I was a really crappy person before I got sober. I left a trail of shit in front of and behind me, and anywhere I went I brought a mess. It’s been seven years, and I’m still trying to make up for every bad thing I said and did.
At what point is enough enough? When do I get to start living my life, instead of living my past?
How long can I keep smiling and nodding like everything’s okay, scrambling around to fix it all while also cringing inside? I don’t understand why I do that.
My plate is already full. I let the guilt of everything I did wrong in active addiction consume me. I’m not that person getting blackout drunk and being an irresponsible mom and friend. Yet all these years later I still feel pressure to prove myself.
I have a tribe that stood by me while I got sober. I have beautiful children, a home, stability in my life, and gratitude for all of it. But even as I write this, I’m so freaking tired I can’t think straight. I wake up panicking, resentful and angry about the pressures I place on myself—all the things I have to do and stressing about how to get it all done.
I put my big girl pants on and I pretend to get my shit together. I do what I can today, and then I repeat the next day, but I’m spent.
There is no “mommy wine time” out at the end of my day. There are no play dates with other moms, because drinking is what we do. There’s no turning to beer when things get rough. There’s just me; wondering how the fuck I’m going to get it all done.
My life is great, but I am tired. I’m lonely and I feel like my brain is mush half the time. I’m walking through the emotions, and hoping I’ll make it to bedtime. I’m a mess, but I’m sober. I’m living my life, one sometimes crappy moment at a time, and today, that’s all I can do.