For Rebekah. Still. And Always.

My amazing friend Rebekah died one year ago today from an overdose.   I wrote the post below a few days after her death, reeling with shock and grief.  One year later and the pain now feels like a dull ache, like something missing, a shadowy darkness where her beautiful, bright presence on this earth used to be.

Heroin is killing our young people in record numbers.  Just in Southeastern Massachusetts, we had more than two overdose fatalities per day in 2015.  I hope, with all my heart, that these staggering numbers are helping us collectively move past the notion that it couldn't happen to our kids. Kids experiment with pain killers, usually found in someone's medicine cabinet, and within weeks, sometimes days, they are hooked, and it's only a matter of time (and not much time at that) before they turn to heroin. Forget any stereotypes you may have in your head about what  heroin addict looks like; it looks like the captain of the soccer team, the straight-A student, the talented musician. Heroin is in all our schools. It is everywhere.

Heroin destroys lives. Please, please know that your kid is at risk, no matter how much we all want to believe differently. Talk to your kids about how dangerous and addictive pain killers are. Watch for signs and symptoms of addiction; if you see a profound behavioral change in your kid, consider that drug use may be the reason why. We can't afford to keep our heads in the sand about this for one. more. second.

I miss her, every day. Her spirit lives on in me, and so many other lives she touched. She helps me stay sober, and I honor her memory by continuing to carry the torch, to break the stigma that surrounds addiction. If you are struggling, you are NOT alone. There is help; you just have to reach out and grab it.

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My Dear Rebekah,

It's your smile I think about most.  And that giggle.

I have never met anyone who loved to laugh more than you.  It was infectious.  No matter what my mood, you could pull a reluctant smile from my face, and I soon found my self erupting in laughter.

I want to say thank you.  Thank you for the cozy, late-night chats, the two of us snuggled in our beds. The darkened room and hushed corridors brought something out of us; a pure honesty, shared unvarnished truths.

We'd laugh, you and me, about our twenty-three year age difference.  How could someone so young be so wise, I'd ask.  You would pull a face, stick out your tongue.  See?  You'd say.  I'm just a kid.

But you weren't just a kid.  You were a soul sister, one who had been through so much and still with that smile.  OH, that smile.

Remember the two of us, duffel bags perched on our laps, heading to the next chapter of our journey with wide eyes?  Wondering what would happen next?  You grabbed my hand, as I recall, and said I'm glad I'm going with you. 

One time, as I schlepped up all those stairs to our room, I heard beautiful music playing.  I paused outside our door, listening.  I thought you had speakers for your iPod, and was going to chide you for keeping them secret.  But no, I saw as I opened the door, it was you playing your guitar and singing. Ethereal and melodious, your talent came from someplace deep inside you, someplace God-given. You sat up, startled, when I opened the door, and blushed.  I'm no good, you said and abruptly threw your guitar to the side, nobody is supposed to hear me. 

I stood speechless for a moment, awestruck.  That was beautiful, I said.  Please don't stop.  True to form, you picked up your guitar and belted out some crazy made-up tune, twangy and funny, and I jiggled around the room in my own middle-aged funky way.

Every morning you got up early.  Every morning.  You weren't going to miss that morning meeting for anything. While I mumbled and grumbled from the comfort of my blankets, arguing in favor of an evening meeting, you be-bopped around, humming.  Get up, girl, you'd say.  I got us a ride. 

You made fun of how all my shirts had stripes.  Is that some middle-aged Mom thing? Or just an Ellie thing? you'd grin.

Interesting coming from you of the eleventy-seven-hundred LOVE PINK sweatshirts, I'd grin right back.

Of all the girls in the house, you worked hardest at getting to meetings, chasing your recovery.  The minute you were eligible to get rides from other women in the program, you hit that pay phone and called and called and called until you got to a meeting.  You wanted this, badly.

Keeping a clean room, however, not so much.  You bounced into the kitchen one morning chirping about how you made your bed, how proud I should be.  Later that day, I smiled to myself when I saw the comforter pulled up over a pile of clothes, lumped up like a tiger sleeping under the covers.

I could make you bust out laughing by trying to be all hip (nobody says hip anymore, Ellie, you'd say).  I'd tell you I was feeling some kind of way, and you'd clutch your stomach laughing.  Sorry, you'd say, it just doesn't work coming from you.  I had to ask you want a 'snipe' was, which you found endlessly funny.  For those of you wondering, it's also called a 'put-out'.  Yeah, I had to ask, too.

A favorite memory is the day we were told to put on a skit about the counselors.  You picked one of the more colorful counselors, and groaned.  I can't act, you mumbled.  I'm not funny.  But then, your big entrance came, and you clacked in on borrowed  high heels, reading glasses (mine, of course) perched halfway down your nose and gave everyone a stern look before breaking into a dance and belting out "Because I'm happppyyyyy!" - a dead-on imitation.  I glanced over to the counselor you were portraying and she was wiping tears from her eyes she was laughing so hard.

And a proud moment:  when we put on a recovery version of the Wizard of Oz, and you bravely played your guitar and sang to the acoustic version of "Somewhere Over The Rainbow", facing one of your biggest fears:  putting your talent out there for all to see.  You were, of course, amazing.

You made friends everywhere you went. People were drawn to you, to your light.  Always quick with a hug and a smile, you had an eye for someone in pain.   You made people feel special - you made me feel special, the way you'd light up when you saw me.

Even after we were no longer roommates, you encouraged and inspired me.  We'd text inside jokes, check in on each other.  Your bubbly sweetness flowed through your words:

But nothing - NOTHING - compares to the way you loved your child.  Little Madisyn.  The way she would squirm and wiggle and dance when she saw you, then collapse into your arms and stay there for hours, perched on your lap like a queen ruling her subjects.  And just like her Mom, she would giggle and giggle and giggle, for hours.  Her little face so like your own, big eyes staring up at you with unadorned love.

My sweet friend, you left a gaping hole, a dark space devoid of light, when you left.  You are one of the great ones, those rare people I meet who slip into my life like a pair of comfortable slippers.  I owe you a huge debt, sweet girl, for being there for me during such difficult times, for buoying me up when I was sinking, for making me laugh in spite of - and at - myself when I needed it most.

Mere words fall short of how much I love you.  And I always will.

Middle School Heart

She stands nervously in front of the mirror, my newly minted middle schooler, and fiddles with her
hair.

Today is Spirit Day at school - the kids are encouraged to wear the school colors - blue and yellow - in a show of school solidarity.

My girl has taken it one step further, and applied temporary hair color, adorning her dark brown locks with streaks of yellow and blue.

"Is it too much?" she asks.

"No, it looks great!" I reply, trying to strike that balance between supportive and overly-chirpy.

"It's not enough, is it?"

This goes on all morning.  She pops into the bathroom repeatedly to double check the too-much-not-enough-ness.

She is stepping outside her comfort zone.  These little sprays of hair color are so much more than that. This is a girl who doesn't like any form of attention, preferring to blend as much as possible into the sidelines.

