Step 3 In Action, Yo

Having 114 (by the time I go to bed tonight; God willing) days clean and sober under my belt has been incredible.  I would actually say that the last two months that I’ve been out of rehab have been maybe the most challenging, like, EVER, and that’s saying a whole lot if you were to watch The Train Wreck of Brie’s Life on film. (It’d be a Blockbuster!) In the last 8 weeks, I have been given and am trying to figure out how to manage a new diagnosis, I lost my horse and all 4 of my cats due to a life-threatening, completely serious and dangerous asthmatic allergy I got while in rehab... (not the niftiest going away gift I’ve ever gotten...) and I have been devastated.  I’m normally a total keeper-inner (stuffing feelings is fun!) but with my animals, I CAN’T SUPPRESS, AND IT’S THE WORST.  At the drop of a hat, day or night, alone or with some I assume really nice people at the grocery store, I will hardcore start dropping some tears and some sobs.  I literally can’t stop.  And every night I have nightmares about them not being okay.  And, I know they are being well-cared for.  But my dreaming brain has always been a little dramatic, and definitely hasn’t gotten the memo that they’re okay.  We also moved to a completely new city - the kids are in new schools, we’re in a new house and neighborhood.  We love it, and it was a good change, but it is still stressful.

But, I’m sober.  I am as dry as a bone, baby.

And I’m grateful to my Higher Power (who I believe is my Heavenly Father).

I’m only sober because of Him and his miracles, and I’ll tell you why.

So, I’m not finished working the steps yet, (on 6) but I have studied them all, know off the top of my head which is which, etc.  Most of them are pretty terrific and liberating to take and make your own, though 4, 5, and 9 are about as appealing as hair on soap, so there’s that.  The step though that I’m the most fascinated with (currently) is Step 3.  It is just my favorite.  It is a step that we alcoholics and addicts MUST live every day - every second and minute of it, because it is the step that will keep us sober.  Step 3 isn’t easy, though.  It’s easy to say you’re going to do it, but ACTUALLY doing it is a whole other thing, and putting it into action is scarier than going down a rollercoaster with no seatbelt on - you just hold on for dear life, and hope you come through.  Step 3 is:

“Made a decision to turn your will and your life over to the care of God as you understood him”

Give God my will?  Sure, most people think, easy.

But, no.  Just, NO.

IT IS NOT EASY.

Because we humans are kinda selfish and slow little buggers, and giving God our will?  Putting our entire lives in His hands?  Giving Him OUR entire lives? Super NOT easy peasy.

So, I believe that God kinda has everything, right?  (Except maybe the IPhone X, but I BET if He wanted it, He could have it!). When we pray, there is nothing we could ever give Him that He doesn’t have, or that He needs.  So when we are constantly on our knees, whining about all of our selfish and petty little issues that are trying to make us drink again...or what, maybe that’s just me... and when we constantly ask Him for help, or guidance, or a miracle, or hope, or faith, or for an IPhone X.... He gives us of these things freely, and with Perfect Love.  Because, as stated above, there isn’t anything we could ever give Him in return for all He gives us.

Except...

There’s kinda one thing: we can give Him our will.  That is the ONLY thing we have that He wants and NEEDS.  We can make a decision to be a vessel for Him.  We can decide to spread love and light wherever we go.  We can say in our prayers every morning, Heavenly Father, I give you my will.  Help me do good and right today so I may bless the lives of others.”

Giving your Higher Power your will isn’t just about words.  It’s about action, too, which is SO MUCH OH MY GOSH HARDER.  Every day, to give my Heavenly Father my will, I read in my scriptures.  I pray to him, about the petty and the scary and the devastating and the hope and the love.  I have cleaned up my language.  I try to smile at people, and not be so grouchy all the time.  I try to keep my heart attuned to any whisperings His Spirit might give me to help others or myself.

I have been reading my scriptures daily and saying my prayers and all that jazz every day since I went into rehab.  Some days I groaned (like LITERALLY groaned out loud like a petulant little child) when I had to open my scriptures or, like, be a nice person or stay sober.  But, in praying to have the strength and the grace to give my will to God, these things become a little easier, day by day.  Not swearing like an inmate (as my therapist in rehab so eloquently put it) makes me feel BETTER.  I try to help others.  I try to smile.  To be kind.  Because, those are all things in this life that I would love to have in return.

In giving God your will, and in DOING the actions required to have your will in God’s hands, something remarkable happens: (well, a buncha cool things happen, but I’m only going to focus on one) you become FORTIFIED.  You have strength that you have never had before.  Because doing your dailies, worshipping or giving time to your Higher Power every day; praying, meditating... all of these things are GOOD AND RIGHT and all of these things make you stronger.

I had a superhuman moment 3 days ago.  And by superhuman, I mean, that I was able to display and HAVE strength that I KNOW was not my own.  It was Heavenly Father, blessing me with strength and safety, as I become an instrument of His will and give Him my own.

On Wednesday, I was in a crappy mood.  I had been in Provo (butt-far away!) all morning at my orthopedic surgeon WITH my 4 year old.  I was about as thrilled as my kids are when I put kale in ANYTHING.  The drive home was long, and Rowan was mad at me and making demands.  Construction on the freeway, a fight with my husband on the phone.  As I got off the freeway at our exit to get home, I was SO angry in that moment.  I was SO anxious.  I was SO devastated.  I was way too many bad “SO’s” and my brain was FREAKING OUT.  I drove straight through the intersection, where, if I had turned left, would have landed me at the liquor store in about a block. As I drove through the intersection, this is a very close assimilation of what was happening in my brain:

THAT WAS THE LIQUOR STORE TURN-OFF YOU LOSER TURN AROUND NOW—but, um, I am, like, trying not to drink?—WELL YOU’RE NOT TRYING ANYMORE, SUCKA, TURN AROUND—but, um, okay.  I’m turning.  I’m-are we sure about this—WE ARE SO SURE LIFE IS THE WORST AND YOU’RE NOT GOING TO BE AN ALCOHOLIC AGAIN.  YOU’RE JUST GOING TO DRINK ONE GLASS OF MALBEC.  THIS GLASS WILL BE THE APPROXIMATE SIZE OF AN URN, BUT YOU’LL JUST DRINK ONE.  AND IF YOU HAPPEN TO KEEP DRINKING, YOU WON’T BE AN ALCOHOLIC ANYMORE.  YOU CAN CONTROL YOURSELF—Okay, we’re here, but I’m thinking we should leave—SHUTUP, YA BUCKET OF JUNK.  GO GET THE DAMN WINE—

