Always Have an Exit Plan

Always Have an Exit Plan

Tonight I could be celebrating an old bestie’s milestone birthday at the cutest getaway cabin, with women I’ve know going on 17 years. But instead, I’m staying home. I’ll go to a recovery meeting, do regular mundane mom kind of stuff, baby my dog who has a little injury. I’ll work, getting my business ready to reopen in a pandemic. I have a mammogram.

I could have ditched it all for a reunion. For sure. But I’ve been trained in sobriety to check my motives before making any decision. This celebration was going to be just girls, in a cute cabin far from home, getting shitfaced. That’s just the kind of situation my alcoholic brain craves. I love these girls, but watching people get loaded isn’t fun. Plus the addict in me could easily cave-who would know? Just this once. No big deal. And there goes years of sobriety, circling the drain. “Staying stopped” is WAY easier than starting over.

I ALWAYS need an exit plan. Sure I’ll go out to a birthday dinner, have a piece of cake, support and love my friends. And then I’ll go on home, sobriety and dignity intact. Any time I go where there’s alcohol, I think it through, and decide if there’s a valid reason to go. And I plan my exit IN ADVANCE. The FOMO will pass. And I’ll be here, strong and serene.

Show a Little Class

Show a Little Class

My sister and I have been talking about how we would like to show more class and grace. Kindness and manners are always in style. That doesn’t mean you won’t hear the F bomb drop from our lips on occasion. Sometimes it’s just called for.

What isn’t called for is getting fall down drunk. It’s really not cute at any age, but it’s just a ridiculous state of affairs for professional moms with teen kids. I mean, REALLY. Ladies. Come on.

How do we drink with class? We drink water and sparkling water and coffee and an occasional tea. Maybe we throw a splash of juice in the seltzer when we’re feeling sassy. Because, make no mistake, we are no ladies with an alcoholic beverage. That one drink is gone in about 1/2 second, so fast either one of us easily could say, “Oh, I believe you forgot to pour my drink.” I can confidently say neither one of us has ever been satisfied with just one. Our motto was always, “Why waste the calories?”

We retired our drinking career, choosing to treat our bodies as the temples of our lovely spirits. We still aren’t exactly models of decorum, but fuck it. It’s a start.