God Grant Me - A Guest Post from Kristin

A note from Ellie:

I didn't ask Kristin to send me this guest post; she did it all on her own. 

I read her words holding my breath.  

Her email spoke right to the center of me.   Many people will live their whole lives and never have to muster the kind of courage it takes to write words like this .. to stand and look at - really look at - the cold, hard, truth that hides in the deepest shadows of their heart, fiendishly calling the shots, slowly eclipsing the love and light in their life.

Taking away something we use to numb ourselves - to escape, to step into an alternate reality just for a bit  whether it is alcohol, drugs, food, sex, gambling, shopping - is terrifying.    It strips us down to the core, exposes us to vulnerability, imperfection, guilt and fear.   It takes serious guts to stand and face those things about ourselves we wish weren't true.

But I know this for certain:   on the other side of the darkness is Grace.   Speaking a truth like Kristin's is the beginning of an amazing journey into self, light and love.   

Here is Kristin's post.   Please offer her your love and support.  

~~~~~

God Grant Me

I didn't mean for this to happen.


I guess no one does, but I really didn't. Because I should know better.

Hi, I'm Kristin.

My family has a history with addiction. Mostly alcohol. And they say this disease can be genetic. But in the nature versus nurture game, I thought I was in the clear. My parents both quit drinking before I was born. Years before I was born. So I never saw the addiction, never learned the addiction.

I thought I was in the clear.

But I'm not. And I need to come to terms with that.

Because I've got a kid that I love more than anything. Me? I hate to say it but I'd gamble if it were just me.

But it's not.

I read recently that SIDS deaths increase drastically on new year's day. Because caretakers are too drunk to manage putting their kids to sleep properly.

And while I want to judge and shame those parents, I can't. I've been drunk in the year since Alex was born. Too drunk. I don't drink every day and so I tell myself I'm "ok".

But when I drink?

It's a lot. It's unhealthy. It's too much.

Sometimes? I can't remember.

Sometimes? I black out.

And I'm scared.

Scared of what I might do. Scared of what I did do. Scared of saying the words "I need to quit."

Because I'm ashamed. I'm so ashamed I can't handle this. I'm ashamed that I'm not better than some stupid gene in my body.

I do so well sometimes.

But doing well just gives me an excuse to tell myself I'm ok.

And then I get together with friends and they refill my glass. To be nice. And they refill it again. Because I am drinking so quickly. I start to lose track of how many times they refill it. I'm not doing it myself! It's ok if I'm not doing it myself, right?

But still, it gets done.

And eventually, I start to do it myself. Even though I know better. Because I'm too drunk to care.

And my son sleeps. I don't drink while he's awake. Which makes it ok, right?

Please God, I pray, let him stay asleep. Let him be safe. Because he is not safe with me now. Please don't let him need me to care for him because I'm not equipped to right now. Let him stay asleep and be safe.

Praying that prayer? Is disgusting. Knowing this, why can't I tell them to stop pouring? Why I can't I tell them what I am?

Here's a secret: I relished being pregnant. Not only was I growing a beautiful life inside me, but no one pressured me to drink.

Well, one person pressured me to drink.

But he didn't really want to be around me while I was pregnant anyway. Getting pregnant lost me a friend. Well, not really a friend. A drinking buddy.

While I was pregnant I didn't have to explain to people that I couldn't drink because I can't control myself. I didn't have to tell them how awful I am with it.

But I'm going to have to start explaining. Because I can't be pregnant forever. And I can't keep drinking.

Why can't I tell people what I am? Because of my shame. I want to be normal. I put on a good act most of the time.

But I'm not normal. And I don't think people will understand that. I think they'll try to talk me out of quitting. Or they'll just stop talking to me altogether because who wants one of THOSE in their life?

Those that do understand how I am? Calling myself a drunk would be calling them drunks too. And that would just be impolite.

Hi, I'm Kristin. And I still can't say it.

I feel like saying it would let my parents down. They worked so hard to never bring this into my life. But I slid here anyway.

But I have to say it.

Because I'm not safe. Because I don't want to die. Or endanger anyone else. Or lose my husband. Or put my child at risk. Or lose a child to SIDs because I'm too drunk to care for them.

I hate myself when I wake up the morning after drinking. I cry copiously. I apologize to my husband. Profusely, I apologize to him. I hate that I drank so much. I hate that I don't remember how much I drank. I hate me.

I've sworn it off before. But it doesn't stick because I can't admit to my friends what I am. Maybe I haven't wanted to admit it to myself either.

Hi, I'm Kristin. And I'm an alcoholic.

It's An Inside Job

New Year's Resolutions are, in my opinion, a complete waste of time. 

I don't mean to be all bah-humbug-y about trying to improve your life in some way - I'm all for it, but let's be realistic about change. 

Real change?  Major change?   You can't force it, or hop on some New Year's bandwagon with your 'I'm gonna make a new me!' battle cry.    Real change is slow, subtle, and more often than not something in your life has to be so out of balance, painfully out of whack, in order to induce change that will be meaningful.

Think back on last year.  Do you remember your resolutions?   Did you stick with them?   If so, for how long? 

I heard on the radio yesterday that the three most common resolutions are, in reverse order:  3) lose weight   2) spend less money and 1) drink less.

Mostly, New Year's Resolutions are geared towards doing less of something.   We are an indulgent society.  We are programmed to want more, but the things we want more of tend to make us obese, addicted and in debt.

There are lots of things we need more of in our lives:   compassion, down-time, gratitude, peace of mind, kindness, laughter.

Instead of a resolution that revolves around self, try one that revolves around others.   Try complimenting a stranger, calling an old friend, reaching out to someone who needs help.   Donate your time to a charity.   Read an extra book to your kids at night.  

Find at least one thing every day that spreads some love and compassion into the world.   Even when faced with negativity, spread kindness.    Someone cuts you off in line?  A cashier is rude?  The server is late bringing your food?  

You have choices on how you react to things:  indignation and annoyance are the more obvious choices, of course.   Patience and compassion, however, break the cycle of negativity, bring you peace of mind, and are paid forward in beautiful ways.

There is a lovely concept in Buddhism, that every person you meet, every person you know, is a teacher.   Each interaction you have with someone has a ripple effect:  if it's angry or negative, it spreads negativity and anger out into the world.  If it's gentle and compassionate, it spreads peace and compassion into the world.

The people who upset you, treat you poorly or make you angry?  They are teachers, too.   If someone makes you mad, look into yourself:  what is it about what they said or did that resonates so deeply with you?   Did they strike a sensitive chord?  If so, why?   Is there something in your life you have been trying not to see?

If everyone did one compassionate thing every day, for no reason at all, think about how much brighter the world would be.