And literally, as all of this is happening in my mind, I was sitting in the parking lot of the liquor store where I had been dozens, hundreds of times.  Remembering pretending not to be drunk as I paid for more liquor.  Hoping the cashier didn’t remember the 4 bottles I’d bought the day before yesterday, and the 4 more in my basket.  I remembered not making eye contact, and being furtive in the store.  I remember the high of knowing I was about to be able to drink again.  I remember the shame, and the fear, and the self-loathing.  And I’m sitting in my running car, gripping the steering wheel.  Crying now, whether it be because I want a drink so damn bad, or because I’m so close to losing my sobriety, I’m not even sure.  The Angry Drunk Self-Destructive Brie is screaming for an urn of Malbec, and the quiet, small, Sober Brie is getting hard to hear. 

I don’t know what to do.

I am scared.

I don’t even know what I want, in that moment.

And then, out of nowhere, I had this feeling come over me: it was complete peace, which, trust me, was NOT a feeling I was remotely even feeling just a second ago.  The peaceful feeling told me to back out of my parking spot and to go home.  I suddenly had some very loud and very clear and very calm words in my head, that had made Angry Drunk Self-Destructive Brie disappear with a poof (at least, in that moment).  And that voice told me that I didn’t want to drink.  That I, in fact, felt REVULSION at being in this parking lot, and in almost losing 111 days sober, and having to start over at 1.  The thought of Malbec, in an urn or otherwise, didn’t sound good anymore.  I wanted to haul ass out of that parking lot.  I wanted to get as far away from alcohol as I could manage.

Why, suddenly, did the thought of alcohol not only sound NOT appealing anymore, but actually sickening?  Why, 2 minutes ago, was Angry Drunk Self-Destructive Brie’s inner diatribe so loud and convincing, when suddenly her argument and even her presence became moot?

HOW THE HELL HAD I JUST STAYED SOBER?  Really and truly?  How could a raging alcoholic with just 111 days under her belt feel revulsion at not just her drink of choice, but also have the power and the drive and the ABILITY to leave the liquor store WITHOUT ALCOHOL??

I’ll tell you how: she couldn’t have done it.  Me, Brie, Sober Brie, alone, could not have gotten out of that parking lot sans alcohol on her own.  No way no how.  My Heavenly Father got me out of that parking lot sans alcohol.  Because that morning, I had given Him my will.  And because He had it, He was able to get me out of that parking lot, because His will for me wasn’t, nor will it ever be, to return to alcoholism, or even just have that one last glass of Malbec.

And, that was a miracle.  Such a beautiful, tender, miracle.

So, when you are working Step 3 (addict or alcoholic or not, EVERY HUMAN should give their will to God!) and you are reticent on giving your Higher Power your will, understand that it isn’t going to be lame or boring, living a life attuned-to and with God.  Understand that it is going to save your life.  That it is going to make you a better and stronger version of yourself than you ever imagined.  That it isn’t going to make your life boring, but without bounds.  Limitless.  New.  Astonishing.  Miraculous.

I am a grateful recovering alcoholic with 114 hard-worked for days under my belt.  And I have all of those days because of my Higher Power.  For making me strong when I was at my weakest.  For protecting me from my ugly, evil, and vile addiction.

That is everything.

And I am so, so grateful.

“The will of God will never take you where the Grace of God cannot protect you.”

—Bernadette Devlin 

Actual Photos Of Me Doing the Mental Gymnastics Required to Manage My Life:

I’m Not Okay, and You’re Not Okay, and That’s Okay

Since when is it not okay to be not okay?

We live in a culture of “transparency” - we plaster our lives on social media; perfect snippets of a life that isn’t perfect at all.  In all of this “transparency” we are also perpetuating a lie - that life can be perfect - because look at mine!  It’s of course natural to want to put our best face forward - but when that is all that the world sees, we all have a very big problem.  We are only transparent with perceived perfection or prestige, and so really, all of this transparency is muddy and unclear and really not transparent at all, and we are almost always not really seeing the truth of things - whether that truth be beautiful or ugly.

All of this is a huge reason I eventually decided to author Sober and So Brie after my therapist asked me to - I certainly don’t revel or even find it easy to be open and vulnerable, and if you knew me in real life you’d probably be shocked I was the author of SASB, because I am quite closed-off in real life - I am friendly, but I am not open — however, for whatever reason, I am quite good at not being okay, and I’m REALLY good at being impulsive and coming up with scary solutions, so why not document it all here?  Because I WANT TRUTH WHETHER IT BE BEAUTIFUL OR UGLY, for myself, and from others. To show the world, to show you, to remind myself on hard days - that there is hope and that there is no shame in addiction.  You’ll almost always find Totally-Fake-But-Still-Totally-Annoying Perfection on social platforms online, and then you amble on over here, and you find...this...me...a total train-wreck.  And if anything, maybe you’ll leave this website not understanding me, and you could hardcore be judging me, but at least knowing that there is someone else out in the world who is honest about how hard the world is, and who doesn’t always ge
t it right the first or the forty-first time, but still trying.  And maybe it is only a consolation prize - and a cheesy one at that - but to still be trying, after all this time, is a good and a right thing.

Because, I’m not okay all of the time - and I need that not okay-ness to be totally okay.  I need to feel secure in the knowledge that I might feel like I got hit by a truck full of hot garbage juice, but that I don’t need to drive to the liquor store straightaway.  I need to believe that I can handle the emotions and the despair of it all (LIVING) stone-cold sober, even if I don’t want to. I need to know that even if I don’t feel okay, I AM okay.

