting others?

“Your last weeks should be your best.  You must live out all you’ve learned.”

Yes, I thought.  If I were dying, it would be more important than ever to stay the course.

“You are dying,” the rich, warm voice continued in my head.  “Everyone is.  We just don’t all know the timeline.”

What I learned from this discussion between the forces within me is that even after seven months, my patterns of addiction are still bubbling away beneath the surface.  Perhaps they are more dangerous there now, because they continue while I carry on above thinking I have things under control.

I used to think it was an extreme position to say that alcohol addiction is a life long battle.  I used to think I would get through extricating myself from an unhealthy pattern and be done with it.  In truth, I thought by now I would  “finished”.

I understand now how the work goes on and on.  The individual evolves intellectually and emotionally but so too does the addiction.

I learned anew that my mind was creating limits for itself, and that I mustn’t become complacent.

I also learned that there is a part of me with a voice like Diane Sawyer – an elegant, strong virtuous woman in there who can override the committee.  I like her.  She wears cashmere sweaters and tasteful gold jewelry.  She smells like fresh flowers, and she doesn’t often bake but she always brings a hostess gift.

She can come out and take over anytime.

 

First (Sober) Convention – Part Three

(Note: Recommended to read Parts 1 and 2 first, so you get the full effect of my cranky desperation)

“Good morning and welcome to day three of our conference,” said the convention host from the podium while the straggling crowd picked over their breakfast. The room was set for all 500 or so who’d registered for the conference, but less than half the seats were full.  It’s a fair guess that many delegates were sleeping off their celebrations from the previous night.

Morning has come to mean a lot to me since I quit drinking.  I prepare a pot of coffee before bed each night, and waking up to the aroma makes up for the other self-depravation I wrestle with.  I’d already had two cups in my hotel room while getting ready for the breakfast meeting, and now I was enjoying the better quality brew in the dining room.

I was looking forward to the morning speaker, former CBC host and social media guru Tod Maffin.  I’d heard him a few years earlier and knew he was an engaging, interesting lecturer.  This time, he had lots of fresh new ideas and I thoroughly enjoyed his presentation.  So much so in fact, that I headed downstairs afterward for his follow-up seminar, and perched in the front row.

When he asked for questions my hand shot up.  I admit I was star-struck in the way only a Canadian can understand – even a former not-for-profit-radio host leaves us tingling.  Maffin is especially deserving, though, as his style is quick and funny and completely accessible.  I asked a question about licensing, and he replied with a story (and note: I am paraphrasing to the best of my recollection. Apologies to Tod Maffin if I recount your words imperfectly.)

“Great question, by the way,” he started.  (I blushed demurely.  I have so many great questions, Mr. Maffin.  You have no idea.)

“Let me tell you a story about a funny little video I created last night and tried to upload on my Facebook page,” he said. “I had used a piece of music in the background and Facebook recognized it and prompted me to either purchase the rights or change the music.”

(Fascinating – I never thought of that but it makes sense.  Interesting.)

“The music was pretty famous – “Spanish Fly” by Henry Mancini,” he went on.  Then seeing that the crowd was wondering what kind of video someone would make alone in a hotel room and set to the song “Spanish Fly”, he realized he had more explaining to do.

“No, no, it was nothing kinky.  Your conference organizers very kindly left me a nice gift and a bottle of wine in my room.  I don’t usually like to go into this but you need to understand that I am in AA and I have 2 years of sobriety and I really, really want to get to 1000 days so it is very important that I cannot be alone in a hotel room with a bottle of wine.”

Oh. My. God.  Did I ever understand! I was making it through the conference okay but my patience for the never ending flow of booze all around was waning and I was already dreading the evening ahead.  My ears perked up.  I wiggled in my seat. I tried to look calm and politely interested in order to maintain my cover, but inside I was squealing.  Here is someone who is in AA!  Here is someone famous (Canadian-famous, at least) and he is talking about his addiction openly and it is not hurting anyone’s impression of him – only strengthening it.

