I just read an article by William White about the difference between Relapse Prevention (RP) and Recovery Management (RM). In a nut shell, he opines that one focuses on “deficits and vulnerabilities” and the other on “assets”. RP implies we are running from monsters (waking up the ghost?). RM suggests we are “being positively drawn toward something of great value of one’s own choosing.”

The four-year experiment…

It came at a perfect time. Because, I was reflecting on the Thanksgiving weekend and my own, four-year psychosocial experiment in sobriety. And I was feeling pretty full of myself this morning. In fact, for the first time in four years, I actually broke my typical cycle. I think I have begun to trick my own brain!

Let me explain.

My son Jonathan and his girlfriend Kallie were visiting. And it was a fantastic weekend of family, hikes, great food and conversation. Even the Up North winter cooperated with unseasonable warmth (other than the 25 mph winds off Lake Michigan).

Jonathan asked me if it was still difficult for me to be with people who were drinking. He wanted to know if I still craved wine – if it was still an “issue for me”. (This asked while he sipped a Coppola Cabernet…) I answered truthfully, that I never thought about drinking anymore. It took a long while, but I have not had that out-of-nowhere, punch in the gut desire to DRINK! in about a year…

What I have done, is replace my addiction to wine with candy, coffee and food. And exercise. Hiking in the Michigan wilds has been a staple of my recovery, and I talk about it all the time. But, so has anesthetizing myself with the fast food equivalent of white wine shooters in the glove-box. That, I don’t talk about much…

Cultivating wellness…

Yesterday, Jonathan and Kallie left at 4 AM. I experienced the usual feelings one feels – tired, a bit lonely, a touch of anticlimax. And I also experienced the feelings that plague the person with a substance use disorder. That empty, bleak, icky feeling that used to send me to bed with a jumbo bottle of chardonnay and a party bag of M&Ms.

I have to admit, when I got home I felt the momentary desire to eat up the frayed remains on the charcuterie plate. And I wanted to scrounge for anything containing Karo syrup. Stuffing my mouth with processed, sugary foods has been my go-to panacea to fill the void since I quit drinking.

But after a nap and a cup or two of coffee, I had the out-of-nowhere, punch in the gut desire to go for a walk. It was a beautiful, sunny day. And I had no desire to hole-up and eat. The feeling was so shocking, I didn’t quite know how to handle it. I even opened the refrigerator and looked inside to test myself. Rattled the Skinny Pop bag because I am a glutton for punishment. Nothing. 

Talk about being drawn to something of great value of one’s own choosing…

Learning positive reinforcement…

The only explanation I have is that after four years of sobriety and two years of actively trying to rewire my brain – it is working! When I had the moment to fill an empty day, I chose the positive reinforcement of a walk.

Recovery is so much more than just not drinking. So much more than looking over one’s shoulder for the next relapse. It requires an overhaul of an entire life. And positive, healthy choices after the cravings for alcohol or other drugs dissipate.

Bill White says, “If recovery is more than the removal of alcohol and other drugs from an otherwise unchanged life, then the focus of recovery support interventions should shift from a strict RP focus (a process of problem subtraction) to an RM focus on achieving global health (a process of addition) and increasing one’s potential for a both personal fulfillment and social contribution (a process of multiplication). There is a difference between the prevention of illness and the promotion, achievement, and transcendence of wellness.” Relapse Prevention, Recovery Management, Recovery Transcendence – William White

I might not be at transcendence yet…

Full disclosure. I came home from the walk and ate a bag of Boom Chick a Boom caramel and sea salt popcorn. I also watched some smutty TV. But the difference is that I was not compelled to do so. And although I am a work in progress, my brain is rewiring in the right direction. The fact is, I like popcorn. Almost as much as the choice to walk along the lake on a cold, bright new day.

E2E – We always think of your well-being…

The post Alcohol Recovery Management or How to Trick Your Own Brain… first appeared on Waking Up The Ghost - Alcohol Recovery.