Social media drives me batty.  I follow more meme accounts on instagram than actual humans, because I’m much more interested in laughing than I am in getting perfect-only peeks into other’s lives.  Life is so messy and so chaotic - I am so messy and so chaotic - and perfection doesn’t interest me.  I spent too long striving for it, and that longing and that need almost killed me.

For the 90 days I’ve been clean, I’ve been wildily excited and thrilled and also wildly despairing - I have had moments of clarity and beauty and also more than a few moments I white-knuckled through to keep from grabbing my keys and breaking speeding laws to get to the liquor store.  And in all of that - even all of the ugly and the difficult and the embarrassing and shameful, I am certain of maybe one thing, and one thing alone: that I am sober.  And that I am so fudging glad I am. I am not certain at all that my problems are lighter or simpler, and I am certainly not guaranteed my sobriety past the current moment, but I am so sober, and even in my pain, I am so glad that I am.  Because while there was certainly a time when I could have (and probably should have) died in my addiction, I know that today I will not.

So I’ll continue to be transparently imperfect.  To acknowledge and even be frank at how much I've messed up: I have hurt many people, most of whom I love dearly.  I have lost relationships because of this.  I have lost my horse.  My dignity, my integrity.  My health.  Some of this can be reclaimed, and some of it can’t, but I’ll always be transparent as I document the journey on SASB.  I’m a hot mess, I’m a spaz, I wash my hair like once a week and do it about once a month, but I’m trying, and I’m still sober.  I think, at least, that I have the important things covered.  I’m not okay a lot of the time, and it hurts so, so much.

But it’s okay.
I’m okay.
We’re all okay.

I’m going to be writing a few blog posts to introduce myself, as I realized many readers may not know me past a few surface things, here or there.  If you have any questions or things in particular you’d like to know, leave me a comment or shoot me an email, and I’ll do my best to work it into my post.

I Have So Much Left

I think that a tremendous part of my addiction (eating disorder and alcoholism) stemmed from the fact that nothing is fair.  I lost my daughter, Kendall, to a stillbirth, and it wasn’t fair, and I was SO MAD, and I knew that nothing could ever bring her back, no matter how much I tried to fix myself or punish myself, so why not drink myself to death?  I was entitled to this, because of my righteous indignation: LIFE SUCKS BALLS AND IT ISN’T FAIR.

But the problem is, life doesn’t ever stop being not fair.  Not even three years ago, I had a miscarriage, and just like that, my baby girl, McCartney, was gone.  My arms and my heart were empty. I raged and I raged at God and myself and the universe.  When were things going to even out?  (Yeah, kind of like never.)

Life will be FULL of disappointments, sorrows, fear, and grief.  What happened to me, though, was that amidst all of my own disappointments, sorrows, fear, and grief, I became so consumed by it all, that I forgot to see that my life also contained joy, and humor, and love, and hope.  I was so desperately searching for a respite from the storm raging around me at the bottom of a bottle or at a lower number on the scale, that I didn’t see that the respite I was so desperately searching for was all around me, in little ways and in little moments: when my son did a school project on me, because I am his hero.  When I see that my daughter’s sparkly, down-turned, and lovely eyes are my own.  When I hear I love you more times in a single day than I deserve.

And so my life wasn’t fair, and so I continued to starve myself.  To drink.  To swallow pills to fall asleep and numb the fact that I was even ALIVE.  When life got fair, I would stop.  I would.

But really, I wouln’t have.  And I couldn’t have.  My addiction had its sharp and terrible claws deeply rooted in me.

When I went to rehab, all of the terrible things in my life that had happened to me didn’t go away, or morph into something prettier.  I still have my sorrows and my anger, and life, as always, wasn’t fair. The only thing that had changed in my life was that I was clean and sober - but just that - just keeping my body clean from the substances that poisoned my mind and my body...I got clarity.  I could see the hope and the beauty all around me, even amidst the ugly thorns in my life.  I stopped expecting life to be fair, and instead adjusted my point of view to pray for acceptance, surrender, and hope, to forgive myself for the past and to let go of it, and to endure whatever lay ahead of me.

And let me tell you: since I have been out of rehab for the last six or so weeks, I have absolutely had to endure.  Maybe more than I ever thought I could: I lost my horse - my mare who taught me that I could be brave and strong and powerful and bad-ass.  I have lost (and will continue to do so) much of my physical capabilities by being diagnosed with Alcoholic Neuropathy.  I am in so much pain every day, and I feel so bereft, being only a shadow of who I used to be.  Very soon I will be losing all four of my cats.  Because the acute asthma I suffer from has catapulted to insane levels, and is becoming resistant to treatment.  My cats are killing me. Literally.  And knowing I will lose them makes me so frantic and desperate that I cannot dwell on it long.  And, we are losing our home - we are moving.  It is so difficult to stay sober in the home that I spent most of the last few years in drunk, high, pathetic, miserable, and self-seeking.

So much loss.  So much taken away from me.  And I am bewildered and frightened and mourning.

In the past, this would have been excellent ammo to justify my addiction, and I would have wallowed in the loss and grief and not-okayness of it all.  But I can’t do tha

t anymore.  Not if I want to live.  So,  I have stopped expecting life to be fair.  I instead only try as hard as I can to be brave and strong while I endure all of the unfair storms in my life.  I no longer want to be defined in this world by everything that I have lost, but by everything that I fight for.  And I am in the fight for my life.  And it is messy and beautiful and WORTH IT. (You are, too.)

“Oh, my friend.  It is not what they take away from you that counts, it’s what you do with what you have left.”

—Hubert H. Humphrey

I have so much left.  I have three beautiful children, and I have a husband who loves me and tries just as hard as I do to make himself better and to be a good and right force in this world.  I have an amazing family Who doggedly love me, even through the decades of anguish and worry and frustration I put them through.  I have new beginnings and second chances.  I still have my blind pup who is my permanent sidekick and offers his love an protection through his stalwart little affinity for me.  I have my Higher Power - my God in Heaven - who loves me and believes in me, even though He kind of created a hot mess.

