In recovery, we call this “playing the old tape reel.” It’s when our clean and clear sobriety mindset reverts back to old, familiar and ominous places. And in my case, rather nasty ones. This was the very cycle of self-destructive thinking that kept me trapped in active addiction for years. I no longer drink, so my brain is not hijacked by actual alcohol. But the well- worn neural grooves of addictive thinking are harder to get sober from. I drove on, focused on the road while trying to calm the imperceptible, internal war that waged on. I took a deep, ragged breath and repeated aloud: “Yes, I will go.” I sounded like someone trying to convince herself, because I was. “Yeah, I know, Mom,” my son responded, a hint of pre-teen irritation. “I already told them.”
The baseball game weighed on me for the rest of the day—more specifically, my reaction to the invite. Nearly two years into sobriety, I’d expected to be standing on firmer soil, and I was rocked a bit by this. And the following day, in a confessional act of sorts, I shared my experience in a Hola Sober meeting. My words felt revealing and raw, and therefore necessary to get out. And this is where the magic happened. In opening up about my dark, I invited in the light. Following my share, I listened intently to the heartfelt response of Susan Christina—a leader who has inspired and empowered me more than anyone to stand tall in my worth, my power and my sobriety. I cried after that call. Not because I was glum, but conversely because I’d been handed the gift of a new, life-affirming perspective. My son may not have the words to tell me this, but the reality is he doesn’t want a mom who drinks at a baseball game. He doesn’t want a mom who has wine on her breath or thoughts about her next drink foremost on her mind. My son doesn’t want to hang out with a mom who sways a bit in her shoes or laughs a little too long or too loud. The reality is he’d far prefer a mom who nags at night about homework and toothbrushing than one who falls asleep before him or can’t recall the next morning how a film ended during family movie night.
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