I am on vacation in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula while most of my loved ones and all my most memorable stomping grounds are in the eye of a storm. My son Jonathan has been chased by Irma from Tampa to Blue Ridge, Georgia. Kim is laid-up in Jacksonville while several of her roofs lifted off their moorings. And Lauren and John are hosting, without power, her father and a plethora of potted plants (outdoor items must come indoors lest they hurtle on high-force winds through plate-glass windows).

I am familiar with tropical storms. I have evacuated. I have thrown porch furniture into the pool and rolled up carpets. Moved artwork and valuables to higher ground in preparation for storm surge. So I am not insensitive to my loved ones’ lot. It almost seems sacrilegious to think of anything else.

Even while experiencing the UP in unseasonably warm weather…

The wellspring of my alcoholism…

The thing is, I have always weathered storms – from hurricanes to romantic breakups the same way. Pour a glass a wine, throw a lounge chair into the deep end and c’est la vie. There is not a single storm of consequence I have experienced, where I wasn’t three sheets to the wind. It’s hard to deny – hard to think about.

But I am on vacation.

And as it turns out, I am on vacation in my alma mater – the very place I had my first drink. So, you see how this all connects – full-circle – cosmically? And how restorative it is to be legitimately anxious about one’s family, without getting drunk to anesthetize the anxiety? To be nostalgic about the wellspring of my alcoholism without feeling the threat of a relapse…

And the hiking my sober friends…

What’s a girl to do? There is nothing I can impact a thousand miles from the storm. Nothing I can change. And so I took a hike – contemplating the beauty sculpted by God’s gentler hand.

Dappled sun in Presque Isle

E2E – Look up!

The post Weathering the Storms… first appeared on Waking Up The Ghost - Alcohol Recovery.

A few short years ago, the month of August would have been like every other month. I would have woken in a tangle of sheets, maybe bloody (certainly besmirched) with nausea rising in my throat and no memory of how I got the abrasions on my knees.

Read it and weep…

I’d reach over to the bedside table and drink the last dregs in the wineglass from the night before like a tonic. The curtains would be billowing, a sharp breeze off the Exuma Sound. And as I started another day in Paradise, I wouldn’t bother to look out of the window…

As patches of the previous evening came back, I’d get snippets of memory. It felt like the sickening strobe light – OFF ON OFF ON OFF ON – at the Happy People Bar in the village. A face here, a piece of a room there, swapped with a matt-black nothingness…

My past came up in the office yesterday. Jess said she could not imagine me in my active addiction. She said it made her sad to think of it. Weirdly, I can’t imagine it either. That time in my life, at the tail end of the maelstrom that was my late-stage alcoholism, feels like it happened to someone else.

Falling off a bar stool should hurt, right?

When I think about that crazy blonde who wore a wineglass like a wedding ring and drove a golf cart like a drunken banshee, I don’t even like her.  And think about what it does to your body to fall, dead weight, from the summit of a barstool. And what it must feel like to have a baker’s dozen of the local guys try to hoist you from a filthy cement floor.

It’s no wonder my Pucci kitten heals didn’t survive.  It’s a wonder I did.

There were good times living in The Bahamas. Such good times in fact, I cannot muster the nerve to return. Another island perhaps, but not Staniel Cay… not yet…

This summer I have been working…

Living in Michigan, is like living in Opposite World from The Bahamas. In fact, people work during the summer here and travel to warm climes in the winter. Speaking of working, I’ve been doing a lot of it.

And because I am proud of my accomplishments, and happy to be working at something I love to do, I wanted to share with you the new website I created (along with Jess, Monica, Kevin and Mindutopia) for Sanford House Addiction Treatment Centers.

We have gone from being a gender specific treatment facility for women, to adding treatment for men to the mix. It was necessary to rewrite the entire website before the opening (in the next two weeks in a series of events) of our newest restored historic mansion – Sanford House at John Street for Men. The website has been a long time coming. I began writing it in February, in a cabin in the Up North woods.

Walden Pond and all that…

When you think about it from the marketing perspective, a profound change in an organization makes for a host of problems, challenges, exigencies and opportunities. One must bow to the Gods of Google SEO… And what a fun brain teaser it is.