~~~~~

Now that this blog is a year and a half old, I can look back to see where I was exactly a year ago.    Last year I did a post about how I don't do New Year's Resolutions.    I didn't know it then, but I was four months away from embarking on a weight-loss journey that would change my life.

In that post, I wrote this:

One of the most meaningful things I have learned in recovery is all the promises and resolutions in the world won't help if I'm not being honest with myself. I would focus my resolutions on the simpler stuff, like cutting out sweets, instead of facing my own hard truths.

So instead of resolutions, I take a hard look at myself and ask some honest questions. What is it about myself I don't want to face? What am I trying not to know about myself?

With the benefit of hindsight, I can see what was happening there.   I was in pre-contemplation about losing weight, and I didn't even know it.   There was something about myself that I didn't want to see:  I was overweight.  Significantly overweight.

By resolving to face some inner truths - honestly, but gently - the moment eventually arrived one chilly April morning where I put on my ratty old sweatpants - my stretchy-waisted-fat-pants - and one clear, concise thought popped into my head:   enough. 

Had I resolved to lose weight for New Year's, I don't think it would have worked.   Without the gift of desperation, once the new-ness of my resolution lost its sheen, I would have gone back to my old habits.   Running around telling people I was going to lose weight would have been all about impressing other people, or trying to get external pressure make me follow up on my goal.    Real change - change born of desperation and a smidgen of self-love - is deeply personal, and it can only come from the inside out.

By turning my eyes gently inward, faced a hard truth about myself - without the pressure of thinking I had to do something about it right then - I gave my mind and spirit time to be ready.   It opened my heart and mind to hearing that one word - enough - when I was finally ready to take action.

Give yourself a gift this New Year's:  look kindly but honestly at yourself.  Is there something you want to change, but fear gets in the way?    Look yourself in the mirror and admit out loud what it is that makes you afraid.   Just say the words.   

You can't program change into the calendar every January 1st.   It comes in its own time.  All you have to do is face the hard truth and then keep your mind and heart open.

Shadow Me

I had company this Christmas.

I don't mean the usual company - family and friends coming over to enjoy a meal and exchange gifts - although there was plenty of that, too.

I'm talking about the Shadow Me. 

Shadow Me is the ghost of the woman I used to be: the broken spirit who never measured up in her own mind, who lived in fear and shame, who sought comfort and escape from a bottle every night.

She is always there, but in the hustle bustle of daily life she fades into the background, unseen and mostly forgotten.