And it’s funny.  Amidst the howling wind and the angry storm that the adversary throws at me, despite the endless tears and sometimes the dark, heavy blanket of depression, I still love this damn life.  Sometimes I’m kind of amazed that this Jaded Ice Queen does - but it’s true.  I just do.  I just love this life.  Because amidst the storm and the wind and the darkness, I live in the most beautiful garden - a garden that blooms and flourishes because of the love and prayers and forgiveness given me.  It is a paradise.  A beautiful, dazzling, paradise. 

Life isn’t fair.  And it isn’t for the faint of heart.  But it is beautiful and the grace we get in this world to be better and do better is this most precious gift.  And while this life isn’t always fair, we must remember that the grace, the forgiveness, the second chances, and the uncomplicated and Perfect Love WE get time and again in this life aren’t fair either - we rally don’t deserve it.  But we get them anyway.

Do not forget to see the beauty and grace amidst the unfair and the ugly.  It is quieter, and it is harder to find, but if you look, you will see it everywhere.

“I like living.  I have sometimes been wildly despairing, acutely miserable, racked with sorrow, but through it all I still know quite certainly that just to be alive is a grand thing.”

The Round Isn't Over Yet and Neither Are You

Been a weird week; I've kind of had my crazy pants on.  I am still proudly clean and sober, but I feel directionless and very, very afraid most of the time.  I am clinging to the Big Book, or prayer, and my dailies, because I know that no matter how crazy my pants are, I can have the willpower and presence of mind to stay sober, even when the bottle calls.

It's so weird to me that people can drink.  Like, normally.  I see someone order a glass of wine with dinner, and I am fascinated that they can drink only one.  Or even two.  I still get a hitch in my breath and my heart accelerates when I'm near the liquor store I used to frequent, or if I see an ad for liquor, or, okay, if someone even says "wine".  They can even be saying "Ugh, stop your whining," and I'll be all "WINING DID SOMEONE SAY WINING HI HI I LIKE WINE" and half (or more) of me is like YOU TOTALLY WANT THE WINE YOU CAN TOTALLY DRINK NORMALLY OR HELL EVEN JUST DRINK ONE AND THEN STOP AGAIN NO ONE WILL EVER KNOW YOU DON'T EVEN HAVE TO CHANGE YOUR SOBRIETY DATE--

--and then there's the Sober Brie who's like, feet shuffling, Um, Brain?  Hi.  Can I um, say something?  Really fast?  And like, really quietly because I know you have a migraine and I don't want to bug you.  But, um, maybe you shouldn't screech into the liquor store parking lot right now or wine.  But, you can totally whine, don't get me wrong -- But, like maybe this decision isn't based rationally, and you can hate everyone in the world who can normally drink liquor - I think that's fair.  It's like, pry five or six billion people and I really don't think that's hating too much.  So, ahem.  Yeah.  I mean, like, yay!  We're sober!  And okay, I know we're not happy.  And even though we don't feel okay, we ARE okay.  So, like, wine is good but wine will kill you so maybe we should, like, NOT.  Okay, wow.  Thanks for letting me talk!  You may now resume your whining.

So far, my cute little Sober Brain that's all shy and new is the voice I am choosing to listen to - at least, in the end, because I'm here, 76 days later, as dry as whatever that saying is that means I'm totally sober. Usually I yell at and curse my sober brain, but the wealth and depth of creativity my mind has when it comes to profanity is both cool and kind of sad AND SHOULD BE KEPT SECRET.

I know that one glass of wine won't kill me.  But with me, one can never be just one.  And I do not want to have another seizure, or more permanent medical complications from alcoholism.  I do not want the depth and despair that comes from being so out of control I don't know how I can bear to brave another minute alive (or at least conscious).  I never want to feel how SHITTY it is to hear your children downstairs, growing up without you, while you languish upstairs in your drinking and self-pity.  So, is my current day-to-day kind of excruciating at times?  Yes.  But will I take this shitty over the shitty I endured in my addiction?  Oh, hell yes.  A RESOUNDING YES.

I can't ever have another glass of wine.  I can't ever go into a liquor store again, because while you peruse the tequila section, trying to find the brand that won't break the bank but will also impress your friends and also not have you make bad choices that weekend, (free fact fer ya: tequila will ALWAYS end in vomit and regret) in all of those glass bottles - the clear ones, and blue ones, and green ones: in them I found liquid courage.  I found liquid appeasement.  I found liquid apathy, and liquid living-but-not-really-living.  Liquid Thank-God-I-Don't-Remember-Anything-Right-Now and Liquid I-Can't-Remember-Anything-That-Just-Happened-and-I'm-Terrified.  Liquid I-Hate-Myself, Liquid Regret.  Liquid Prison, a kind of death.  I gulped and slugged my way through bottle after bottle, peering into the bottom to see if I had finally found what I was looking for: hope.  Peace.  Respite.  

I didn't find any of those things.

I found: horror.  Pain.  Rejection.

Life is such a wrestle - it is a FIGHT to have a life of meaning and peace and even some joy - and it is WORTH THE WRESTLE.  (Even if you're the worst at arm wrestles.).  Keep fighting.  Keep your head up.  Just stand, before the count of 10.  The round isn't over yet, and neither are you.  And neither am I.

So yeah, I've been wearing some super crazy pants.  I've been chaotic and distracted and sort of all over the place, which really isn't crazy pants for me so much as normal pants - but, even I have perhaps carried all of that to a new level.  But it's okay.  I'm okay.  (Mostly because I'm still sober and I have a really patient support system.)

Because there's always a new tomorrow, there's always a new wrestle worth wrestling at the beginning of each day.  Life can totally be shitty, I know - but please remember that in your addiction, the shit was SO REAL and SO, SO RANK, guys.  Don't go back there.

I will not search for hope, peace, or respite at the bottom of an empty bottle again.  I will fall to my knees in prayer, I will TRY to meditate, (that awesomeness be hella hard) I will call my sponsor, or a sober friend, or my mom, or hell I'll have a giant love-fest with all four of my cats and my blind dog and I'll STAY FREAKING SOBER doing all of this, even though there is nothing even REMOTELY super sad about a 33 year old woman who has sleepovers with her old and blind and diseased animals that involve pillow fights and a great game of Truth or Dare.  (The blind dog never chooses dare.)