As she waits for the bus in the driveway, I sit in my designated spot on the porch, hidden by a bush.  She wants me there, but doesn't want anyone on the bus to see that she wants me there.

Change.

As the bus rumbles just up the road, she spins around one last time, "Are you sure it looks okay?" she yells, her eyes wide.

I yell, "It looks great!"

"SHHHHHHH!" she replies.

It's a tug of war, change.  That fine line between uncomfortable and familiar feels like a tightrope. One misstep and you fall, and then everybody sees.

I think most of us are hard-wired to think people are looking at us, don't you?  When we're slipping our toe just a click over the comfort line, it feels like we're wearing a flashing light on our head.

In reality, nobody is really looking. They are too busy wondering if their own light is flashing.

The other night we spent an hour discussing the plan for changing before gym. This is new, and mandatory.  Everyone must change into gym clothes before class, and back into school clothes after.

She squirms with discomfort. "Will there be changing rooms?  What if they're all full? What if I can't get changed in time?"

I can only nod with understanding, remembering vividly the anxiety of the locker room change.  I tell her that I would sometimes duck into a bathroom stall or shower to avoid detection.

She asks me if it gets any easier, and I think for a moment.

"Not really," I reply.  "Even grown-ups worry about standing out."

She smiles.  "So it's not just me?"

That's the crux of it, isn't it?  We all want reassurance that it's not just us. 

Last night at her middle school orientation the parents all crammed into the smallish desks, fidgeting.  We glanced nervously at the white board for our list of instructions, not wanting to get it wrong. There are forms to read, a letter to write to our kid.  As we scribbled away, the teacher roamed around the room, talking about his teaching style, while he bounced an over-sized ball. He went to toss the ball to the woman sitting across from me, and she cringed and shied away.

"See?" said the teacher.  "Nobody wants to stand out. Your kids feel the same way.  I'm here to help them step out of their comfort zones a little."

We giggled nervously, and then the loudspeaker pinged with an announcement, and everyone paused to listen.  "Will the driver of a Blue Jeep Commander, license plate blabbity-blah, please report to the office?"

"Oh," said the woman next to me, "how embarrassing for that person".

That person was me. I had parked on the side of the road like many others, but for some reason my car was being singled out.

I didn't want to put up my hand. I wanted to shrink below the desk and turn invisible.

"That would be me," I joked, and everyone swung their head to look at me.

As I gathered my things and slunked out of the classroom, I thought about how some things never change.  How that tug-of-war between "look at me" and "go away" never really goes away.

I scurried out of the school, ran down the school driveway and up the road, and saw a police car with flashing lights and an irate woman standing right next to my car.

She didn't like that I parked in front of her house, and called the cops, threatening to tow my car.

I apologized as reasonably as I could muster, swallowing the not-so-graceful response that was at the tip of my tongue.  I couldn't face walking back into that classroom, so I sheepishly drove home instead.

I struggle with it, too, that tug of war. I want to wave the flag and support the things I feel strongly about. I want to crow about recovery from the rooftops, how amazing it is, how the discomfort is totally worth it.

But when all the heads swing in my direction, I shrink up, try to make myself smaller.  Ninety-nine people cheer me on, but I focus on the one dissenter.  I give more credence to their criticism than I do to everyone else's praise.

It's human nature. Go-away-come-here-look-at-me-stop-staring.

Watching my daughter wrestle with her bravery this morning, I felt my middle-school heart beating in my chest.  I may have grown up, but my heart is still looking for the bathroom stall to hide.


I remind myself that I already know what the inside of a bathroom stall looks like.  My life would be so small if I stayed there.

I'd rather step bravely into the world with blue-and-yellow streaked hair.

 If she can do it, I can do it, too.

You Don't Want To Miss This. Or This. Or This.

September is  National Recovery Month, and I will be posting about recovery events, information and celebrations for this whole month!

Some big announcements today!

The first one is a video I made celebrating recovery. Shining Strong is a non-profit corporation I founded in April of 2013, and I'm so pleased to announce it is making HUGE strides in helping people struggling with addiction and breaking down the stigma that surrounds this disease by CELEBRATING RECOVERY.   With my fellow board members Lisa, Amanda and Lisa, we are increasing our outreach, partnering with other pioneering people and organizations like The Anonymous People and Gosnold on Cape Cod  and growing our audience (and hence our outreach) by leaps and bounds.

To promote our organization AND celebrate the gifts of recovery, we created a video.  PLEASE share this on your social media pages, and/or tell your friends about it.  You never, ever know who you may be helping, as two-thirds of Americans are impacted by addiction either directly or indirectly.  This video shows that RECOVERY WORKS, and it's full of beautiful and inspiring women who are on this recovery journey with me:



To continue our outreach and continue to administrate our sites Crying Out Now and The Bubble Hour  we need your help.  All proceeds from my jewelry businesses fund Shining Strong, but that isn't enough to meet our expanding needs.  This is a fantastic problem to have, because Shining Strong and its websites are growing faster than any of us ever imagined they would.

Contributions go towards the administration and marketing of all three of our websites, producing our internet talk show/podcast The Bubble Hour, as well as helping us with expansion plans that include hosting yoga/meditation sessions, recovery retreats and much more.

On the right-hand side of my sidebar is a Widget that says "Please Help Shining Strong"... you can choose any amount and it ALL helps.  As an added thank-you ... any contribution of $30 and over will receive a signed copy of my book "Let Me Get This Straight".  If you contribute $30 or more you will see a form to fill out with your name and address for where to send the book, as well as a place to request a customized message from me, if you'd like.

You can also go directly to the contribution page by clicking here:

Please Help Shining Strong!

EDITED TO ADD: Some people are reporting trouble with this widget, especially MAC users. I apologize, and I'm working on it with WePay. I am able to accept credit card donations that go directly to Shining Strong's account, so if you are interested in this option, please email me at onecraftyellie@gmail.com. I apologize for the trouble.  

There are non-monetary ways to help, too.  You can share this post on FB or Twitter or email it to friends -- anything to spread the word about Shining Strong!   You can come like our Facebook page by CLICKING HERE.  If Crying Out Now or The Bubble Hour or my personal blog have helped you or a loved one, you could come leave a testimony (you can do it anonymously) on Shining Strong's website by CLICKING HERE.

Any way you can help is so very much appreciated, and we thank you.

Last announcement - Shining Strong's presentation of The Anonymous People was sold out so quickly we moved to a bigger screen at the West Newton, MA theater, and we have more seats available!!  They will go fast, so if you haven't gotten your $10 ticket yet, and you live anywhere near the Boston area, please CLICK HERE NOW to get your ticket!    

We are SO excited about this film - it is changing the conversation about recovery, breaking down the stigma that surrounds addiction and catalyzing much needed political, economic and social change!