During the holidays, she steps out of the shadows.   It happens every year.

~~~~~

My first sober Christmas, three years ago, she was a clanging bitch.   Her voice was a grating soundtrack to my life:  you won't make it without drinking, wouldn't one glass of wine feel so good right now?  Look at how everyone else can drink and you can't, because you ruined everything. 

She was a heavy weight on my shoulders as I wrapped presents, decorated the tree, tried to play with my kids, ate dinner with my family.    She filled the hole left by alcohol with her constant, nagging presence.    I hated her, and everything she stood for.  I felt broken, fragile and useless, like a vase that had been hastily glued back together, but would never hold water again.

I couldn't imagine that she would ever lose her power over me, so great was the guilt, fear and shame that fed her spirit.

~~~~~

This year she showed up on Christmas Eve. 

I was in church, the lights were dimmed and I was listening to a stirring rendition of 'O Holy Night'.    Finn was curled in my lap, sleeping; his cheeks were flushed bright red from excitement and fatigue.    I gently stroked his hair, and sighed contentedly.   

Without warning, Shadow Me slid silently into the pew next to me, her breath hot on my neck.   

You almost threw all this away, she said.   Drinking was more important to you than your children, your friends, your family.    Remember the Christmas you couldn't even cook the dinner?   The time you nearly passed out at the table?  

I closed my eyes, fighting back tears.

I forgive you, I told Shadow Me.   She sank into a stony silence, but remained stubbornly by my side.

Later that evening as my husband and I wrapped gifts, she hissed into my ear again:   Remember that Christmas you didn't have any wrapping paper in the house?  Or scotch tape?  How angry Steve was at you as you wrapped presents in brown paper bags and masking tape?   How you didn't care because you were buzzed?   

Tears welled up in my eyes, but I sent her a silent prayer:   I forgive you. You were doing the best you could.  You didn't know what you didn't know.  

~~~~

I had a hard time falling asleep Christmas Eve.  My head swirled with thoughts of the past: bleary, blurry Christmases spent groping my way through, living for the next glass of wine to make the fear and exhaustion grow quieter.    I felt the guilt for all the lost days and nights crush me in its cold embrace.

Sleepless, I padded downstairs and sat staring into the dying embers of the fire.   

Then I closed my eyes and faced Shadow Me head on.  

You are not defined by your mistakes, but by what you learn from them, I told her.  It's time to let you go.

Shadow Me flickered and shimmered, reluctant to leave.  Who would I be without her?    She has dogged me for three years, through each milestone, holiday, and countless witching hours.   How can I let her go?

Can I stay strong without the guilt, without the fear?

You have always been worthy of love, I told her.      I forgive you.   I forgive you, and I love you.

Shadow Me flickered one last time, and then faded away.   

~~~~~

Christmas morning the kids raced downstairs, squealing with delight.  

"LOOK!" they cried.  "HE CAME!"

They stood in a stunned silence for a moment or two, soaking in the sight of the stockings full to the brim, gorgeous wrapped presents spilling out from under the tree.

Shadow Me was nowhere to be found.   

I stood with Grace, Love and Gratitude, and together we smiled.

An Operation Get Healthy Update

I'm not on a diet anymore.

This thought hit me the other day.   It took me six months to lose 60 lbs, and I'd been in a dieting frame of mind for so long, that I didn't even notice when I crossed the line from someone who is watching calories to someone who eats respectfully.

It started in early November, when a bad cold ran through our house.  For three weeks straight, someone was sick in our house:  first one kid, then the other, then me.

I couldn't go to my Jenny Craig appointments to get my weekly food, or get weighed in.   I couldn't get to the gym.   I was on my own.

Up until that point, I had been fearful of weaning off the Jenny Craig food, even though my consultant was urging me to.   I didn't trust my own thinking, because I know full well how easily I can justify bad habits.   But now I didn't have a choice, and because we were in full-on survival mode at home, I didn't even have time to panic about it.

I still weighed myself, but only once a week, so I couldn't get obsessive about the number on the scale.   The number I saw each week held steady (give or take a pound or two up and down).   But I was still eating basically the same things every day, fearful of deviating from my routine.

Thanksgiving taught me a valuable lesson:   I can eat what everyone else eats, but in moderation.    Instead of depriving myself of mashed potatoes, gravy and a slice of pie, I ate all of those, but kept my portions in control.

This is a very new concept for me, this whole control thing.    What I found out is that it's only hard in the beginning - after a while it just becomes my New Normal.

When I went to my Jenny Craig appointment on Monday, I hadn't been in almost six weeks.    I hadn't eaten their food in almost four weeks.    I didn't gain any weight.   My consultant smiled at me and said, "You're doing great.  See?  You know what to do, now."