I know that life will quiet down.  The normal pants will be washed (but not folded, because let's get real, I don't have that kind of energy) and returned to my closet, and one of these mornings, I'll put them on.  Maybe one day, I will pass the liquor store without putting myself into a hypertensive state.  Maybe, just a little bit more often, I'll find the hope, peace, and respite that I am yearning for.  

All of this is worth the fight.  Crazy pants, normal pants, or no pants.  We got this.

Leaping Into Recovery Like

...hella awkward.

But it's okay.  I'm an awkward person; just look at me!  5'11" and my legs alone are 37".  Finding a store that actually sells jeans long enough for me is about as easy as me strolling into the Louvre, perusing the paintings, pointing to the "Mona Lisa," and saying, I'll take that one.  How much do I owe you?

I stumble over my words and when I'm the center of attention I get crazily self-conscious and try to shorten my sentences so I can stop talking more quickly, but in the process make my sentences even longer because I'm stumbling EVEN MORE over my words and then I need to apologize for the word stumblage, and then have to re-phrase (and likely apologize again) and stumble over my apology, which makes, oh I don't know, a simple few sentences that should have taken maybe 14 seconds to say be more like 14 minutes.  Agonizingly long.  Kind of like this paragraph.

Butit'sfineI'mfinewe'reallfine.  ;)

If I have to leap into recovery looking....well, looking like I do in this picture...then I'll do it.  I'd prefer to do it with a bit more grace, but grace hasn't ever been my strongest quality.  Or like, anything I remotely possess (ask my 3rd grade ballet teacher...).  All around me, I see my beautiful brothers and sisters in recovery killin' their sobriety with grace.  They're agile, and nimble, and if they were to be substituted in the picture of me posted here, they'd pry look...I don't know.  I was trying to come up with some really poignant adjective, but honestly... they'd pry just look normal.  And not, you know, like a gawky giraffe who got peer pressured into skydiving and has just leapt out of the plane.  So for all you beshes who are bummed that you're "just" normal, it could be worse.  Gawky Skydiving Giraffe worse.

You know what though?  I'd rather be taking the most uncoordinated, unrefined leap into recovery than to not take that leap at all.  Because after the leap comes the calm.  After the leap, you begin to gain self-respect, gratitude, and humility.  After taking the hardest leap of your life, you realize how freaking brave and just cool you are.  All human beings are pretty cool, (except like Hitler 'n stuff) but I'll tell you what - I know that us addicts are some of the strongest, bravest, bad-ass-est, (I just made that a word) resilient, and loving people out there.  Whether you're addicted to a substance you use a needle for, or whether you're addicted to cutting, or shame, or looking in the mirror and hating what you see...please know - KNOW - that there is a way out of this garbage.  There is a different, beautiful path available for you.  It isn't easy, and it does require that (normal or gawky giraffe-ish) leap of faith, but that leap is worth it.  You may not be ready to take that leap yet, and that's okay.  But please remember that you are worth that leap, and that I need you, your family needs you, THE WORLD NEEDS YOU - and that in your recovery - full of vulnerability and imperfection and scars - we will all see the fudging awesome warrior beneath that.  We recovering alcoholics and addicts are the strongest warriors out there - we are an army - a cussing, smoking, tattooed, pierced, wise-cracking, joke-cracking army -- and we will fight for you.  And for each other.  And for ourselves.  And to those that try to stop us, hurt us, or do so to another in recovery, they better be ready for some hell and like a beat down.  (Or, with me, since I really can't throw too hard a punch, I will BRING YOU DOWN with some vicious rhetoric.  ;)  With words, I will always win.)  You DEF want a recovering alcoholic on your side in a bar fight.  Trust me on this.

Point is, we are an army, and we are getting bigger and bigger at an exponential rate.  We all had to take that leap of faith.  We were all scared as hell.  We all stumbled along the way:

Oh boy.  The Gawky Giraffe stumbles.  Really, are we surprised?  And who the hell photographed this anyway?  (This was about a decade ago, when we all carried around these weird things called cameras, and cell phones simply made and received calls.  We also had to hunt for food and make fire with like string and friction and I did all of my writing on cave walls.  It was barbaric.)

So, stumble.  Okay?  JUST STUMBLE.  And know that it's absolutely okay.  Addict or not, you won't ever do this life perfectly.  You may project that on social media, or to your circle of friends, but you are not helping anyone - including yourself - by doing this.  The world NEEDS to see your imperfections so that they know that it's okay that they're imperfect, or making mistakes too.  The world NEEDS to see those of us in recovery, or fighting like hell to WANT to be in recovery, that we're doing this - we're fighting and we're stumbling and we're taking that leap of faith into recovery, and we're all doing it messily and imperfectly and sort of blundering along.  But we're laughing.  We're breathing easier.  And we have each other.  We aren't alone anymore.

I could have found a million images online of an awkward stranger taking a leap, or someone else tripping.  I thought about it.  Do I really want the whole world seeing me taking a leap of faith while my face really looks like I'm passing a kidney stone the size of a Suburban?  And then, even WORSE, the whole world seeing my ARSE?  I mean, no, not really.  But I gotta be real.  And those pictures are so, so painfully real.  My sobriety and my recovery is full of bumps and barriers, but it is REAL.  I overcome one obstacle, only to find another in my path, this one bigger and meaner.  I cry.  Like all the time.  But I also laugh.  Like all the time.  In my addiction, I neither laughed or cried, because when you're high (or black out drunk) you can't feel anything REAL.  And so I attack each obstacle, and through it all, I am laughing, or crying, or sometimes both at once.

I want REAL.  Even if real is messy and complicated and stumbly (made that word up too) and Gawky Giraffey.  Even if, even if.  Because life is also like this most precious gift.  It's beautiful and wondrous and breathtaking.  Leaping into recovery is scary.  Risky.  Taking that leap is terrifying. TERRIFYING. But that's kinda the point.  Leaping is terrifying, recovery is terrifying, living is terrifying.  But it is also alluring, astonishing, awe-inspiring.  (Alliteration: 3 points!)  Be brave, be terrified, but take that leap anyway.  And we'll all be here to cheer you on and greet you with pure elation (and probably some really bad profanity) on the other side.