Now, I’m not saying that launching a new website and opening a 20 bed treatment facility is as relaxing as passing out on the deck of a boat on the Exuma Sound. And I am not sporting a tan this summer. But the confidence, pride and community I have developed during this process is so satisfying, I can honestly say I’d rather be doing this than sitting on a beach.

But I am thinking of taking one of those Michigan, fall vacays or booking a trip to Florida for the holidays now… All work and no play makes Mare a dull girl.

E2E – We are thinking of you every day…

The post What Did You Do On Your (Sober) Summer Vacation? first appeared on Waking Up The Ghost - Alcohol Recovery.

I guess, if I were being honest, I’d have to say I am the kind of person who enjoys being alone in a remote cabin in the woods. I am writing from one now. If you met me, you would not think of me as some solitary, grizzly gal. I shave my legs, I carry on lively conversations when needs be. I can even be the life of a party if I put my mind to it…

But since I got sober, I enjoy my solitude even more…

I used to start all my drinking stories with “I ended up,” As if I were cast ashore by a tempest or airdropped into the calamities that befell me. As if I were not responsible for my misadventures – tossed in by a capricious God. But since I got sober, I take full control of my actions and full culpability for my frailties. It is freeing and a bit disarming.

Kind of like the time I was getting ready to move from our first house and I was packing up the attic. I found boxes and suitcases full of my husband’s old socks and dented golf balls. In the seven years we had lived on Lamplighter Lane, he had never thrown away a pair of argyles or a golf ball. He was a box-keeper. I suppose it’s better than bags of human hair, but you think you know someone…

What about when you surprise yourself?

It’s weird enough when the surprising behavior happens with someone else, but what if you surprise yourself? The fact is, that after all I have read about “the opposite of addiction being connection’, I want to be alone. Not all the time. It’s not like I am a recluse or even want to wear animal skins and hole up and grow my finger nails like Howard Hughes.

But after a long day at the office, or after a vacation where I am with family or friends 24/7, I want (need) to slink off somewhere solo and recharge. I don’t want to have to apologize for that.

So how does it fit with my sobriety?

But how does this work with my sobriety? Isn’t someone frowning right now into their tablet and thinking, Oh boy – she’s headed for a fall… Isolation is the bugaboo of the addicted set. You cannot be sober and isolated. Cabin in the woods? Alone? Kiss of death… Get thee to a meeting…

But remember naysayers, there are many paths to recovery. And there is a big difference between isolation and solitude. I’ve written about it, so I know. If you are an introvert or a loner, sobriety can be an additional challenge. But in taking responsibility for my actions, I have also accepted my idiosyncrasies. It feels to me like the definition of “recovery” and it does not preclude social time or group meetings.

Careful…

For the solitary, grizzly sober folk, the key is routine and forced community. Does that sound like an oxymoron? And we must never go off the grid or not be available by email or phone. Periods of solitude should be limited and the recovery tools that serve everyone else with a substance use disorder, are particularly important. I have yet to stay in a remote cabin that doesn’t have a “secret” booze cabinet, for example. The evil little devil on the shoulder can whisper in your ear, “Who would know?” And who, but you, would hear?

Most importantly, I do not recommend a stint alone in the woods for the newly sober. Why test yourself? You’ve been through a lot…

As I navigate this sober life, I learn more about myself every day. I like the fact I can tell the world I am content all by myself. I am thrilled I have finally begun to understand what makes me tick (speaking of cabins in the woods…). And I am confident I have developed the tools to do what I like, but also mitigate my natural tendencies to isolate.

At least I don’t hoard old socks…

The post I’m Solitary Sober… What Kind of Sober are You? first appeared on Waking Up The Ghost - Alcohol Recovery.

Try, try again…

Get ready – I’m about to use climbing mountains as a metaphor for quitting drinking again. I can’t help myself, it’s too symbolic. Especially since the first time I tried to climb the “big hill” on my vacation in Puerto Rico last week, I failed. Let me explain. The road to get to the big hill is a few miles long, with three rather high, sloping hills and many smaller rises along the way. There is a long dry stretch, where the wind rarely blows and it gets hot. The surface is loose sand, littered with small, ankle turning rocks. And the hill itself is steep and long, curling up a narrow, rocky path.