That's when it hit me:   I'm not on a diet anymore.  Now I'm just living my life, but with a new respect for the role food plays in my life.   I keep an eye on balance - if I'm going to eat cheese and carbs, I balance out my plate with vegetables or a salad.     I don't allow myself to have second helpings, ever, because those second helpings are all about emotional eating.   If I'm hungry - legitimately hungry - an hour after I ate I can have a light snack.   

I can finally tell the difference between emotional eating and eating because I'm hungry.    The other night it was 9:30pm and I was stressed, tired, and still had a pile of work to do before bed.   I was feeling edgy, angry and more than a little bored.    I wanted to eat so badly.    I wasn't hungry - I was angry and restless.  I was looking for comfort, and something to do.     So I had two dum-dum lollipops.    A total of 30 calories, and it took half an hour to finish them both.   My sugar craving was satisfied, and I felt like I had given myself a treat.   

Now I keep hard candy and lollipops on hand all the time, just in case.     When moods like that hit me, it's far better to reach for a lollipop than a big sugary bowl of cereal, or a handful of cookies.

I don't need to be in deprivation mode anymore.   It's difficult to get my mind around the fact that this is the new me.   That if I eat regular food, carefully, and exercise moderately I'm going to do just fine.    It's hard to trust that, but as time goes on and the weight stays off, I'm leaning into this concept more and more.

This doesn't mean I don't have a strategy for tougher times, like Christmas, when the whole point of the day seems to be to indulge.    I don't indulge anymore.   I enjoy.

I don't let myself get too hungry.   If I eat when I'm really hungry, I have a very, very hard time stopping.   So about an hour before Christmas dinner, I'll have a Chobani yogurt, maybe with a little granola sprinkled in.   I plan in advance what my 'treat' is going to be, I look forward to eating it, and I enjoy the experience of tasting it.  Instead of compulsively and unconsciously reaching for cookie after cookie and barely registering the taste, those two that I eat taste so very good. 

The biggest breakthrough I've had is that there are no bad foods, but there are bad habits.   Food isn't the enemy; my emotional state is what gets me into trouble.     It's a time of year when it would be easy to feel resentful - everyone around me eating and drinking and I'm an alcoholic in recovery who is watching her weight.   

I don't feel deprived or left out, though.   Just like it was with alcohol, food owned me for a long time.   Eating a bag of chips for comfort is a lonely place to be; it's like a band-aid over a bullet hole ... you only think you're solving a problem, when in fact you're making it much worse.     I was an unconscious eater for so long.   When you eat just because it's what you do, you never get to enjoy or appreciate food.   I'll never be able to enjoy or appreciate alcohol, so I'm grateful that with food I've managed to find a balance.

What keeps me on track is the fear of going back to that unconscious place, where I'm stuck in a prison of my own creation and I don't even realize I have the key to get out.

Finding the Magic

We're coming into the home stretch, now.    I have never experienced holiday craziness like this year.   It's good - so, so good - that my business is doing well, but I have barely a moment to breathe, let alone stop and reflect that this time of year isn't just about rushing around buying gifts, it's also a magical time.

This may be our last year with two Believers in the house.   Greta, who is 8, still firmly believes in Santa Claus.   I don't know that this will be the case next year, and I'm trying to wallow in their wide-eyed wonder at the miracle that is Christmas.

After the death of Rhino the Hamster, Steve and I decided to get them a new pet.  "No fur," was my only rule, which left lizards, snakes and fish.    So I amended my rule, "nothing that eats insects or other things with fur." 

That left fish.

We bought a 20 gallon fish tank, a filter and some special sand.   The kids gleefully ran up and down the fish aisle of the pet store, pointing to their favorites.   

"Well," said Steve.  "We can get the tank and the equipment, but we don't have enough money today to buy the fish.  You're going to have to ask Santa for those."

The kids nodded solemnly, and went home to ask our Elf on the Shelf to please pass along the news to Santa that they'd realllly like some fish for their empty tank.  

We set the tank up in their bedroom; it has a light that functions as a perfect night light, and the hum of the filter lulls them to sleep each night.    It's a little sad, this empty tank, but the kids aren't bothered.    "I hope Felix (the name of the Elf) 'members to tell Santa to bwing fish," Finn said last night.

Greta's response was a bit more practical.  "I'm trying to figure out how Santa will get the fish here without the water freezing," she said, her brow furrowed.   "I think I know.  Santa has a special pet compartment in his sleigh, and he'll keep them there.  And then he'll bring them down the chimney really carefully."

I smile and nod, and wonder how on earth we're going to sneak those fish into the tank Christmas Eve without waking them up.   We may be in over our heads, here.