We get many questions, particularly from people in the recovery community, about how this film and how it relates other 12 step recovery programs' traditions.  Greg Williams, creator of the film, was a guest on The Bubble Hour and he talks about the film, how it all came about, why and how the recovery conversation is changing and answers the questions about this film and 12 step traditions.  EVERYONE in recovery, struggling with addiction or alcoholism, or who loves someone in recovery or struggling NEEDS to listen to this show.  Greg is compassionate, graceful and articulate and we are so grateful for his appearance on our show:

New Life Podcasts with The Bubble Hour on BlogTalkRadio

Thank you, everyone, for all your support, encouragement and love over the years. This is just the beginning of some very exciting and hopeful times for the recovery community and for Shining Strong. We appreciate all your help. So much.

The Most Important Post I've Ever Written About Addiction and Recovery

I went to a screening of "The Anonymous People" movie on Saturday.  I met up with nine others, including my best friend and a co-host of The Bubble Hour, Amanda:



Amanda, Ellie, Holly, Jaclyn, Kylee

Here's where I could insert the usual rhetoric of "do they look like alcoholics or drug addicts to you?"

But I'm not.

Because The Anonymous People is at the front end of a movement - a Recovery Advocacy movement - and we're changing the vernacular, the way we talk about addiction.

That is a picture of people in Long Term Recovery.

The shining, smiling people in the photo above all have a chronic, progressive disease that if left untreated will kill us.

"Addiction is a disease without a cure, but WITH A SOLUTION."  (William Cope Moyers)

When someone remarks on the fact that I'm not drinking and I say I'm an alcoholic, even if I quickly add "in recovery" right after, I already know that the word 'alcoholic' has connoted something for them.  We all have a picture of what an alcoholic looks like in our mind's eye.  If I say, however, "I don't drink because I'm in recovery", there is a smile and usually a "good for you!".

Everyone likes a good redemption story, and being in remission from addiction is right up there with being in remission from cancer or other chronic diseases.

Did you notice the word "remission"?  That's because I'll never be cured.  I am a Double Winner - someone with both cancer and alcoholism - and I know that I'll never be fully "cured" of either.  But I also know my chances of staying in remission go up the longer BOTH my diseases are inactive.

Do you have a picture in your mind's eye about what recovery looks like?  Most people don't, because recovery has long been kept in the shadows.  Because of the stigma, most addicts and alcoholics do not speak openly about their recovery.  The media is full of addiction horror stories, but there are very few recovery stories, and we're trying to change that.

Addiction is a disease.  It has been recognized as a disease by the medical community for decades.

While the choice to take a drink or use a drug is voluntary, what happens to my brain vs. a "normal" person's brain is completely different.  If a comparison to cancer or diabetes or other chronic diseases makes you uncomfortable, think of it like an allergy.  My body reacts differently to alcohol, triggering compulsive behaviors (like wanting more) despite any negative consequences that may occur as a result of drinking.

So, people may say, "Just don't drink!!  If you were allergic to peanuts, you'd stay away from peanuts!"

Here is the root of the stigma, I think, because the symptoms of the disease of alcoholism are behavioral.  When someone is stuck in the cycle of addiction, they aren't trying to ruin their lives, or drink more than a normal person.  They are trying to just have one or two, but since their bodies are hard-wired to respond differently, it just isn't possible.  We call it "being born without an 'off' switch".  It can take decades for the disease to take root, so evidence of addiction isn't always readily apparent.

By the time someone realizes there is a problem, they are usually caught in the emotional addiction (if not the physical one) and can't get out on their own.  Their thinking is the problem - it's a brain disease - whether it's denial or the belief that if they try hard enough they can cut back or stop altogether.

An addict can no more think their way out of addiction than a cancer patient can think their way out of cancer.

Would you tell a cancer patient to 'stop' having cancer?  Or a diabetic to start controlling their insulin on their own? 

It sounds like I'm being facetious, but I'm not. 

The "Just Say No" campaign in the eighties - arguably well intentioned- exacerbated the stigma of addiction in very harmful ways.  While the campaign itself did little to curb addiction and addiction related problems in society and the economy, it cemented in the public's eye that it's possible to simply say NO to addiction.   It furthered the belief that addiction is a moral failing or lack of willpower.

Willpower has absolutely nothing to do with addiction. If it did, addiction related issues wouldn't cost the US economy over $360 BILLION per year.  If "just saying no" were enough, those of us suffering at the hands of addiction would have said no a long time ago.

What we need is vast policy change, healthcare reform, enough treatment beds and more reimbursement for treating addiction.  The system is reluctant to "dump" money into rehabilitation, with the mistaken belief that addicts and alcoholics don't get better, or at least most of them don't.  We should be treating the addiction problem in the US like any other health crisis, like cancer and obesity.  But we aren't.  WHY?

Here are some startling facts:

• 63% of Americans are impacted by addiction
• 67% of Americans observe a stigma towards addiction (this includes the addict themselves, who are trying desperately to 'cure' themselves of the problem, thinking they are weak or morally corrupt).
• 74% of addicts/alcoholics are ashamed to talk about addiction in their family
• 80% of people in prison are there due to addiction related issues
• Addiction (alcohol and illegal drugs) cost the US economy $366 BILLION in 2004. Add in prescription drug abuse which has reached EPIDEMIC proportions and that number goes WAY up.
• Over 20 million people struggle with addiction. 
• THERE ARE OVER 23 MILLION PEOPLE IN LONG TERM RECOVERY IN AMERICA ALONE

That last bullet point is the one I want to focus on. Changing the public's perception of addiction by TALKING ABOUT RECOVERY.  Because, everyone, RECOVERY WORKS.  There are more people in recovery from addiction than there are suffering from it.

Here's the rub, though. People don't recover on their own.  Every single recovery program focuses on community - on finding other addicts and alcoholics who understand where you are and can help you navigate life without alcohol or drugs. 

It doesn't matter what program of recovery you follow. Recovery advocacy is for EVERYONE.

You don't have to talk about HOW you recovery, just THAT you recover.

For those of us in programs that have anonymity as a tradition and who are confused about breaking this tradition, this point is KEY.  How you stay sober isn't relevant.  You do not have to be a mouthpiece for an individual program of recovery.  You can talk about recovery without ever mentioning how you do it.  When someone who is suffering asks you how you stay sober (and if you talk about recovery they will ask, I guarantee it), then you are free to share - in the sacredness of a one-on-one (or group) setting - how you do it.

But until the public understands that RECOVERY HAPPENS, people are going to stay stuck in addiction.  People are going to misunderstand what addiction means.  People aren't going to know it is quite literally on every street in America.  Every street has someone stuck in the darkness and isolation of addiction, and every street has someone thriving in recovery.  We have enough coverage of the destruction of addiction.  We sensationalize the stories of celebrities crashing cars, going in and out of rehab.  We condemn the havoc alcoholism and addiction bring to society.

We are sensationalizing the wrong thing. Let's sensationalize recovery.

How? How do we do this?  Not everyone needs to stand on a hilltop and tell the world they are in recovery.  For the same reason lots of people choose not to talk openly about their cancer, diabetes or other chronic illness, because it's personal.  But usually a cancer or diabetes sufferer isn't ashamed (I know there are cases where shame comes into play in these diseases, too).  An addict is almost always ashamed until - if they are lucky - they find their way into a program of recovery and discover they are NOT ALONE and there IS hope.

