A.A. (The Return)

When I walked into AA almost 10 years ago (in my cowboy boots and jeans, hair pulled back neatly into a ponytail, with a Big Book in hand, because I like to be valedictorian of everything), I was willing to show up. And that was about it.

Whose Script Is This?

When I walked up into Alcoholics Anonymous in my cowboy boots, feeling mighty superior, I had my script firmly in hand. I was a smart, sensitive, tragic victim. The world simply couldn't understand someone as deeply empathic and intuitive as I was. So, I drank to shield myself from the tragedy of the every day as it unfolded around me.

I KNOW It’s Okay Not to be Okay… but

When I stared freaking out earlier this week, I got scared. Scared because something that looked perfect wound up not being perfect at all. Scared because I started getting all in my head about what I lacked--instead of celebrating what I have. Scared because I felt down. 

Why I Never Want to Grab a Drink

I don't have a really good "rock bottom" story. I'd finished all my real theatrical drinking a few years before. By the time I reckoned with my alcoholism, I didn't even want to drink any more. I'd exhausted myself with the constant hiding, the blame shifting, the lies I told myself--and whoever else needed telling. I was functioning fine, I suppose, but certainly not living my best life (unless my best life consisted of being able to pound back 12 Miller Lites in one sitting, but somehow I doubted it).

What Did I Do Over the Memorial Day Weekend? Told My Anxiety to Suck It.

7 years ago, I couldn't even manage to go out and get COFFEE with my friend who visited this weekend. I mean, it's true that she's kind of infinitely cool. I'm totally not. But anxiety is more than being afraid someone won't like you... it's a fear of being seen that is so deep, and so horrifying, that running away feels like the only answer, even when what you desire most is connection.

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