It’s not that hard, really…

Kim says it’s not really that tough. It’s not like you need carabineers. You don’t have to dangle from cliffs. But the walk is challenging and for some reason, it’s  immensely difficult for me. But I want to do it every time I go to Puerto Rico. Right now, in my mind’s eye, I can see it – every rock and curve through the green… Going up, up forever…

And the fact is, I am not as proud of myself for getting up the hill – finally – as I am for wanting to get up the hill the next day, after my failure.

Even though I pretty much almost died the first time I tried. Seriously, the top of my head was exploding and my legs were soggy noodles with thigh weights and I would make it a foot or two up the hill (mountain) and I could actually see birdies flying around my head like the cartoons… So I would have to sit down. Eventually, I turned back shamefaced without getting close to the top. I met up with Kim and was able to talk myself out of collapsing inconveniently in the wilderness (stumbling along like some old plow horse ready to be made into Elmer’s), but as soon as we hit the paved road I gave up. This was a first, but I sat down in the grass and I said, “I cannot do it. I can’t make it back.”

You’ve Done it Before – You Learned From the Experience…

But I’ve climbed that hill so many times before. I have memorized the route. So the next day, I was up and ready to try, try again.  And I made it – no sweat. And then I got an email from H who says she has been trying to quit drinking for two years now. She quits drinking for two weeks, a few days, a month, but always goes back to the bottle. H feels defeated. She said she “wants what I have – the freedom.”

And I thought, Holy crumb – let’s look at this positively – she’s quit a few times before, so H knows what it feels like to not drink. It’s like climbing a big, huge hill. And all is not lost with a relapse, or a failure. Especially if she learned something along the way. And what’s more, H is looking at quitting as freedom. Freedom, like standing at the top of a hill after a long climb with your arms in the air…

Mountains of Booze Bottles…

So, for H and everyone else out there who knows they have to quit drinking, but can’t seem to make it stick, let’s talk about the tools you need to quit for good. You don’t need carabineers – no hanging off the face of a cliff. But you do need gumption – the belief that you will not drink again. Ever. And you need friends who will tell you “it’s not that tough,” but who will walk down the hill with you (without judgment) when you are finding it way too hard to get to the top.

Yes, I am using that tired, mountain metaphor again. But it is so apt – taking the first step, knowing it’s going to be a challenge and going for it anyway. And if you’ve faltered before, if you didn’t make it, there is no crime in trying, trying , trying again until you get it right. You just keep thinking about the way it’s going to feel – the freedom of standing at the top – sweaty and tired and breathing hard, but there. With your arms in the air. Free.

The post What if Quitting Drinking Doesn’t Stick the First (Fifth, Tenth) Time You Try? first appeared on Waking Up The Ghost - Alcohol Recovery.

I spent three hours yesterday lying in the Puerto Rican sun. On a lounge chair and in a bathing suit. I haven’t done that in years, but I felt the need for some Vitamin D and it was windy enough to be comfortable – not too hot. Happily, I am past the point where relaxing seaside also means getting drunk and sunburnt. I apply my number 30 and hydrate.

Mojitos and Mai Tais and Margaritas, oh my….

What is it about sitting beside the ocean that drains away all the accumulated stress? My senses are overwhelmed. The cobalt sky with cloud sculptures floating by; the salt breeze and intermittent blaze of sun; the clean washed, dreaminess of a lounge chair catnap. And the air, laden with faraway flowers, breathed in to the tips of my lungs. Even the water tastes better…

So, why do you think so many people drink alcohol on seaside vacations? Even using “vacation” as an excuse or an explanation for over-drinking or pouring the first adult beverage in the morning? Why has a tropical setting been such a trigger for me in the past? And while I’m in a questioning mood, how many calories are there in a margarita*?

Fixing things that are not broken…

Let’s recap. And I can do this without sounding preachy because I spent the better part of eight years pie-eyed, while living in The Bahamas. Getting drunk on vacation is like the old adage “don’t fix it if it ain’t broke”. When you think about it, it doesn’t make sense…

I’m not talking about the heady pleasure of summoning a cute waiter for a single, decadent, poolside pina colada. Not even talking about a tipsy night clubbing, if you can handle it. I’m talking about anesthetizing. Impairing the senses being bombarded with all that natural splendor.

