my baker's dozen
thirteen years, one day at a time
I used to swim in dark waters. Ruby red oceans of intoxication. Disappearing. Drowning. Subsumed and submerged in the depths of drinking, using alcohol to take care of me until it took me down.
The details of my story matter less than knowing I was a little girl lost who spent her whole life searching for solace. A girl born with blackened blood blisters at the base of each thumb from sucking—marks of my own making. Symptoms of both the want and lack I felt and the belief I needed and deserved something, anything, from the outside to soothe.
Thirteen years ago today, I began a different journey. I became willing to look at my drinking. To recognize that although I drank socially, I was never a social drinker. I drank to get drunk; I drank for the effect; I drank to change how I was feeling or sometimes to feel nothing at all.
Thirteen years ago today, I surrendered.
My drinking progressed over a lifetime. Slowly. Quietly. But with each “I’ll never do that again,” I would retreat a little bit more or incrementally move the line of what I considered to be acceptable behavior, or sometimes physically move from one end of campus, city, or country to another. Of course, my geographical cures never worked because wherever I went, I was still there.
From the outside, I was what some might describe as a functional alcoholic—I made it all look good. Most of those closest to me didn’t know or couldn’t comprehend the extent of my drinking. They certainly didn’t understand why I couldn’t just stop. But none of that matters as long as I know, and never lose sight of the fact that one drink was both too many and never enough. And that there’s much more to living than functioning.
In the end, it was just me drinking alone at my kitchen table, convinced I was hiding my drinking in plain sight, dying a little more inside each day. The alcohol that had first been my friend, then my medication, had become my poison. And I didn’t know how to live without it.
When you’re drinking, you think you’re so smart, you think you’re fooling everyone, you think you got it all figured out, and then you begin a path of recovery and discover that everyone was switching liquor stores and their hiding bottles. Everyone was taking online quizzes about whether or not they were an alcoholic over and over, each time rationalizing their answers, expecting different results, all the while drowning inside.
Being an alcoholic is exhausting.
A bottom can be anything. It doesn’t have to involve losing one’s job or the legal system. My story is one written without significant loss but it was my bottom nonetheless. I had lost what was most important—I had lost myself. And it was enough for my husband to give me an ultimatum.
If you don’t stop drinking, I’m going to leave you and take the kids, and you will never see them again.
Alcoholism and drinking can look like many things. It doesn’t have to be a homeless man living under the bridge. It can be a doctor’s wife with an Oak Hill Country Club membership and a Volvo station wagon. It doesn’t matter what it looks like because anyone can be an alcoholic. Naming oneself an alcoholic is merely the recognition that something needs to change. There is no shame. Because on the other side, it becomes possible that alcoholism doesn’t even have to look like drinking. It can look like living a full, meaningful life.
Alcoholism can look like recovery.
Sobriety is so much more than not slurring your words. It’s about finding and having and trusting your voice. Sobriety doesn’t mean my life is perfect; it certainly didn’t save my marriage. In time, however, I’ve come to believe that was never its intention, but it was the ultimatum I needed to save myself, and it offered me the grace and the dignity with which to leave.
Sobriety has allowed me to experience my life with a deeper clarity, which doesn’t mean I still am not prone to becoming frantic, overwhelmed, or overly hard on myself for not being further along in the day, in my career, in my fill-in-the-blank. But after thirteen years, I’m better at catching myself and using the tools of recovery or asking for help before I spin too far; I’m better at believing I am enough because trying to be more never got me anywhere good.
Thirteen years ago, I became willing to give up one thing to experience everything. It has been a journey as exhausting as exquisite; I wouldn’t change a thing. I’m grateful for every stumbling block, grateful for each stepping stone. I’m grateful for those I walk with and for those who have guided my way.
My mantra for 2024 comes from the Sufi mystic Rumi:1
if you remember who you are, what will you become?
We can’t become a different person; none of us can, no matter how hard we try, but we can become willing to embody ourselves because it was all we were ever meant to be.
Thirteen is Taylor Swift’s favorite number; today, it might be my favorite number, too. Rather than being unlucky, thirteen is my baker’s dozen of abundance. One word at a time, one breath at a time, one day at a time—i am, i am, i am.2
thanks for reading ~ xosew
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UPCOMING WAYS TO WORK TOGETHER
Close to Home: Blurring the Boundaries of Gender | New Narrative Medicine Workshop Series
Beginning February 20, my colleague Cathy DeFoor, MD and I are offering a narrative medicine workshop series for all caregivers of transgender children and teens.
Join us for some shared time of creative exploration and reflection around common themes in parenting transgender children and teens. Each 90-minute workshop will begin with a guided discussion, followed by a period of personal reflection/journal writing, ending with time for (voluntary) sharing. These sessions are structured to be supportive and inclusive. Our intention is to hold a creative space for processing our own experiences and learn from the stories of others. This is NOT group therapy, although many find the process to be therapeutic.
When: Tuesday, February 20, March 5 + 19 7 - 8:30 pm ET
Session I: What’s in a Name?
Session II: Remembering in the Now
Session III: Paradoxical Parenting
Cost: tiered pricing to accommodate all budgets + scholarships available | a portion of the proceedings will be donated to Lambda Legal
Workshops limited to 15 participants
REGISTER HERE or email me with your questions
Sylvia Plath
Thank you. This is both beautiful and expansive. It’s like a big hug and a cheer at the same time.
Thanks again for sharing your story, Sarah, and congratulations on thirteen years, one breath and day at a time. I like how you and others in the comments share your experience, strength, and hope! xx