“A gratitude practice I never expected”
The first time I heard someone say they were a grateful recovering alcoholic, I thought: these people must be out of their fucking minds.
Quitting drinking seemed like the ultimate failure to me. It felt like an admission that I simply could not hack it.
I could intellectualize my way out of anything. Over 15 years, I made charts, drew graphs, and gathered data in notebooks.
Not too long ago, I found those notebooks in my attic, tucked away with my graduate school work.
Trying to Prove I Could Control My Drinking
“A female is only supposed to have two drinks at a time,” I read while Googling whether I was an alcoholic.
I was desperately searching for places on the internet that would reassure me this was all completely normal. I wanted someone to tell me I could figure it out and that “harm reduction” was my best friend.
However, the harm reduction Facebook groups I found were dramatically more depressing than the sobriety groups. At the time, that seemed impossible to me.
I could not give up drinking, I thought.
I simply could not.
But the people in those harm reduction groups could not seem to figure it out either. They were all sad because they had drunk too much again.
So I set about trying to negotiate my way through 14 drinks a week.
If I had eight drinks, or two bottles of wine, on Friday, that would leave six drinks for the rest of the week.
If I had three bottles of wine, that would leave only two drinks.
Maybe I could round up.
I would buy three bottles of wine at Aldi. At the time, they cost about $3 each.
This is my week’s ration, I would tell myself.
Then I would think: What does the internet know, anyway?
Besides, I was still young.
But I was not that young anymore. I was approaching 33, and I was a mother of three.
I put my twins in the upper section of the shopping cart and carried my baby against my chest. Then I filled the cart with knockoff Goldfish whales, Cheez-Its, brioche buns, and a few bottles of wine.
Because why not?
After all, I was a mother of three.
Didn’t I deserve some kind of break?
The Life I Built While Blacking Out
While in active addiction, I earned a bachelor’s degree with a double major in English and Creative Writing. I graduated a semester early while getting blackout drunk nearly every night.
Then I earned an MFA in Creative Writing.
I bought a house. I moved through careers with progressively better pay and greater prestige. I opened and successfully ran a small business with my then-husband.
I had three babies.
I sold a house, bought another house, and moved across the country.
And again, I was getting blackout drunk most nights.
From the outside, my life could appear successful. I had degrees, children, a home, and a career.
But those achievements did not mean alcohol was not destroying me.
What I Thought of Grateful Recovering Alcoholics
Eventually, I found myself sitting in a church basement and looking around at people who were laughing and smiling.
They said they were grateful.
Grateful? I thought. What do these morons have to be grateful for?
I could not understand why anyone would feel thankful for being an alcoholic. To me, it sounded pathetic, clichéd, and deeply embarrassing.
I would rather have chewed glass than describe myself that way.
Today, I lead a daily gratitude group chat with several of my closest friends.
Some days, I write:
Hi, friends! Rough one here today. But I am grateful to be sober, always.
Other days, it is something simpler:
Grateful for the rain. We have needed it.
Or:
Grateful for you all. I feel seen and heard with you.
Somewhere along the way, gratitude stopped sounding ridiculous.
It became a practice.
The Gift of a Recovery Community
My deepest gratitude for recovery may be this: How is it possible that I can relate so deeply and so quickly to so many people?
The people in my recovery community know my struggle.
They know me.
I have never experienced so much honesty or such a strong desire to heal in any other community. There is hardly even a putting-on of airs.
That includes the people I have met through Substack and those I have met in the rooms.
People in recovery move through the world differently.
My gratitude is this: If I had not been given this, whatever we choose to call it, where would I be?
Is it a disease? An affliction? A gift?
Somehow, for me, it became all three.
Today, I live an examined life. I live authentically. I walk in my truth loudly, boldly, and proudly.
When I was in active addiction, I thought I was living authentically. But everything was still hidden beneath the surface.
There was always a film over my life. A layer of grease between me and the truth.
Recovery removed that layer.
Why I Choose to Call Myself an Alcoholic
I believe alcoholism was the most direct way for me to learn gratitude in this lifetime.
My body’s reaction to alcohol forced me to learn the lesson.
I do not have to say that I am an alcoholic.
I choose to say it.
To me, an alcoholic is simply someone whose body does not respond well to alcohol. Or perhaps it is someone whose life is better served without a drink.
That word does not make me weak.
It helps me tell the truth.
It reminds me that my life is better without alcohol, no matter how successfully I once appeared to function while drinking.
AFGO: Another Fucking Growth Opportunity
Another phrase I learned in the rooms was AFGO:
Another Fucking Growth Opportunity.
Today, when shit hits the fan, I have my little temper tantrum.
Then I look around and say, Good one, universe. What am I supposed to learn from this?
I ask myself how I can move more fully with the flow of the universe and accept the lesson in front of me.
I have heard that it is impossible to experience gratitude and fear at the same time.
So I try not to live in fear.
I try to move toward gratitude instead.
I should clarify that my temper tantrums can last several days.
I am three and a half years sober, but I am no saint.
Still, the longer I remain sober, the more clearly I can feel the temper tantrum in my body. I can pause, look toward my inner wisdom, and ask:
What am I meant to learn?
Life Did Not Get Easier, but I Got Better
Life is lifey, as they say.
Things did not magically get better because I got sober.
But I got better.
My husband will begin graduate school this fall at Wake Forest University School of Divinity.
The school sent him a welcome package containing a shirt, a book, and a gratitude stone.
“What is your gratitude practice?” they asked.
They advised him to place the stone somewhere he would see it often so that it could remind him to be grateful.
Hmm, I said to my husband.
Even though it was his assignment, I realized that I actually do this one.
I have a gratitude practice.
I have also begun to recognize the strength of the community around me. I am fortunate to have so many honest, open, and loving people in my life.
They are people dedicated to improving themselves and living authentically.
The Ordinary Things Sobriety Gave Back to Me
Every day, there is at least one moment that would have been completely fucking miserable if I were still drinking.
Sometimes it is as ordinary as brushing my teeth before getting into bed.
I remember getting into bed now.
I remember the conversations I had.
I do not look at my phone in the morning and think, Oh my God, what did I do?
My eyes are bluer than they have ever been.
When I look in the mirror, I see my face in its natural shape. It is no longer constantly puffed and bloated.
I never have to wonder whether I was drunk when I did something.
I never have to wonder whether I was hungover.
I do not have to question my motivations or manipulate the people around me into taking me to the store for another drink.
These may sound like small things.
They are not small to me.
They are pieces of my life that sobriety returned.
Why I Am Grateful to Be in Recovery
Today, I am unabashedly a grateful recovering alcoholic.
That is the very thing I once found disgusting and utterly pathetic. It sounded so clichéd and stupid that I thought I would rather chew glass than say it.
But eventually, it became simple:
I did not want to die of alcoholism.
One phrase echoed through my mind during my earliest days of sobriety:
My children can recover from almost anything, but they will never recover if their mother dies of alcoholism.
I could not allow that to be their final memory of me.
And here I am now.
I am alive. I am present. I remember my nights and my mornings.
I am surrounded by honest, loving people who are committed to healing.
Most importantly, I have the chance to lead an examined life.
For that, I will always be grateful.
Want to be published on Sober.com? If you’re sober and interested in contributing, we’d love to hear from you. Reach out to our newsletter manager here ([email protected]) for submission guidelines. We welcome and celebrate all paths to getting and staying alcohol free.