Here’s what I like about being sober on vacation:

1. My Beach Bag

There is no need to carry a small cooler anymore. No baggy with ice and insolated cup of wine. No clunk, clunk of wine shooters because 30 ounces of chard is not enough. I throw in one bottle of frozen water, one bottle of cold – easy.

2. Morning

I love sober mornings. A cup or two of coffee, fruit and gear up for the killer, PR hills. You may not have a best friend like mine, so this may not be as important to you, but I do not want to be hungover on a hike with Kim.

3. Feeling, seeing, smelling, tasting, remembering…

4. Best Behavior

Vacation brings out the “silly” in most folks. When you add three bottles of wine to the holiday mix, silly becomes sloppy. And oftentimes, with me, sloppy became ugly. Like the opening scene in Jaws, ugly…

5. Dozing vs Passing Out

There is nothing so wonderful as dozing by the ocean. But when you’ve had too much to drink in the sun and heat, it’s another story. Mouth open, snoring, slack faced – waking with a dry mouth and a thick head.

6. The Cumulative Effect

I could go on, but the fact is, vacation is just better for me now that I’m sober. It’s the cumulative effect. I’m a better friend, a better house guest (thank you Claudio and Kim), and a more enthusiastic and appreciative tourist. I’m healthier.

It’s All Good

I think everyone should have the opportunity to do exactly what they want to do on vacation. We all deserve to relax and rejuvenate. But one of the things I have learned in the last three years of sobriety, is that using alcohol to dull the rage, depression and pain, also dulls the good stuff.

And for me, the lazy, hazy, vacay Bahamian expression “it’s all good” to explain away my previous bad behavior, does not wash. It’s not “all good” when you can’t control yourself. It is not “all good” when you make a fool of yourself (again)… I am so grateful for these few days in Puerto Rico. I am so happy to be in the present and accountable. Feeling, seeing, smelling, tasting, hearing  a vacation without booze.

Now that’s “ALL GOOD”…

*Up to 850 calories! Yikes!

The post Feeling, Seeing, Smelling Vacation Without the Booze first appeared on Waking Up The Ghost - Alcohol Recovery.

I’ve spent a lot of time in The Bahamas and Russia. Florida and Michigan. All of those places seem to be fueled by alcohol. I have been drunk in all of them and watched others be drunk too. In tiki-huts on the Exuma Sound, in a gondola on a St Petersburg canal (with a brown paper bag…). At Irish/Polish funerals in Flint and with art guys on Miami lanais. I got sober in Florida. I am living in Michigan now as a person in long term recovery. All of these experiences have made me curious yellow (but watch out where the huskies go…), to answer the burning question that’s been on my mind lately. Is it easier to be sober in a warm or cold climate?

It’s Tough ANYWHERE…

This morning when I got up and looked out at all the white, I couldn’t help but think about what it would be like to sit in front of a fire and get quietly pie-eyed with a bottle of red wine (or three). The photograph above is not a screen shot from the movie Fargo. Or a black and white pic. It was taken by my intern Monica when I sent her out to get “happy shots of snow”. Sometimes the cold weather is just colorless and melancholy. And there’s a certain beauty…

The best way to sum up what it feels like to be a drunk in a cold climate, is to recount the conversation I had with my Russian, gondola captain. We were in St Petersburg during the white nights and it was light and festive at 3 AM. I asked, “So what all happens during the white nights?”

He said, “Very happy. Make babies and get drunk.”

I said, “Okay. So what happens during the dark days then?” Assuming what goes up must come down…

He said, “Bad. We get drunk and kill ourselves…”

Notice the common denominator…

But in a Warm Climate…

I am heading to Florida tomorrow, and staying at George’s condo on the ocean. I’d be lying if I didn’t say I think about what it would be like to sit on his balcony and get quietly plastered with a bottle of white wine (or five). I’m being honest here. There is something a little missing without the wine – hot of cold, red or white. Yes, I know to play it forward… I’m crawling around on the floor looking for my teeth… I am waking with no memory in a strange bed…

The best way to describe drunkenness in a warm climate, is to reminisce about the pearls of wisdom spouted by my Bahamian boat captain. (What is it about being on the water? In a boat?)