To all of the alcoholics, addicts, or flawed human beings out there: shine on you crazy, nerdy weirdos.  Y'all are my people.

Let's go shine on.  The world needs us.

It Can Be Mine, and Yours, and it Can Be For Forever

60 days! It's my birthday, throw a party!

Earlier this week, I got my 60 day chip at an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting.  My dear friend and fellow grateful recovering alcoholic warrior sista,  Jenna, came along to celebrate my new "birthday" with me.  As far as "birthdays" go in AA, I'm a total fetus - only 60 days clean vs. say, the 12,045 days this old grandma has been alive!

But, I'll tell you something: I am fiercely proud of these 60 days.  Because these 60 days have been JUST RIGHT and JUST AS THEY SHOULD BE.  That isn't to say they've been easy, or even pleasant.  60 heartbreaking days separated from my children.  60 days of floundering and fear.  Working the 12 Steps.  Looking in the mirror and meeting myself for the first time in a very, very long time.  60 days of getting real with myself and with all of my wrongs.  Dropping the monstrous pride.  Discovering my Higher Power.  Learning (and then, finally) enjoying to pray.  Smiling more.  Actually being nice. At some point saying you're happy you're clean and sober, and finally not be lying through gritted teeth.  Getting real in therapy and doing some hardcore ugly crying.  Finally embracing the ugly crying, because, let's be honest, it feels so damn good.  Building friendships. Rebuilding your relationship with the love of your life.
Connecting with other addicts and alcoholics who have done reprehensible things, but loving them and learning from them because they love and accept you in all of your reprehensible-ness, too. Thanking God for putting these beautiful, hilarious, silly, conquering women in my life who have become my new heroes, and my new best friends.  (But, um, confesh: not like I had ANY friends in my addiction...)

60 days free from alcohol: cunning, baffling, powerful.

Alcohol, you're the worst

60 days of discovery: of myself, my Higher Power, my freaking awesome life and my freaking weird quirks and oddities.  (Oh boy.)

60 days of sorrow, absolutely.
60 days of forgiving and making amends.
Of fear, and finally, finally, FAITH.

Just 60 days.  2 months.  Such a short time.  Negligible, really.
BUT.
60 days toward the rest of my life.  And THAT ain't negligible.

So you see, 60 days has felt like forever, because I have done so much living - so much more than I have done in a very, very long time.  The living has been chaotic, hard as hell, messy and imperfect but MINE - and LIVING this life, not merely inhabiting it, like I did in my addiction.  I was a passive spectator, watching with glazed eyes and a hard heart and a jaded soul I refused to even turn on all of the life and vitality and beauty and heart break and wonder pass right before me, day after day after day.  Alcohol.  Oh, it is cunning, baffling, powerful.  Also sucky.

I never believed that the 60 days I've just had could be mine.  Yet it is here, and I am in it - the star of this 60 days of mine.  And of my forever, if I choose.

I am clean and I am sober.  I am messy.  I am sort of all over the place.  I am still trying to find my place and my role in my new sober forever.  I am a little lost.  But I'm here.  Present.  Trying.  Honest.  Sincere.

60 proud days and a whole lotta more to come, figuring out how to stay dopeless, but still dope as hell.  (I'm so punny - for real, I worked on that one for awhile...)

I know there is suffering.  You are.  I am.  This world is wearying.  Please know that peace and power and brave bad-assery can be yours.  Start today.  Stop being a spectator in your life, and become the star.  It is yours, waiting, and you will be so great.  I know it.  C'mon.  Day one, right now, toward the rest of this incredibly imperfect and beautiful and maddening forever that is so, so worth it.  Let's do this together: living, messing up, getting back up, doing better, supporting, carrying, rejoicing.  I'm here.  And I will wait for you to stand up and start living, with me.  Please, I need you.  We need each other.  We can't do this alone.  And may God bless you, and keep you, until we see each other, whether we are 60 minutes clean or 60 days clean or 60 years clean.  It can be mine, and yours, and it can be for forever.

And that makes me so very, very glad.

Look Brie, We're Riding a Bike!

A few weeks ago, we went up to Park City to go mountain biking for Recreation Therapy.  It was dreamy - a break from the unrelenting heat of the Utah summer, and pines and quakies and wildflowers everywhere.  One of my dearest friends and sidekicks in treatment was Sarah.  (FYI, any names that are real on this blog are only used with the person's express permission - and I won't ever divulge any personal information obtained in a therapeutic (or any other) setting; additionally, stories or details given that are true are, again - written here only after permission to do so has been given.

Ahem - back to mountain biking in beautiful Park City:

Sarah and I had been put in the group of youngsters: there were about five women who were technically teenagers, because many of them were still eighteen or nineteen, and then there was me and Sarah - the old ladies in the group.  We're both in our mid-dish 30's, and I know everyone will want to tell me that we're not old, and I know, I know - we're not that old.  But we really ARE "that old" when compared to a passel of sprightly teenagers who don't have bum knees (Sarah) and arthritis and asthma (me).  So we're biking, and in less than 56 seconds, they (the sprightly teenagers) have zoomed about 459 miles ahead of us, but Sarah and I didn't mind.  We quite contentedly biked lazily and gratefully at the back of the pack, enjoying the view, the clean mountain air, and reveling in the strength and resilience of our bodies when free from substances.

I could hear Sarah not far behind me.  It was a comfortable and companionable silence; this woman and I know almost everything about each other, and only love each other more fiercely because of it: our messy and complicated stories are full of pain and sadness, but we both see the beautiful - if flawed - women underneath all of that.

We are both women now with our eyes turned to God, and with vulnerable hearts and willing hands.  You can be the worst of the worst, but if God gladly rejoices in our earnest and sincere return to Him, then the worst of the worst can be the best of the best - because anything is possible with God.