“So I took that bottle of wine, and I snuck out into the hallway, and I pushed the elevator button.  When the elevator arrived, I set the wine right in the middle of the empty elevator floor and pushed the buttons to send it away.  I pictured how happy it would make someone to find it – what a nice surprise for someone who would be waiting for the elevator and when the doors open there is a bottle of wine for them– and also it solved my problem because I really couldn’t have it around me.  I filmed the whole thing and turned it into a funny video and that’s what I was trying to post online.”

Then he moved on to answer other questions but my mind was reeling.  For the first time ever, I was face to face with another person in recovery.  This was my chance to speak to someone, to say, “I’m like you” or “You’re like me” and not even have to worry what he’d think of me because he didn’t know me from Adam.  Or, well, Eve.

When the session wrapped up, I waited until the room had cleared and tentatively approached Maffin while he packed up his gear.

“I loved your story about the wine bottle and the elevator.  I write an anonymous sobriety blog and I’d love to include it.  Would that be alright with you, or would you rather it not be shared?”

My knees were shaking.  I couldn’t believe I’d just said that.

He smiled broadly and said I was welcome to write about his story and reference his name.  “Are you in a program?” he asked.

“No, but I have 181 days of sobriety,” I said, disbelieving my own courage. It was a relief to say it aloud after a difficult weekend at the convention.

“What?!” he shouted. “Oh, come here and give me a hug!  That’s six months! That’s huge!! Good for you!!!”

He zipped around the table and threw his arms around me.  It was all I could do not to sob, but I did my best to stay very present in an important moment.  Someone who’d been through what I’d been though was listening to me, was hugging me.  Someone was celebrating an achievement I’d been keeping to myself.  Someone who didn’t even know me was happier for me than I understood I deserved. (And not just anyone.  Tod Freaking Maffin!)

We talked for 15 minutes or so and I was utterly invigorated by the encounter.  What a gift! It gave me fresh energy to survive the remainder of the convention.

It also helped me understand the power of AA in a new way.  I have not gone to a meeting, and although I respect the program and have learned a great deal from some of the principles and strategies used in AA, I am not sure it is a program I need.  However, I also held an image in my mind of it as being a group of messed up people trading sad stories and now I know otherwise.  There is incredible power in the honesty required to speak from the heart and to listen openly.

I have had many brilliant Twitter exchanges with recovery folks who are both in and out of AA, and their help has been essential to my journey.  They told me I needed to find a group, to have someone to speak to.  I always knew they meant well, but this day gave new understanding of their words.

I got through the day but later into the evening I began to feel my armour slipping just a little.  It was about 11 pm and the delegates were gathered in the soaring lobby of the hotel for cocktails.  There was a lot of schmoozing and buzz.  Everyone was tired from the weekend’s events yet reluctant to leave, as it was the last night to see each other.  I was standing with a group of people who all had a drink in their hands, when one of my competitors approached.  This fellow and I compete very strongly against each other in our local market, and we frequently butt heads at industry committee meetings.  “Oh jeez,” I thought.  “This is just what I freaking need. Here we go. Be nice, now.”  I smiled and shook his hand.

“You don’t have a drink! Here let me get you something,” he offered, digging in his pocket for his drink tickets.  It was almost too much.  After three days of standing tall in the face of all that temptation, I broke.  My chin quivered momentarily and my eyes threatened to water.  I quickly shook it off, but not quickly enough.  He saw. He knew.  Shit.  He’s one of the people I work so hard to never let my guard down around, and he’d just seen everything.

“I can’t,” I said. “I…don’t.” I forced myself to look him in the eye.

He got it, and he responded with unexpected kindness.  “It’s okay,” he said quietly. “I’m still going to go get you something.  How about a Diet Coke? Would that be okay?”

I just nodded. I couldn’t speak.  (As I write about it now, I am having a good snotty cry.  Little gestures.  Little gestures…)

I will always remember that conference with gratitude.  I am glad it wasn’t easy, because I had to learn to cope.  But mostly, I am grateful for the gifts from others along the way – my husband’s support, the openness of a stranger, and the kindness of a friendly foe.

What a way to celebrate six months of sobriety.