Yesterday was a milestone for me. Seven years sober. Seven years of showing up.

No champagne corks popped to celebrate. There was no celebration though still a lot to celebrate.

Some of us are faced with the choice – to drink or not. Not much middle ground. Be strong and stable, or drink. Be calm and cool, or drink. Talk clearly, or drink. Walk steady, or drink. Sleep well and be wide awake in the morning, or drink. Be present, alert and aware, or drink. Either, or. The choice is ours.

It’s not this way for everyone. Most folks seem to have no problem at all. But if you got a problem, it is, well, a problem.

Being of this sort, I realized I had the choice. And the choices I had been making were not the best for me. Definitely not the best for my husband and son. Already dealing with depression and mood swings, I used this stuff as medicine. Had myself convinced it helped. Turned to it to numb me down. But it didn’t numb me. In fact, more often than not, it fired me up. Blue hot, just like alcohol burns. Fueled my emotional instability. Raised my volume and my temper and my tears. But no one seemed to notice. No one thought it was wrong or strange or threw in an inflatable life saver, only shrugged and passed me another shot of tequila or poured me another glass of wine.

You don’t realize how “normal” society treats drinking, thus how “abnormal” non drinkers are looked at until you are one of them.

Fine. Call me strange. You wouldn’t be the first.

Our son and his partner are there with me too. And my husband (someone I used to think could be a spokesman for Coors) has found a comfortable place beside me. Not all the time. He may have a beer with his buddies from time to time. But he knows how to stop. Some of us can’t.

Slowing down, keeping limits, drawing lines, that sort of self control… that doesn’t work for some of us. We’re all in. Or all out.

Stepping out of that circle and choosing to be the sober outcast has proven to be the greatest and strongest act of self care, self respect, and respect for my loved ones I could dream of. I am present. Alert. You can count on me. I won’t explode. But of course, when I was drinking, I couldn’t dream it.

At times it’s lonely outside the circle, but I’m in good company. Sobriety separates. You’re used to hanging out with drunks. They don’t bother you or change a thing. Been there done that plenty. But drunks aren’t as keen hanging out with you. Maybe you make them feel bad.

C’mon, join the fun, they say.

I believe it would make them feel better.

But it wouldn’t make me feel better.

I used to. Lots. For a long time. I think the first time I got so drunk I passed out I was eleven. Cute. Only not really. Drinking made me feel pretty and popular. It can do that to you. You don’t notice you’re getting louder and sloppier with every shot. It’s that social lubricant thing. Works great. Until we look in the mirror and what we see isn’t that pretty at all.

My only regret? Not having gone sober sooner.

Sobriety has opened the door for more time (and money) and more self trust. I can’t imagine having the energy or endurance to build a cabin in one summer as we did last year, nor taking my long quiet ride as a drunk. Don’t think I would have gotten that far. Interesting to note that twenty years ago, the first (and only) person I met doing a long ride was a man out their proving sobriety to his kids after his marriage failed and his family fell apart. I was luckier than him. Somehow my husband held me and my son forgave me.

Still, going sober was hard. Staying sober was harder. Remaining sober is still hard.

So glad for those folks who say they feel so much better after they quit that they’d never go back, never look back and never even think about it. I’m not one of them either. I do think about it. Plenty. Shoot, even Friday night I was jonesing for a martini to “unwind” and “reward myself” after submitting my book proposal to my editor following a hefty two week push.

Some of us have to be sober. Alcohol has the ability to control some of us. I’m not really into letting anyone or anything control me. But it’s hard. I think it may always be. But it’s worth it. For the improved relationship with husband and son. For the increased energy and clarity, and decreased drama and wasted time. For the consistency of showing up, fully present, to life, to love.

You know me, I could ramble on and on about this. But I’m not preaching sobriety. Y’all do what you want to do. I’m just sharing what I’ve done. Sobriety is my choice. A hard one to make. A hard one to keep. Even after seven years.

It’s what I had to do and I’m doing it. The continued commitment to stay sober is that inflatable life raft I was looking for. Only I learned how to toss and grab one for myself. It brought me back on board my boat, but I think I’d be wise to keep that damn thing handy just in case I slip. Better yet, look over the edge at the churning brown waters below with a circle of shark fins surrounding, and hope I never fall back in.

Until next time,

With love, always love,

Gin