What we need are healthcare and policy changes that support an addict or alcoholic wanting help.  If you decide you want help - even if you're forced to get help - it's astonishingly hard to get a bed in treatment.  LONG TERM treatment is needed, whether it's inpatient or out, to start on the path to recovery.  Even if you DO find a treatment program, it's usually prohibitively expensive. 

To sum up: today in our society a person stuck in the cycle of addiction has to work their way past the stigma and shame, ask for help (and the statistic above shows that most people don't even want to tell their family) and then FIND that help.  And then pay for it.

The system is BROKEN.

If we channeled money into prevention and treatment that $360 billion would go DOWN.  Parents, this involves you, too. Prescription drug abuse is everywhere. Literally. Kids of every economic and ethnic background are trying these drugs, and for those that have the disease of addiction it is killing them.  They don't just try an Oxy at a "Pharma-Party", they end up mere WEEKS later addicted to heroin.  It's happening in YOUR community. It is not a reflection on your parenting.

It is an epidemic.

If you want to become involved in Recovery Advocacy, there are many places to go.  Google recovery organizations in your state.  Go to Faces and Voices of Recovery and see what they are doing there.  Check out the trailer below for The Anonymous People. 

There are other ways, too.  If you have a family member who is struggling, open your heart and mind and realize they have a disease.  This doesn't excuse behavior.  Consequences of addiction needs to be acknowledge and amends to society and loved ones paid.  I look at it this way:

Addiction is not my fault, but recovery is my responsibility.

Unless the public's perception of alcoholism and addiction changes, and more resources are dedicated to helping addicts as patients who have a disease, we will stay rooted in fear, stigma and reacting to this problem instead of being proactive.

Remember "Silence = Death"?  The gay community recognized that the stigma surrounding their community was going to kill them unless they changed the public's perception of HIV. They came out of the shadows, stared down that stigma, and changed how the public (and policy makers) view HIV.

Addicts and alcoholics are in the same position.  We DIE of this disease.. the one so may of us can't talk about.  It will KILL us.

If you are an alcoholic in recovery, try changing the way you talk openly about your disease.  You are a Person In Recovery.  Even if you only have one day.  Welcome.  You are a miracle.  Be proud.

Please watch this trailer- it's only 3 minutes.  If you are in a position to do so - and I hope in the future many, many more of us will be in that position, SHOUT to everyone you know to watch this. If you have a loved one or friend who struggles or who is in recovery, this effects you, too.  If you pay taxes this effects you. 

Addiction impacts EVERYONE.

Get informed. Get active.  Get well.

Alcoholism's Sister Addiction - FOOD

Last night we did a Bubble Hour episode about denial, and it got me thinking.

We all experience denial in one form or another - arguably on a daily basis. The show talked about how denial is at the root of alcoholism and drug addiction.

But alcohol and drugs are not the only substances that are addictive.

Alcholism's sister addiction is FOOD.

I've been (am) addicted to both.  It took me a long time to get my mind around my food addiction; I didn't consider it an addiction.  We all have to eat, after all, and if I made a poor food choice here and there, so what? It's not like I'm going to crash my car into a tree after too many brownies.

The feelings are the same, though, with both addictions.  When you reach for something outside yourself for comfort, when you have the who-gives-a-damn-anyway attitude about doing something that you know is harming yourself but you just don't care. When you're faced with feelings of self-loathing or remorse after a binge.  When you tell yourself that it's not that bad... that's addiction.

Food addiction is another silent epidemic, and people who struggle with it also struggle with stigma.  Obese people, or overweight people, are met with the same disdainful attitudes, the questions of "well, why don't you just stop?" that alcoholics face.  Have you ever eyed an overweight person in line at McDonald's (the same line you're standing in, by the way) and thought: thank God I'm not her.

I have. Even as my mouth watered in anticipation of a greasy, carb riddled meal. I wasn't that overweight, after all. My denial allowed me to ignore my emotional addiction.  A healthy meal would have sufficed if I was simply hungry.  That McDonald's meal was aimed at something deeper, more insidious, that aching black hole of want.

Three years ago I lost 65 lbs, and got down to a healthy weight for the first time since I gave birth to my daughter.  Then I got cancer and got scary-skinny, and once I was in remission and the feeding tube was removed I had to gain weight.

The party was on.

I ate whatever I wanted to, telling myself that it was important to have that chocolate cake, those Tootsie Rolls, because I needed the calories. I did this until I was over my healthy weight - just how over I chose to ignore.  I denied it away into the corner of my brain where I tuck unwanted truths.

When I couldn't button the pants that had slid on easily for months, I knew I couldn't keep going, that I had to eat better and exercise.

Knowing this was easy; doing something about it wasn't.

I found myself in the throes of a food addiction.  That may seem dramatic, but it's not. Because of my experience getting sober, I recognized the symptoms: obsession, inability to stop myself, rationalizing poor choices.  Physical symptoms when I cut out things like processed sugar.  I would beat myself up, wondering why I wasn't strong enough to just stop.  I'd last a few days, and then have a hard day - or go to a fun event - and the food would just speak to me.  Just like alcohol used to (and still does, sometimes).

I thought I was about 10 lbs over my healthy weight.  When I finally screwed up the courage to step on the scale, I was 20 lbs overweight.  I was crushed, but my brain said "screw it, food is the last treat you have left - you deserve to eat what you want. You had cancer. You can't drink.  Eat whatever you want."

I wasn't ready.

Then the weather got warmer and I pulled out shorts that fit just fine last year.  I couldn't get them over my hips.  I was done.

I realized I couldn't change my eating habits alone.  Just like when I got sober, I needed help.  The first time I lost weight I did it through Jenny Craig, but I couldn't afford that now.  Cancer is expensive.

You may be tired of hearing me talk about Arbonne's fitness program.  I feel like apologizing for talking about it here, like I'm pouring my heart out just to sell something.

But I'm not.  Doing Arbonne's 30 day fitness program, and then getting on a maintenance program, changed my life.  And now I'm seeing it change the life of my clients, my friends, and so I'm not going to apologize for talking about it here.

Because it's not simply a weight loss program.  It's a I-don't-care-enough-to-try fixer.  It helped me flip my self-destructive switch from "who cares" over to "I care".

The first week of this program was hard.  It's as much about what I eliminated from my diet as it is about the healthy things I'm putting in my body, and what I discovered in the first seven days was that I was addicted - and I don't use that word lightly - to sugar and carbs. I had a headache, I was cranky, irritable.  My body screamed for sugar.

That's what I was doing to my body? I marveled.  Consuming sugar and carbs to the point that my body needed them?

That is not an exaggeration.  I know the symptoms of withdrawal, and I had them.  Both physically and emotionally.

The plan put some of the power back in my hands, though, by giving me instructions of what to do (and equally importantly what not to do).  Just like with getting sober, all I had to do was NOT do something (not drink in the case of getting sober, and not eat crap in the case of getting healthy) and follow instructions from people who had walked this path before me.