He used to say (apropos of nothing), “Shake it like a bowl of soup girl! It’s all good. Tings’ happen.” This, while opening another bottle of Marilyn Merlot and popping a jalapeno stuffed olive. Looking out to a horizon so spare and azure, you could see the arc of the earth…

It’s all about the motivation…

Excuses, Excuses…

Happy. Sad. Cold. Warm. Vacation. A hard day’s work. Party. Funeral. Excuses, excuses – no wonder 1 in 10 people have a drinking problem. No wonder the relapse rate is so high. No wonder I think about it when the sky turns white. Or when the sky is blue as a robin’s egg.

No need to move my friends. It moves with you. The momentary yen. The memories like tea candles in a mud puddle.

The post Is it Easier to Be Sober in a Warm or Cold Climate? first appeared on Waking Up The Ghost - Alcohol Recovery.

Imagine That…

Imagine that. My daughter Lauren and her boyfriend John were visiting from Florida. I spent my downtime last week preparing for their coming.  Groceries were purchased and I filled the pantry with canned goods. I did not want them to think I live on Skinny Pop and blackberries. Or that I would not be prepared if there was a blizzard. I also made everything shine like the top of the Chrysler Building (to use a phrase that might be controversial this close to Motown…).

They arrived at midnight on Thursday, and from that moment until I put them on a plane yesterday, I was 100% attentive to their needs. We experienced everything from a 70 degree hike on the Saugatuck Dunes (see photo above where I am upstaging my daughter), to a SRO Frankenmuth sojourn, to a home cooked banquet at friends’, to a bona fide snowstorm in the Up North, boonies.  And we ate a lot of meat. And fried stuff, like pickles and mushrooms and potatoes…

Drinking Mom vs. Sober Mom…

Both John and Lauren have experienced my behavior as a drinker. In fact, they woke me to remind me I used to be “kind of a mean drunk” when they got home (ironically, cheerfully drunk) from a Grand Rapids brewery tour. There was only one time I thought that a glass of red wine would be nice.  Oh, come on, we were hiking in snow and holed up in a rough hewn, log lodge…

But seriously, other than sitting in a waterside bar after a long walk with a yen for a warming glass of plonk, the main thing I felt was a resounding sense of peace. When I was drinking, everything was so urgent. Especially on a long weekend with actual, human beings. When could I start drinking? Would I have enough? And how long before we stop all this “fun nonsense” and get down to the business of getting drunk?

Lauren and John – fun nonsense in the Michigan woods…

What a Relief

I am so grateful for the long days I have now and the fact that I can drive at any time of day, with impunity.  To experience the first snowfall with a couple of Florida tourists and focus on nothing heavier than what to eat (heavier is right) and what to see next… The profound equanimity. The pure hilarity…

Oh, and speaking of tourists, we hiked in the woods during hunting season and climbed into someone’s deer blind. I don’t think you are supposed to do that. We were walking, tricked out in the orange gear we found in the lodge, and Lauren said, “Why is there yellow snow in our footprints? It looks like urine.”

I said, “OOOH, I think they spread deer pee to mask the smell of man in the forest…” As we went stomping, with our “man smell” all over the woods….

The post The Amazing Lack of URGENCY to My Sobriety… first appeared on Waking Up The Ghost - Alcohol Recovery.

I think it’s universal that people who are in active addiction feel a sense of urgency. There is always the need for “more”. It’s why we hide wine bottles in winter boots. It’s why we look around sheepishly, and polish off the dregs of other people’s drinks while they are in the bathroom. There is an emptiness that needs filling. The necessity of finding the next fix is all.

