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Who Am I Serving?
In the last two years, I’ve become so consumed with doing all the things for all the people (somewhat necessary as a mother) that I’ve failed to protect my private relationship with Jesus. I’ve slowly drowned out conversations with God with demands on myself. My quiet meditation of His truths and promises is now being used for list-making, task-mastering, and box checking. I’ve justified it all by insisting I’m serving our family, the school, the community, committees, etc.
Why Don’t I Feel Like Them?
Whether it’s society’s endorsement of extroverts or my own personal insecurities, I determined early on that I wasn’t the right kind of mom, a good Christian or a loving wife. The world celebrates the “outgoing,” applauds the “never met a stranger,” and rewards the community organizers. Social media highlights the color coordinated group photos, the perfectly executed thematic parties and the more “followers” you have, the more important you are. If connections are currency, the world calculates our worth by the number of people in our orbit.
After years of comparing myself to others and appraising my worth based on their personalities, I’d concluded I was defective, so I drank to cope with high anxiety in social situations and low self-esteem in moments of self-reflection…
Following or Followers?
It’s been six months since I’ve posted to my Instagram account for my sobriety blog, www.thisthorn.com. And it’s been almost three years since I’ve added a new article to the site. I’ve been writing all this time, but not uploading any new content.
When I started my blog in the fall of 2015, I wrote endlessly about all my new feelings and experiences in sobriety. I’d never considered myself a writer before. I never journaled. But those first months of recovery, my emotions were raw. I was present for events and situations I’d previously been too numb to experience. I didn’t know what to do with all those feelings. So, I wrote to write. I wrote to expose, to process, to purge and to thank God.
Then the mind games started.
Eating Comfort Food at Wine o'Clock after Retail Therapy
No wonder we’re quick to rosé all day, and shop ‘till we drop from a food coma. A glass of wine to take the edge off. A pint of ice cream to comfort a broken heart. A click on “submit purchase” to suppress the envy. We’ve all done it. It’s a natural human reaction to want to comfort uncomfortable feelings. Doing something to distract us from our problems, to numb negative feelings, is almost instinctual. Drinking, eating junk or going on a shopping spree feels good when we’re feeling bad ... in the moment. But responding to life's stressors with cabernet, candy, and click-throughs is not a wise long-term plan. Drowning our sorrows in frosty mugs or waffle cones is not self-care. Coronas, cupcakes, and Coach bags don’t help us cope! They only help us conceal. Self-care that promotes concealing over coping is self-medicating. And self-medicating is the first step down a slippery slope towards self-destruction.
From Fear to Faith
I’m Alyssa and I’m an alcoholic. On July 16, 2015, I took my last drink. I didn’t know if it would be my last drink. I’d tried to have a last drink many times before, only days later to chase it with another first drink. But, I WANTED it to be…
How Can I Help When I Feel So Helpless?
I tend to overcomplicate things when I feel under pressure. One stormy night last summer, I frantically searched the house for flashlights while the lights flickered, and the wind whistled outside the windows. I was irritated that my three teenagers weren’t engaged in my panicked preparations for an impending power outage. My 16-year-old son sat up on the couch grinning while waving his cell phone and said, “you know, we could just use the flashlights we’re all holding right here in our hands...”
What do I do with My Secret...?
As far as I know, I’m still the only one in our family who can do it. My husband freely admits that he can’t, and not interested in ever trying. The few times my kids could have benefited from trying, there was no way I was going to show them. Visions of them using it for all the wrong reasons kept me from demonstrating a technique I had perfected. How comfortable are you stimulating your gag reflex to make yourself throw up? I’m not referencing this bathroom behavior to introduce you to nights I spent intoxicated on the bathroom floor. No, I’m using it to tell you that I know how you feel.
Why Can't I Get it Under Control?
You’re not alone
I see you. I feel you. I understand. It wasn’t that long ago that I woke up on a Sunday morning, a holiday or even a weekday, feeling like a failure. Mornings were the most painful. Sure, my head hurt with hangover, but my self-confidence was shattered by shame. Once again, I felt defeated. Despite my best efforts to control, my promises to play it safe, my determination to only drink a couple, I’d failed again. No one knew the level of loneliness I was living, the solitary confinement I had self-imposed. I was convinced no one would understand. I didn’t look or act like an alcoholic. Everyone in my social circle drank too. How could I ever ask for help? How could I ever consider living life without drinking?!