I wrote this poem in August of 2000. I was three months sober. Let me know if it means anything to you. ______________________________________________________________________ Emptiness fills the room. I alone sit quietly. Chest tight and eyes welling with tears, I sit quietly alone. As the tears streak my face I feelRead More →
I woke up this morning before the sun came up. I felt excited about the day and a part of me couldn’t wait until the kids were up so we could start it. I knew where I was, and my car was parked exactly where I remember leaving it. AsRead More →
The word alcoholism is scary and comes with all kinds of labels, stereotypes, and emotions. I hated standing up in front of everyone and having to say, “My name is Amy and I am an alcoholic.” It sent the butterflies in my stomach swirling and my palms sweating. Early inRead More →
I got sober when my daughter was four. Truth be told, I hadn’t seen her in months before that. It became clear when she was three and a half, (through an event that I may share later), that I could not pull off being a full-time mommy and drink theRead More →
Changing my inner monologue was perhaps the hardest thing I had to do in recovery.Read More →