Monkeys Don’t Make Great Pets…

The analogy of the monkey on your back is an apt one. Addiction is like a hungry, messy, unwieldy primate playing piggyback. And if you’ve ever known anyone with a pet monkey, you know they throw poop. They are not charming companions. They climb humans like trees and dig through their hair for bugs with sharp claws…

I had someone write to me yesterday who had just been on a sober vacation. She said it was the first time in years she had been to the beach without a giant sippy-cup filled with iced wine. And she didn’t stub her toes or act a fool or have that continuous, lowgrade worry she’d run out of liquor on a remote island.

That’s it in an oyster shell. She was not carrying the need for more like a portable cooler (or a hairy beast). How freeing!

Hiding, Lying and Monkey Business…

And it’s not just vacation. I hear from people all the time who take a sippy-cup roadie while they walk their baby in a stroller. Or hide liquor in a coffee cup so the “kids won’t know”. They leave bottles in the wheelwells of cars, or tuck shooters in the side pockets of purses. Stash a pint in the desk drawer, just in case. It’s exhausting to be this devious and dependent.

One of the greatest things about sobriety is the reduction of stress. There is no more need for lies, excuses or the hiding of vodka in golf bags in the basement. Gone are the machinations – I’d better make sure I stash an opened bottle in my closet, behind the heavy coats. I don’t want anyone at the party to know I fill my wine glass every time I take a pee, but I don’t want to have to wait till they all leave to get good and drunk.

You know the old saying, “No one is smart enough to lie”? Add drunk to the mix and you forget where you hid the booze, because you were in the bag when you hid it. It’s horrible – lie upon lie upon lie. Just like carrying something heavy on your back.

When we get sober, the bad monkey is gone. Everyone thinks they want a pet monkey.

Until they have a pet monkey…

The post Excuse Me Madam, There’s a Monkey on Your Back… first appeared on Waking Up The Ghost - Alcohol Recovery.

I’m not talking about Equine Therapy, folks. A few weeks ago, I was at an old-fashioned country fair in Ellsworth, Michigan and they had what was billed as a “horse pull” in a park on the outskirts of town. If you have never seen a horse pull before, it involves teams of enormous, draft horses; a stone sleigh; blocks of cement; and farmer-type horse handlers who look like they could pull the sled themselves with a little encouragement.

It was hot. I was sitting in a camp chair and watching the action. Here’s the way a horse pull works: the handlers bring out their team of two horses (tricked out in fancy yokes and head gear) and hook them to a flat slab of concrete. A pay-loader grinds up and drops a block of weighted stone onto the “sled” and the horses pull it for a short distance. The teams take turns doing this, with additional blocks of stone added at each trial. The winners are the team that pulls the most weight.

Built for Strength…

I have to tell you, it’s kind of hard to watch. I know these horses are built for strength and have been bred to drag plows around an untilled field, but the blocks of concrete start at 1,500 pounds and go up from there. And we had one of those small town barkers who narrated the obvious action with a microphone from a highchair, and I swear the horses looked at him with a rolled eyed drollness that seemed to say, “Could you please shut up? We’re trying to pull concrete blocks here…”

Anyway, back to the therapy part. When I sit for very long, no matter what I’m watching, my mind wanders. Or more like trudges purposefully in one direction until I get bored and then it turns and trudges in another, picking up ideas along the way. The interesting thing about a horse pull, is that the teams have different techniques. Some work together, some just dig in and do their own thing – dragging their burden in spite of themselves… my mind started working…

The team that won worked together with a kind of determined resign. No baubles, or fancy irons (my ‘favorite team” had red pompoms bobbing) – they were muscled and mean.  When the going got tough, they just looked forward, used their back legs as catapults until they got going and then they ran, pulling together as if the job was difficult, but doable. No big deal.

Sober Plow Horses…

And that’s when I thought about all the people I know who have gotten sober. There’s a kind of doggedness to sobriety when you think about it – each new challenge is like a block of stone on a concrete sleigh. I don’t want to get too metaphorical here, just to say that my favorite people are those who never give up. Those folks who are determined and resigned and basic as plow horses.

There was a time when I would have watched the belabored animals with a snootful of wine and a bad attitude. I would not have made any analogies to myself, because there were none to be made. It takes pulling the heavy load a time or two yourself, to appreciate the stamina it requires – to admire what was considered “plodding” in a former life…

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