I hear, just over my shoulder, Sarah say, simply and emphatically, "Look Brie, we're riding a bike!"  I laugh.  "Hell yes," I shout, "WE ARE RIDING A BIKE!"  Sarah then returns with "We are riding a bike AND being productive members of society!"  I laugh hysterically.  "How are we being productive members of society by riding a bike on a mountain with NO SOCIETY even around?"  Sarah: "Well, I'm not stealing any money from ANYONE right now, and we're not out in public being like drunk and disorderly, so that counts as being super productive, even if we don't have jobs!" I laugh.  My heart is soaring. "Yeah, Sarah, we are riding a bike indeed, being the best members of society ever. They really should all be thanking us."

We keep riding, happy and still totally abandoned by the sprightly teenagers, and now just kindasorta out of breath and alittlealot sweaty.  I hear Sarah swear and see her bike swerve out of the corner of my eye.  "You okay?" I call over my shoulder, and Sarah, back in control of her bike, yells "YES I'M OKAY!  I'M SO OKAY!  A BUTTERFLY JUST SMACKED ME IN THE FACE!"  "Wha--?" I yell back, "How is a butterfly smacking you in the face "so okay?"" And she yells back, "Because that butterfly smacking me in the face was LIFE interacting with me.  Life is happening right now, everywhere!  Don't you see?  LIFE IS SMACKING US IN THE FACE!"  And I'm laughing, and I'm wondrous, because I do see it - life smacking me in the face everywhere I look: those cute duckies in the pond I just passed?  Life smacking me.  The summer sky, so blue it's so beautiful it almost hurts?  Life and it's beauty smacking me in the face.

Bringing Mila a surprise lunch with extra treats - smack!

I have learned something about myself (and other grateful recovering alcoholics and addicts): we marvel at the smallest things, because in our addictions, we felt nothing, loved nothing, appreciated nothing.  Life wasn't smacking us in the face, because we didn't want or allow it to - we instead compulsively allowed darkness and despair to smack us, over and over and over.  Just having a clean body, that we can feel getting stronger and stronger brings us gratitude and is a giant life smacker.  Going to a movie or getting through a weekend clean and actually enjoying it is marveled at.  So, you have to understand - mountain biking in Park City with a best friend?  Sober?  With a strong (if kinda old) body?  Like, this is the best smacking that life has ever offered us.  Those of us that really want recovery will be grateful and excited for it all, and you'll be able to discern between those of us that Want It, and those of us that Don't Want It.  Because there is a difference between being clean and being sober.  And gratitude is most of that whole difference - those of us that throw our pride aside and adopt a habit of gratitude will have a higher likelihood of lasting recovery and sobriety, because we will find joy and we will recognize all the little and big smackings that life gives us, from simple bike rides where butterflies smack our face and we erupt with wonder and giddiness and joy, to celebrating our sobriety milestones and beyond.  An addict who is clean, but perhaps only grudgingly clean, will not see or appreciate life smackage.  And it is very sad, and I pray for these amazing and deserving addicts to ask for and experience and be grateful for all the smackings that life has to offer.

Field seats at an RSL game on a dreamy summer evening - smack!

When we are grateful, we will see life smacking us in the face almost every moment of every day, and this goes for the addicted as well as the normies.  You can never have had an addiction and still be the most miserable, lonely, and prideful person out there.  If you want life smacking moments and all of the Good Stuff God has to offer, you can have them - and you can have them now.  Choose to smile, even when you're having kind of the worst day ever.  Be nice to the struggling teenager who messes up your lunch order.  Leave a kind and sincere comment on someone's Facebook or Instagram account that normally irritates the hell out of you.  Be the person responsible for someone else having a life smacking moment, and then you'll see your own life smacking moments appear everywhere.

Bringing a NON-ALCOHOLIC drink to share with friends - smack!

I'm not kidding.  Gratitude is changing my life.  Sobriety is changing my life.  I spent my darkest days in so much pain, that I didn't think that I could bear to keep breathing if I was not intoxicated in some way.  Life couldn't smack me in the face because I stopped believing that life smackage could ever become a reality in my life again.  But they are!  Life doesn't give up on us, we do. Life is smacking you in the face every other damn minute, but it is up to YOU to recognize these moments, and to revel in it and have gratitude for it.

Most of us, if mountain biking in Park City, would curse a butterfly flitting in our face, especially if it caused us to nearly crash (bless your heart, Sarah!).  But not Sarah - Sarah turned that into a life smacking moment, because Sarah really should be dead, or in prison, from her drug use.  She understands that her having the opportunity to get clean, and mountain bike in Park City, and almost crash from that butterfly face smackage SHOULD NEVER HAVE BEEN A REALITY, LIKE EVER.  So, Sarah has gratitude, and because of that, Life smacks Sarah in the face hugely and abundantly.  Life doesn't care that she is an addict, and many other labels she's been given by society because of said drug use.  Life is just happy she is grateful, and happy she is aware of all the little smacking miracles, and thus, Life is super happy to keep all that smacking up.

When you and your sissy happen to choose identical nail polish out of over 350 choices when we got our nails done - smack!

Sarah taught me something important that day.  She taught me that I want life to interact with me and to smack me in the face.  Like Sarah, I shouldn't be clean and sober and grateful today.  I should be dead, or in prison.  I shouldn't have been welcomed with open arms into the residential treatment center that changed (and saved) my life.  I shouldn't have been forgiven for all the chaos I caused and the havoc I wreaked and the pain I doled out.  If anything should be smacking me, it should be perhaps losing relationships that matter to me, or maybe even my freedom - that's the smacking I deserve.  Instead, Life is smacking me in the face, and it is so good, and so cool.

That adoring look you get from your pretty perfect daughter - smack!

I am having lunch with my sisters, and rebuilding my relationships with them.  I am having way too much fun (and Mila not quite enough) doing her hair every morning before school in fun and creative ways that look much better on Pinterest than they do on my dear daughter's sweet head; bless her heart.  I shop and eat with my best friends I was in treatment with, and we're all still here and we're all still sober - holy smack!  SMACK SMACK SMACK!!!  I snuggle my pack (yeah, that means a lot) of pets.  I make dinner for my family.  I help Cade with his math homework (and discreetly Google how to do long division; math is hard).   

Time spent with the "Quad Squad" - my besties - I have enough friends now to constitute a "quad" - smack!