That first week was tough, but by day 8 the rewards I got from making better choices for seven whole days were enough to keep me going: increased energy, looser clothing, inches starting to come off my waist.   I felt good about myself, my choices.

The feeling of making healthy choices became the reward.  Just like when I got sober. It takes time, and patience, and help, but it's so worth it.

My best friend Amanda just finished the Arbonne 30 day fit program. She did not need to lose a lot of weight (she never has, that skinny little minx) - but she wanted to eat healthier, wean herself off her own sugar (read: ice cream) habit and feel and look like the best version of herself.

She did it. She looks and feels great.  I marvel at how I get to be sober with my best friend - we've known each other for over thirty years - and now we get excited about our new eating habits together, too.  We feel like we're back - as close to those young girls full of hope and energy that we can get for women in our forties.

The irony, too, is that we tried to eat healthier when we were drinking.  We did the Weight Watchers Point system and allotted all our points to wine.  We would never, ever have been able to make a life change like this - for ourselves - when we were drinking.  Back then it wasn't just about the drinking, it was about our ability to hide from ourselves, to simply Not Care.

Caring feels a whole lot better.

Amanda's Results:

The 30 day fitness kit comes with a membership to a wonderful (and private) Facebook community, where we prop each other up, share recipes, tips and advice and share successes.  Because if there is one thing I know for sure it's this:  major life changes are a lot more fun (and successful) when you don't do them alone.

My Results:

If you feel like maybe you're ready to make a change - a real, meaningful lifestyle change for you - whether it's weight loss, detoxing your system, losing (or rearranging) inches, a system for healthier eating or all three - please email me at onecraftyellie@gmail.com. 

You don't have to do this alone.

For those of you who know what I'm talking about with food addiction - who know it's a real thing - I understand.

I'm not trying to be a super model. I just want to be the healthiest me.  One day at a time.

I'm Going There - On Breaking Anonymity

I am so moved by what I'm going to show you below, about this movement, that I can stay silent no longer.

I have tiptoed around this for years, now, about how to reach out and tell truths about alcoholism, drug addiction and recovery without stepping on the toes of recovery programs that have anonymity as a cornerstone to their program?

For five years now, many people have encouraged and supported what I do here, what we do at Crying Out Now and The Bubble Hour and Shining Strong. We don't preach about how to recover. We don't advocate for any one program.  We don't ask anyone to break their own anonymity who doesn't want to, or who can't for personal or professional reasons.

But do you know where I get the most criticism?  From the recovery community itself.

Breaking my own anonymity is a personal decision.  I have felt for a long time that staying silent is dangerous for the movement of recovery.   Not everyone needs to be - or should be - open.  BUT.  Those of us who can?  Or who want to?  We face a backlash from other recovering people.  I won't get into all the reasons why - I don't want anything I say here to be Google-able, which would put me in the cross hairs of violating one Anonymous organization's eleventh and twelfth traditions:  "our public relations policy is based on attraction rather than promotion; we need always maintain personal anonymity at the level of press, radio and films" (11th tradition) AND "we are to place principles before personalities; that we are actually to practice a genuine humility" (12th tradition).

There is also the 12th step:  "we tried to carry this message to alcoholics, and to practice these principles in all our affairs."

I have spent years trying to reconcile these concepts.  How to carry the message to help suffering alcoholics while maintaining the anonymity requirements of the 11th tradition?  How to be out there telling my story - or the stories found on Crying Out Now and The Bubble Hour?

There is a reason the Anonymous organization is not mentioned on my blog.  We advise all guests on The Bubble Hour to not mention any specific program, if they can help it.  We tell everyone - and hold ourselves to the same standard - that we share OUR OWN experiences ONLY.  We do not tell anyone how to recover, or where to recover.  We share our own experience, strength and hope as persons in recovery.

I feel this mission falls squarely within the intent of the 11th tradition:  "our public relations policy is based on attraction rather than promotion".  Where it gets iffy is the second half of this tradition: "we need always maintain personal anonymity at the level of press, radio and films."

But if Bill Wilson and Dr. Bob- co-founders of the Anonymous program - could have envisioned the internet, how would they have felt about it?  Nobody really has the answer to this.  All we have is our perception of the intent behind these traditions. 

How are the stories told on our websites different from speaking from the podium at an open twelve step meeting where anyone - even non alcoholics - are welcome to attend?  At those meetings I'm sharing my name.  I'm showing my face.  I'm breaking my anonymity to people who aren't admitted members of the twelve step program.   And the only requirement for membership in the Anonymous program?  A desire to stop drinking.  Anyone who googles "do I have a problem with alcohol" is taking the first tentative step towards cultivating a desire to stop drinking.

Do you know the number one search phrase used when people find my blog?  "Help me, I can't stop drinking."

If some of us aren't able to tell our stories to offer hope to those still suffering - those who are searching online for help but who aren't ready or willing to go to a meeting - how on earth are we going to offer HOPE.  Because that's what this is all about.  HOPE.

If you're angry about this post, or the work we do, or puzzled, or confused about what this breaking anonymity thing is all about, PLEASE watch this video below (it's a Kickstarter campaign, but they have FAR exceeded their goal so I'm not asking for donations - unless you want to).  If you are a person struggling with shame or fear or doubt - PLEASE watch this.

Because this movement?  This is where I'm going.  I know not everyone will approve.  I'm not looking for approval. I'm looking for open, honest and non-personal discourse.

Will you comment with your thoughts?  This is not a mutual admiration society. I am not going to delete comments that don't go lock-step with my beliefs.  As long as it isn't insulting or personal against me or another commenter, it will stay up.

We can't cure something we can't even talk about.   So let's TALK.

Take THAT, Stigma

Something happened this past weekend that would have been utterly unimaginable when I was drinking.

I got together with a group of women (with an awesome visit from a couple of men, too!) who are all members of a fantastic online group called the "BFB" - it stands for the Booze Free Brigade.

I love that it's called a Brigade, because that's what we are - we're warriors.  Some people in this group are still drinking, or struggling to put more than a few days together, but that doesn't matter.  What matters is that we're all in this together - rooting each other on through our triumphs and tribulations with compassion, love and support.

When I was drinking my life got progressively smaller and darker.  By the end, I was so utterly lost and alone and full of shame, that the notion that a group of women could get together without alcohol and laugh until we were holding our sides and tears streamed down our faces was incomprehensible.  The idea that we could cry freely and without shame, that we could pour out our fears and vulnerabilities and fall back into such loving, compassionate arms, would have sent me running in the other direction.

When I was drinking, I lost the ability to feel, to show up in my own life.  I handled all emotions by going around them, losing myself in what I thought were the soothing effects of alcohol.  All I was doing was numbing out, hiding from playing the starring role in my own existence.

It's hard to find words to describe how this past weekend felt.  Every conversation was soulful, real.  We connected on a visceral level, these women who I had mostly previously only known through the pixelated world of my computer screen. 

As I drove to our rented house outside of Boston, I prayed that these people would be who I thought they were... it's the internet, after all.  Even though I felt such a strong connection to them, there is always the underlying fear that maybe I'm reading more into it than I should.  You can present any version of yourself you want over the internet, after all.   Going to spend three days and two nights with them felt exciting and a little risky.

