St. Louis Addiction Counseling

I knew I was coming down with something, because I felt strange. My friend said it so passively, I almost missed it. She was referring to a flu that smacked h...er off her feet a few hours later, but it gave me pause for another reason. For many, many years, I couldn’t trust my body with feelings, knee jerk reactions, and with physical changes. Because for me, I was never sure how much of it was coming from me, and how much was coming from last night’s bottle of wine. My body feeling weird? That was generally me just hungover. Or at least that’s what I usually chalked it up as. My body couldn’t communicate things a body tries to communicate with us every day: feeling tired, sad, sick, or anxious because I was numbing everything inside of me. Sometimes nightly. And all the times I got sick like stuck on the toilet or vomiting endlessly? It was so easy to pass it up as stomach flu. God knows how many times I called in sick to work with that diagnosis. And no doubt in some of those cases, it really was a bad illness, or food poisoning (another one I used often). But I could never truly know for sure. Because I’d be lying to myself to think hammering numerous beers the night before didn’t have any role in the matter. No one talks about the body’s awakening in sobriety. Yes, we talk about finally feeling all the feelings. But what about finally listening to our bodies? Our bodies are truly amazing. They tell us when we’re tired. They tell us when we’re in danger, sick, or in pain. I’ve been sober for a year now, and it’s incredible to have active, engaging and honest communication with my body. Activities that encourage listening to our bodies, such as meditation and yoga, were always on my No way in hell list. I couldn’t stand them. They were boring. They were isolating. They were too quiet. I finally understand the truth. That I was terrified of the quiet. I was terrified to hear what my body might tell me in my yoga session or in a silent meditation. Because deep down I knew I was abusing my body. Deep down I knew I was suffocating myself with alcohol and lying about the damage it was doing. Deeper still, I was terrified of what my body might tell me if I finally did listen. I used to believe I was a victim to extreme anxiety and prone to depression. I felt sorry for myself about it. I even used it as an excuse to drink. Poor, depressed me have another glass of wine. And for a few minutes, it worked. My head cleared, my pain numbed, I feel free. And I would chase that feeling with the next glass, then the next. Until I felt nothing at all. I would go to bed in a daze, only to wake up with my body calling its distress signal. SOS Something’s wrong! We are not OK! Did I ever listen? No, I blamed my body for the hangover. I complained about needing Advil and breakfast. I cursed my weak stomach, throbbing head and anxiety overdrive as a weakness of my body. And I thought about my next drink. When would I get it? What would it be? How much could I have? Now that I’m sober, I can finally feel all the things. And my body? This living breathing suit of armor than does everything in its power to keep me alive? It can finally communicate with me the way it’s always wanted. Soberly. Alert. Actively listening. I still have anxiety, and I’m still prone to depression. But I don’t have alcohol empowering both of those mental health issues, as alcohol is known to be a depressant. And my body’s daily SOS!? I can look back on those hangovers now as my body’s ultimate cry for help. My body was begging me to listen all this time. One beautiful epiphany in my body’s awakening? Yoga and meditation are now two of my favorite activities. Listening to my body is a privilege and honoring my body with active listening feels like the least I can do after everything it’s done for me. Despite decades of abuse. Some would argue we gain body confidence when we’re drinking. But they’re talking at a superficial level. Because the real confidence comes with the awakening. The body awakening is when our mind and our physical self can align as one. As a whole. Just as it was always meant to.

Some days I miss her. Little miss wild and free. The party girl, always down to go out. Always the friend up for a ‘drink’ (wink wink), knowing full well the bo...ttle didn’t stand a chance. Some days I think my spouse and friends miss her too. She always said yes to going out. Never one to turn down a drink, no matter what time it was. When I popped open a beer at 9 am, people laughed and called me cool. When I joked about being shaky from such a heavy drinking weekend, people encouraged some 'hair of the dog.' I didn't have a problem after all. I was just fun. I was laid back. Right? More days than not now, two years sober, I feel like the party pooper. I’m often the first to go home, because I value sleep over just about everything. As an introvert, partying sober is not my thing. Even plain old conversation depletes me. A book in bed? Or Netflix, that’s more my style. I'm no longer considered 'the party girl,' and my propensity for being the fun one has ridden off into the distance as well, as much due to my preference for staying home as the stigma of being the only sober person at a social gathering. And an old pic pops up with me dolled up holding wine or champagne, with glassy eyes and a beaming smile, and I miss her. But I only miss a small part of her. The one 1 or 2 drinks in. Still alert. She still had her head attached to her body. She still could do basic math and make relatively smart decisions. Not miss 4 glasses in. She was just about gone. In a daze, verge of blackout. Slurring or not speaking at all for fear of slurring. Staggering or staying put for fear of staggering. She would end the night in a blackout or damn close. She would often wake up at 3 am in a sweat, checking her phone for glimpses of evidence. How did the night end? How did she get home? I don’t miss that girl. Not one bit. Nor the girl who woke up the next morning, ridden with guilt and anxiety, nursing a vicious hangover and yearning for a drink to quell the shakes. Memories can be deceiving. And it angers me how much power alcohol has over me. So much of me wishes that alcohol ‘wasn’t my thing.’ The thing that ultimately will take me down if I let it. Writer @lauramckowan says of addiction, it’s unfair that this is your thing. [But] this is your thing. And I think I spent far too long focused on the first part of that statement, licking my wounds and feeling sorry for myself. It’s not fair. Why me? Why can’t I just stop after one drink? What a waste of time and energy. Maybe It’s about time to focus on the second part. This is my thing. This will always be my thing. Simple. Is it fair? No, but a lot of things in life aren’t fair. It’s OK to miss pieces of an old me. But it’s also important to celebrate how far I’ve come. The party girl has grown up. She traded a bottle for a life, a family and a future. And it was the right choice, and it’s a choice I get to make every day. Yes, sometimes I look back and I miss the girl with the glass in her hands and the smile on her face. She looks so carefree and happy, I always forget that she was probably thinking about how to get her next drink. I miss that girl in the way I miss my first love. Damn I’m glad it’s over but wow, what a ride. And I get up, look in the mirror and remember every moment of last night. I get some coffee without a shaky hand, and I hug my kids with no regrets over what I might have said or done to upset them, or even puts their lives at risk. And I decide that I will stay sober again today. Because I choose life over alcohol. Because this is my thing. *** Pop over to my Instagram page where I'm doing a giveaway! https://www.instagram.com/theultimatemomchallenge.

We have discussed this in group... this is a great watch.