All of these moments may seem small, or unimportant.  But they aren't.  They mean everything to an alcoholic and an addict who played Russian Roulette with her life and her alcohol and drug use for way too long.  To a woman who asked God maybe a hundred times a day, maybe a thousand: Why am I here?  They are everything to a hopeless and shameful Mormon mother who spent every night, while her family slept, talking herself out of ending it all.  They are everything because I should have nothing.  They are everything because I should be nothing, and am instead becoming a loving and silly and courageous mother, wife, and human being.  Conquerer.  Woman Warrior.   Queen.  Flawed and kind of maddening, sure, but still something - definitely not nothing.

Lunch with a few of my sisters - chips and salsa and sarcasm - smack!

 Love your life smacking moments, and don't forget to smack the hell out of life right back.  Ride that bike.  Ask for help.  Go to treatment.  Love on your kids a little harder.  Smile more.  Be brave.  Take that risk.  Be open, and vulnerable, and real.  Surrender to your Higher Power.  Be willing to love yourself.

I love myself now - and am not afraid to show you my eyes, because I'm no longer afraid of what you will see in them - smack!

And then, turn your face to the sky, close your eyes, breathe deeply, and feel your beautiful life smacking you right in your beautiful face.

It feels awesome, huh?
Toldja.

And Everywhere, All Over the World, We Are Celebrating

I have been both surprised and delighted with the support and outpouring of love I've received with Sober and So Brie.  You are all such beautiful, bright friends.  Thank you.

Today I want to talk a bit about the stereotypes we hold of someone who has an addiction, and about challenging them, and about perhaps opening our hearts to the addict or alcoholic who still suffers.

So, like, until I went to treatment, I didn't even think I was an alcoholic, because I for real didn't even meet my own stereotype of what an alcoholic or a drug addict was.  I wasn't homeless, I'd never been in prison or even arrested.  I didn't prostitute myself for drugs, nor did I ever deal them.  I wasn't stealing from my family.  I fudging had my shiz together, get me? I mean, but there WAS the fact that I rarely left my home - or even my bedroom while in my addiction - and being a mama, wife, sister, daughter, writer, and equestrian - all the things I identified with that brought my happiness and pride - were completely bulldozed and buried while I ran full-tilt to an early death found at the end of an empty bottle - but never you mind I had just popped twelve perc 10's and a handful of klonopin washed down my throat with some whisky.  I wasn't homeless!  I wore cardigans and designer jeans and pleated capris - DRUG ADDICTS DON'T WEAR DESIGNER JEANS! I will drink this fudging vodka in my fudging pleated capris and I will not feel fudging ashamed, because I don't have a fudging problem!  My wardrobe somehow protects me from the label of drug addict or alcoholic!? -----Yeah okay Brie, you keep doing those mental gymnastics to make you feel less alcoholic-y.
*Eye roll.*

So, yeah, spoiler alert - I am an alcoholic and a drug addict.  I wear LuLuLemon and carry my blind shih tzu around in a cute tote bag, mostly just because I can.  And I am just as much a bottom of the barrel, almost lost my life and everything I hold dear to an addiction as any other addict who has ever prostituted themselves or used needles or whatever. I was engaging in extremely risky and dangerous behavior as well; I simply tried to hide it in different ways.

Chances are, and I'll literally bet you a million dollars on this - unless you're a hermit who only talks to their great aunt every month, begging for some social security money - that you absolutely, no doubt about it, have a neighbor, coworker, friend, sibling, child, soulmate...who is an addict.  We live among you, in the dark, entrenched in the longest, deepest night we have ever endured.  We are afraid of your light - it seems too bright, too perfect - we don't want to dirty you.  We fear your resentments and judgments you'll have if you hear how much we are struggling - we fear your eye rolls, or your dismissive retorts.  We know that our addictions are glaring in the light of day, but please, share some of your light with us.  We need you.  We need to know that there is a warm, hopeful morning ahead of this dark, dreary, horrific night we are enduring.  We know we are the worst.  We are screw ups.  We are maddening.  We just can't get it right.

But we're also human beings.  We are also God's children.  And because we are His, we, His prodigal sons and daughters, will be welcome in His arms time and time again.  God will always throw us a party upon our prodigal return - because His joy at our return is full and perfect.  We may leave again, and He will mourn, but if we come back - another party!

In real life, we don't expect a party - hell, we don't deserve one.  We know we have hurt you, and your hurts are valid, and we need to hear them, and we need to work hard and work long to repair the damage we've caused in our relationships with you.  But please, let us know that there is still hope for us.  Send us a note, telling us you're thinking of us.  Ask us to go to treatment.  Love us even when it hurts.  Because we need you.  We need your light to pierce the dark corners of our addiction.

When I started this blog, and "came out" about my drug and alcohol addiction, by far, the most emails or texts or comments I've received were "I didn't know!  You hid it so well!"  We hide it because we are ashamed.  We also hide ourselves, too.  None of you knew because I didn't want you to know.  At least, I thought I didn't want you to know.  It got to the point where all I really knew was that I couldn't do this anymore.  I was either going to accidentally take a toxic combination of pills and alcohol and be gone, or dammit, I was going to get clean and get help, because my life was so dark, and I needed a warm sunrise.  I needed strong arms around me, and I needed to know I wasn't so far gone that God was done with me.

I learned that God was never done with me - and that in my sobriety, He is doing for me what I can't do for myself - sobriety is the best party gift ever that this prodigal daughter has ever received.  We addicts and alcoholics CAN get and stay clean, even if we've gone to rehab or tried to get clean 3,847 times - well okay then, support and love us through our 3,848th time.  Because THAT could be the time we do it - and then, it will have all been worth it! Because we'll be out in the light, with you, and we can then share our light to those still lost in the darkness.  Some of us might be doing this wearing our pleated capris and cardigans while toting around our adorable blind doggos, (ahem...) and some of us may be spreading their light while wearing, like, sweat pants.  Or...no pants.  If, it like, works for you? We are CEO's of fortune 500's, and we are spending life sentences in prison.  We wake up every morning and we go to sleep every night.  We are among you, everywhere.  We are all the prodigals, returning home.  And everywhere, all over the world, we are celebrating.  Join us!  It's gonna be a killer party.