But, when it comes down to it, we can present any version of ourselves we want to in real life, too, can't we?  In fact, we frequently do.  Don't you have several versions of yourself?  We are very, very rarely able to be completely ourselves.  Part of this is out of necessity, of course.  You aren't going to present the vulnerable, fearful version of yourself at work.  Or at a PTA meeting, or on the sidelines of a soccer game. Even among good friends, I know that I hold back often - although in sobriety I don't really shape shift much, anymore - but it's still rare that I can be my wholehearted self in my day-to-day life.

We went into Fanueil Hall, a huge marketplace in the heart of Boston.  Trying to get 16 women to come up with a plan of action - even to walk from one side of the marketplace to the other - was next to impossible.  Why?  Because we were lost in conversations with each other, one-on-one or in smaller groups, basking in simply being around each other.   It was like a drug, really, the feeling of connectedness I felt.

When I was drinking I was so careful to look put together.  I never showed my vulnerabilities, for fear you'd know that I was deeply flawed in some fundamental way.   I didn't understand the disease of alcoholism, I thought it was all about drinking.  I didn't realize the other aspects - how the chasm between our insides and how our outsides look gets wider and wider until our self-esteem, confidence and love for ourselves falls right in, deep down to the bottom of a bottle.

The idea that I could be so open, so trusting, so real - without a drop of alcohol in my system - was totally incomprehensible when I was drinking.  With recovering women I simply am.   We are drawn together because of our vulnerabilities, not in spite of them.  There isn't any one-upping each other.  This group represents all ages and stages of life. Recovery time ranges from days to years - and who knows?  Maybe even hours.  We are all alcoholics, after all.  It's possible there could have been people still struggling.  But it doesn't matter.

The important thing is that we're there for each other, because we're all the same.  Our adversities bind us together in ways that I just don't find in my day-to-day life.

That's what I didn't understand, before I got sober.  How grateful I'd be that I'm an alcoholic in recovery, because I would get the gift of me. 

We recorded a Bubble Hour episode Friday night, about negative self-talk, thinking patterns, and the tools we use to break self-destructive thought patterns.   There we were, a group of women, talking openly and without fear about our innermost thoughts.  We come together to share our experience, strength and hope to help ourselves first, and to help anyone else out there still struggling understand just how rich life can be on the other side of drinking.  Not perfect. Not easy. But oh so very rich.

I got to wrap my arms around these women who support me in more ways than I can articulate. I can't count how many times I said "I love you", without embarrassment and straight from my heart.  It doesn't matter that I'd never met them in person before.  They are woven into my life, into my spirit, in ways that defy explanation.

And one of the biggest gifts?  Meeting Lisa - one of the three Bubble Hour co-hosts (and co-moderator of Crying Out Now, too).

Ellie, Lisa and Amanda

Lisa, Amanda and I had never met - all three of us - in person before.  It felt like we had known each our whole lives (in Amanda's case, I have known her almost all my life, over 30 years, and what a blessing to share the gift of sobriety with my best friend - and former drinking buddy).

Now? It's hard to imagine my life without these women.

We recorded a video while we were there - our version of the Harlem Shake.  I won't share it in order to protect the anonymity of the women there, but I had a moment while we were filming it.  Dancing around with stuff on our heads (bowls, hats, magazines, towels - you name it) to the Harlem Shake... stone cold sober.  I thought to myself:  take that, stigma.   When people picture alcoholics, I don't think we're quite at the place where they see vibrant, funny, intelligent and compassionate women dancing and enjoying life to its fullest.  But we're working on that.  Together.

If you're still struggling, take heart.  Keep talking.  Keep showing up.  Get honest with yourself first, and please know that there are SO many people out there who understand, who know exactly how you feel.

You are NOT alone.

We're here.  And we will welcome you with open arms.

It's OFFICIAL!

I am so excited - what has been a heart project of mine for years is finally here!

I'm proud to announce that Shining Strong is officially a Non-Profit Corporation!

Shining Strong is named for (and inspired by) my Dad, who dedicated much of his life to giving back to the communities he served.

It is my honor to be part of the recovery community, and it has always been a heart song of mine to break through stigma and denial and help women see break free of the chains of alcoholism and addiction, which are so often rooted in shame.

I carry no shame about being an alcoholic in recovery.  Recovery has given me more gifts than I could ever repay in a thousand lifetimes.  The people I have met, the support, love and encouragement we give each other - both in person and online - is like nothing I've ever seen or experienced.

Everyone has a picture in their head about what an active alcoholic looks like.  The stigma surrounding addiction and the popular (but misinformed) thought that addiction is a matter of will power (or lack thereof) keeps so many people stuck and alone.

You want to know what recovery looks like?  THIS:

Compassionate. Graceful. Introspective. Dedicated. Hard Working. Funny. Smart. Creative. FREE.

These are the words I use to describe alcoholics in recovery.  Yep - we're still alcoholics, but we have faced harder truths about ourselves than most people have to face in a lifetime. Day by day we beat back a disease of the mind and body that killed the majority of people who had it only decades ago.  It stills kills more people than it spares.

How do we fix that?

TOGETHER.

Together we link arms - those in recovery and those who haven't been personally touched by addiction but want to help us break down this damn stigma and spread light and understanding.

THIS is Shining Strong's mission, and I have two lovely, smart, funny, talented recovering women of grace and honor helping me run it.  I am so blessed.

So will you do us a favor? Will you share this post? Will you ask people to watch the video below to see firsthand the heartache, and then the freedom of addiction?  Will you ask them to look into the faces of real recovering women so they can see for themselves that the stigma is WRONG.

You never know who you may be helping. Your neighbor, a friend, perhaps even a family member or total stranger who is living in the silence, darkness and pain of addiction.

Let's show them there is hope.  I thank you from the bottom of my heart:

I Need Your Help. Together We're Saving Lives.

It's been a while since I did a shameless begging post, but I can't continue to do this on my own, as much as I'd like to, and I need your help.

I'm in the process of incorporating a non-profit called Shining Strong - named in memory of my father, Jon Strong, who (along with my Mom, Sonja) taught me that giving back to your community is the most important thing you can do in your life.

Shining Strong will be an umbrella organization that encompasses the work I do in the recovery community, including the site Crying Out Now, the podcast/internet radio show The Bubble Hour and even One Crafty Mother.

Here is a short video that explains Shining Strong's mission:




I'm becoming a non-profit so I can, down the road, get sponsorship and/or grant funds to continue to build these projects and reach more women who are struggling with alcoholism, or who are in recovery and looking for community to help them stay that way.

The best part is that these sites are growing, bit by bit, so I know the mission is working.  The Bubble Hour has passed 30,000 downloads in a mere 16 episodes.  Crying Out Now reaches an average of 10,000 page views per month.  The responses I get from women these sites have helped blows me away.  It's not just people who are struggling, either, but their loved ones as well.

Usually I have a hard time with promotion; it feels so self-serving. I know I could be doing more to grow these sites, but fear of rejection (even though it is SO not about me) and not wanting to "bother" people holds me back.

I need to stop that.  The mission is much bigger than me, taking on a momentum of it's own, and I want to honor that by spreading the word.  I have brought fabulous sober women on board to help me run these sites: Lisa, Amanda and Michele I am indebted to your grace, creativity, intelligence and determination.  They are donating their time out of their belief in the mission and they are helping countless women.  COUNTLESS.

If you can help in any way, I would appreciate it very much. There are several ways to do this, and they don't all involve money.

Spreading the word about Shining Strong, The Bubble Hour and Crying Out Now helps a ton.  I guaranty you know someone who is silently struggling. Just by putting this post on your FB page or tweeting about it you are helping a LOT. You will almost certainly help someone you know (even if you don't know they have a problem with alcohol) and equally importantly you are helping to break down the shame and stigma that surrounds addiction.  We HAVE to keep the discourse going about this disease.

You can donate to the cause, too.  I have set up a We Pay account to receive donations, and ANY amount helps. The costs associated with running these sites is growing, and until I can get official sponsors or grants (likely not until at least a year from now) I'm relying on the support of people who support our cause or have been helped by them.  If you can spare a donation, please do. Below is a widget where you can donate directly:


If You Like Our Site, Please Consider A Contribution

You can also purchase my book, Let Me Get This Straight - all proceeds from the sale of the book go directly to funding these endeavors.  You can purchase the paperback for $29.00, or a pdf version (for PCs only!) or an eBook version (for MAC products ONLY!) for $9.99.  Please click here for a link to my bookstore. Just please be sure to purchase the correct electronic version for your device (eBooks do NOT work on PCs - you need the pdf version for that).

Click HERE for testimonies about how these sites have helped people (then click "comments" to view testimonies).  You can leave a testimony here, too, if you have been helped from our services. 

 Here's a sample testimony:

"I found out about Crying Out Now while I was still actively drinking. I read an article about it in Redbook, and went to the site. Reading the posts from other women, made me realize how bad my drinking had gotten. That I was not alone...or even unique. There were tons of other women out there suffering in shame, just like me. It took multiple attempts over a year and a half for me to finally find my road to recovery. Today I am 147 days sober :) I have my life back! When I started, I couldn't imagine going the rest of my life without drinking...it seemed impossible. Now I know I can have an amazing life, AS LONG AS I DON"T DRINK. All of the problems I thought it helped me deal with, were actually being caused by the drinking. I never would have made it to this point without Crying Out Now! Thank you so much for giving me my life back!"

The bottom line, sadly, is that I am unable to support these sites on my own anymore. Donations received last year carried me this far, and so I need to ask again.  It's hard to ask. I know none of us is floating in money, and there are so many important causes out there.  If you can't donate, I understand, but will you please share this post and help spread the word?

And if you can spare any amount - either to donate or purchase the book, I thank you from the bottom of my heart.

Addiction lives in the dark.  Together?  Together we're bringing the light.

Thank you.

Why It's Hard, And Why It Isn't

Thank you, everyone, for your supportive, compassionate and encouraging comments on my post yesterday.

Even though I believe so strongly that in order to combat the stigma of alcoholism we need to chip away at it through the power of truth, story and example, clicking "publish" on that one was the hardest thing I've done on this blog.

I'm not immune to thoughts of insecurity as it pertains to the stigma.  I made the choice to be open about my addiction and recovery, and I did it knowing that if I was going to be honest, it had to be all the way, even if I relapsed one day.

Far easier to have the ideological thought in my head than to face the reality.  I knew that I didn't have to be public about it until I was ready, and I wanted to use this as an excuse to perhaps never write about it.  I admit I didn't want to, that I fought it, and it took the prompting of people who know me well to open my heart and mind up to the idea that I could write about it someday.  I just thought that someday was going to be further off.  I woke up yesterday morning and knew it was the day, for reasons I don't have to understand.

The comments you leave supporting me help countless others who are reading, and seeing firsthand that it IS possible to get help and encouragement if you're honest first to yourself (this can be the hardest part) and then to others. It's the community that supports me on days I don't think I'm going to make it. It's the community that welcomed me back from my fall, and if I didn't have that community to go back to, clear my slate and my conscience with the truth, I don't know that I would have made it.

The stigma is still out there, strong as ever. After a hard post like that, I have to put my chin up and go out and do my normal activities and try not to wonder who has read it, whether or not they are judging me. Recovery starts from the inside out; if I let other people's opinions of me control how I feel about myself, it will lead me right back to the darkness.

Then yesterday, the news story of the man who was duct taped by fellow plane passengers to his chair because he was drunk and disorderly (click on the link to read one of the stories) broke with this viral picture:

He was, apparently, drinking the duty free alcohol he bought after passing through security, the seat back pocket in front of him full of nips. After four hours, he because violent, disorderly and threatening.   The picture above is the result.

Passengers declined to comment about the incident after disembarking, and so no charges will be made against the man (who is named in several news articles).

The thing is? I identify with this man.  The only difference between him and me is circumstance.  When I was active, this could have happened to me (I actually had the thought that getting your booze in the duty free shop was pretty clever... other alcoholics in recovery (and out of it) will have had this thought, too, when they read the story).  This is what an untreated alcoholic look like.  Most untreated alcoholics suffer silently in their homes or on bar stools, and when something "juicy" like this happens, and the hurtful comments start, all the silent sufferers go a little more quiet.

I don't know where to begin, really.  What would I have done if I were on that plane?  If I had witnessed this?  I don't know.  Mob mentality is a scary thing.  I do wonder about the people who were supposed to be in charge, what the rules are, etc.  But I wasn't there and I'll never know.

Reading this story in several news sources, something scares me more than the way this man was treated.  The comments about "drunks", "booze hounds" and "getting what he deserved".  There was even one police authority who was quoted in a reputable news source as calling the man a "typical drunk".

Alcoholism is a disease, and its primary symptoms are behavioral.  I'm not saying we excuse the behavior - there have to be consequences - but I long for the day when the mob mentality doesn't collectively rub its gleeful hands together and lump all drunks into one big horrible stereotype.  It's no better than any other form of bullying or racism.

I see a sick man who needs a lot of help in this picture. I see the system built to protect unruly passengers from themselves and each other failing.  I see people putting him down to feel better about themselves.

It all makes me sad, and it's why hitting publish is hard.

There is so much hope, though. Hope through your comments, through the supportive community evolving at Crying Out Now and the Booze Free Brigade.  Through the brave stories women are telling on The Bubble Hour.  These are all shining examples of people busting through the shame to help themselves heal, and to show others that the stereotype is wrong, that alcoholism can strike anyone.

Through the power of story and identification, we can help people who have never been touched by alcoholism - directly or indirectly - understand this disease, humanize it, put real people behind it.

This is why I'll always hit "publish".  This is why your comments are so important. You are on the front line of helping people get past the stigma and shame and get help.

Thank you.

Sometimes The Universe Smiles

Please read to the end of this. There is a song you HAVE to hear. Plus this is kind of a cool story.

I have written several times about how much I adore Brene (pronounced "Bren-nay") Brown's writing and speaking, and how it has changed my life.

No joke.

Her TedX Houston talk went viral in 2010, when my blog was still in its infancy.  Watching this video was transformative for me, because I knew that writing vulnerably was helping me heal, and there was clear response from readers telling me it was helping them, too.

At that time I was writing about alcoholism and recovery, and I had no idea what was coming down the road: a weight loss journey of over 65 lbs that caused me to take a hard look at myself in uncomfortable ways, the sudden death of my father, and a tonsil cancer diagnosis.

I cannot put into words how cultivating the ability to try to be vulnerable and open about these difficult periods of my life saved me.  I truly trace it back to watching that video of Brene Brown bravely standing out in front of what she though would be a few hundred Houstonians, and ended up being the whole. entire. world.  She's a researcher - a PhD, not cut from the cloth of your average "inspirational speaker", and I don't  believe it was her intention to be inspiring.  She was simply sharing her experiences in a way she found interesting from a data perspective, and more importantly how it impacted her personally.

I identified with that, strongly.  I didn't set out on this blog to inspire anyone. It helped me to write about it, and if my words helped others that was a by-product, not an intention.

I had no idea where it would all lead, which I'm discovering is kind of the point. Trust your gut, talk to trusted friends, pray or meditate about it, do the next right thing and let go of the outcome. Pry your white-knuckled fingers off the damn steering wheel and take it moment by moment.  Most of the time it won't go where you planned, and that's likely a good thing.

Yesterday I went with my Mom to the MA Conference for Women, which was full of incredible speakers, including Deepak Chopra, Kristin Chenoweth, Arianna Huffington, Brene Brown and many more inspiring women.

There were also incredible round tables, and I got to sit and absorb advice from someone I admire greatly, who I'm getting to know as a friend, too,  Morra Aarons-Mele from the Mission List and Women Online. I admire her drive, heart and spirit so much, and she has a LOT to offer women everywhere.

I wrote recently how my mother wanted me to give a copy of my new book Let Me Get This Straight, to Brene Brown at the conference.  First of all, I thought she was out of her ever-loving mind, because how was I going to just "run into" Brene and shove my book in her face?  Not my style.  It felt arrogant and self-promotion-y and I'm so star-crossed about Brene I wasn't sure I'd get two words out of my mouth without crying or laughing like a lunatic, or something.

My Mom's response was "you just made me read this book Daring Greatly by Brene and now you won't do it?"

I knew she was right, but still didn't bring a copy of my book with me to the conference because I'm a big. fat. chicken.

My Mom, however, brought a copy, so when Brene sat down to sign books there I was about 10th in line with a copy of her book to sign for me, and my own little Charlie Brown book clutched in my hand (with an inscription by me telling her how much her work means to me).  Even as she signed a copy of her book for me I had no idea that the words, "And, if it's appropriate, can I give you a copy of my book?  It exists because you taught me how to be vulnerable, to Dare Greatly, and I'm eternally grateful".

Here's the thing about Brene Brown:  she is so totally not full of shit.  She gave me the most genuine smile, looked me dead in the eye, and said "I'd love a copy.  Thank you."

And then my Mom snapped a pic of one of the best moments of my life.  No joke:

Brene Brown holding my book! I'm giddy with Fan-Girl-Ness!

To me, this is the power of women coming together to support each other- even if she never reads it - she made me feel so good, and honored how much courage it took me to overcome feelings of inadequacy and rampant "who do I think I am's".   I will always be grateful to her for that.

At a wonderful cancer support group I go to called Women Moving Through Cancer (for people in remission) we talked this week about our dreams. Where do we want to take our lives? How do we want to make our mark?  I instantly though of Brene Brown. I think a LOT of us want to be Brene Brown.   I just want to embody her genuine spirit, her bravery, her willingness to share pieces of herself to help us all be a little braver, a little vulnerable, and share our experiences - no matter what they are - so we all know we're not alone.

Then the group leader asked us where we were in achieving our dream, our footprint in life.  It hit me that I'm  actually there, right now, and I don't have to be a world famous speaker or have a million readers (or any readers) to make that kind of impact.

Neither do you.

If we all come together as women (and men) and honor each other's vulnerability, bravery, truths and experiences, we're making the world a much less competitive, fast-paced, winner-takes-all kind of place.

Thank you, Brene, for planting this seed in me.  I'm having fun watching it grow - it has very little do to with me and everything to do with doing the next right thing and letting go of the outcome.

Beautiful things happen that way.  And sometimes?  Sometimes the Universe smiles.

The conference ended with a performance of "I Was Here" by Kristin Chenoweth of this gorgeous song.  I insist you listen to it. Please. It left me (and my Mom) in tears.  The good kind.

 

Exciting News

I'm trying hard not to apologize for coming here and continuing to talk about my latest projects.

But I can't really write about anything else at the moment, because these heart projects are on my mind, and I'm determined to spread the word.

I already posted about The Bubble Hour (a new internet talk show that is also available on iTunes).  It's a show geared towards giving practical advice to people who are still drinking, thinking of stopping, who are new to sobriety and could use empathy, advice and community, or people who have been sober a while and are interested in hearing how other people get through the tougher times.

It's a practical advice show, with fabulous guests telling their own stories and opening up what has worked (and not worked) for them.  Through story telling and sharing our own truths (just like on Crying Out Now, but this is spoken word) we are continuing to help people understand they aren't alone and that hope is out there.

I love the talk show format, because it puts real voices to these stories, real people with lives just like yours that have come out on the other side of the pain of addiction.

If you struggle during certain times of day (for instance, on last night's show cooking in early sobriety came up a LOT) these pod casts are a great tool - pop in your ear buds and listen to get through the more difficult times.  It's another tool for getting through those early days, and another way to break down that stigma that keeps so many people stuck and alone.

And the best news is that it's growing by leaps and bounds (almost 3000 listens/downloads in three weeks) but we STILL need your help spreading the word.  Even if you aren't in recovery, you never, ever know who you may be helping but telling people about this resource through FB or Twitter.  It could be someone you know well who is suffering in silence.

The more we show the world that we ALL can come together- not just those struggling with addiction - the more that damn stigma will crack and more people will feel brave enough to come forward and ask for help.

Below is a widget that has the last four episodes on it - you can listen from there, or you can go to The Bubble Hour's website and click on the tab at the top that explains how to subscribe to our pod casts.  Once you subscribe new episodes will automatically download into your iTunes.

PLEASE help us spread the word.

I promise I won't keep coming here and begging, but the early feedback we're getting is SO encouraging, and we know this is making a big difference.  If you feel shy sharing about addiction and you're not an alcoholic or addict yourself, remember HUNDREDS of people support The Bubble Hour (and Crying Out Now) who aren't alcoholics, and have never even been touched indirectly by addiction, but you believe in a good cause and making a difference in the world.  

Thank you. SO much.  I appreciate all the support.  You guys ROCK.

Listen to internet radio with The Bubble Hour on Blog Talk Radio