"It's okay if Santa doesn't bwing da fish," says Finn.   "Da tank is willy beautiful anyway."

I love their undiluted faith in Christmas.   In this crazy-paced, instant gratification society we live in, it's refreshing to see them happily - and patiently - wait to see what will happen.

Yesterday as I rushed around making orders, cleaning the house and folding laundry, the kids got their snow gear on (all by themselves!) and went outside to play.   We have about five inches of pristine snow on the ground, and they were rolling around making snow angels.    I glanced at the clock:   3:30pm.    I still had several things to do before 5pm, but I dried my hands, slipped into my snow boots and headed outside.

"You know what this snow is perfect for?"  I asked.  "Making a snowman!"

"YAY!" they screamed.   "Let's make Frosty!"

So we rolled and packed and stacked, and made a snowman.  The kids foraged for sticks for arms and a nose, but we didn't have anything for eyes or buttons.   Greta's face lit up as she came up with an idea.  "Hold on a sec!" she said, and ran into the kitchen.   She came out a couple of minutes later with a smirky little grin. 

"This will be perfect," she said, as she stuck oreos into his face for eyes, and down his belly for buttons.

I can be cynical about Christmas.   The rampant consumerism, the pressure to have the perfect Christmas, makes me kind of insane.   But there is something magical underneath it all, if I remember to look.

And I've come up with a plan for the fish.   The Elf is going to deliver the fish before we head out to church.   The fish will be his present to the kids before he heads back up to the North Pole until next Christmas.   

Today I have a few more things to tick off my list, and then I'm going to stop, and sink into the beauty of it all.

Happy Holidays, everyone.  No matter what holiday you celebrate this time of year, I hope magic comes your way.

Awake

As I braked in order to slow for a red light, my car hit black ice and started to slide towards a busy intersection.

My heart jumped in fear as I turned into the skid, while my eyes darted towards the cars rushing through the intersection about twenty feet ahead of me.

Two thoughts popped into my head before conscious thought winked out and my mind went white with fear:

Huh.  Time really does slow to a crawl when you're facing imminent danger.

Thank God nobody else is in the car.

It seemed to take hours.  My front end turned left - into the skid - and headed towards the median strip next to me, while my back end shimmied out of control.   I admit it - I closed my eyes and braced for impact.  Two feet before the intersection my car suddenly spun 180 degrees and came to a dead stop, facing the wrong way, but shy of the cars rushing past.  I missed the median strip, too.

It took a moment or two for my brain to register that I was okay.  I was okay.  

The whole thing probably took 10 seconds.   I turned the car around, the light turned green, and I cautiously  made my way through the intersection.  I was shaking too much to drive, so I pulled over to the side of the road.  

I sat with my face in my hands, heart racing, and tried to slow my breathing.   Thank God there were no cars near me, I thought.   Thank God I stopped before the intersection.    Thank you, God. 

I was out on a snowy Sunday night because I had to go to Target to pick up baby clothes, blankets and diapers for our church's annual Christmas Charity Drive.    Maybe that's why my car stopped, I thought.   I was heading out to do some good in the world. 

~~~~~

Later that night I was still shaken.    Everyone else was asleep, and I sat in my darkened living room and basked in the lights from the Christmas Tree.

I kept replaying scenarios in my head, thinking about how narrowly I escaped being badly hurt, or worse.   What if the car hadn't stopped?  What if I had hit the median?   What if there had been cars in the lane next to mine?  

Careful what you wish for, I thought.   You just might get it. 

I had been feeling so flat lately.    Busy but bored, I had felt like a spectator in my own life.    I have been living under a pile of little details, busily sifting through each day to make the pile smaller, only to have it grow in the night.   Every day:  wake up, sift, sort, sleep. 

I don't pray very often, but I prayed last night. 

I get it, I thought.   My gratitude is back.  Thank you.

~~~~~

Thank you for all of the responses to my last post, too.   Every single one of them helped me; I am comforted to know I'm not alone in how I felt, and inspired by all you had to say.

I figured out, too, what the problem was:   my people-pleasing is showing.

I have been too caught up in writing about what I think people want to hear, instead of what is coming from my heart.     I'm focusing on the external again, something I have worked hard to avoid.    It's probably because I'm stressed, I'm tired, and I haven't been able to get to many meetings.    Left alone in my own head, those voices that like to tell me how I don't measure up come alive.    For years the only antidote I had for those voices was to ramp up my people-pleasing:  Don't like yourself?  Make sure everyone else likes you!   

I never used to worry about how blog posts will be received; I wrote because I needed to.   Somewhere in the past month or so, as I became disenchanted with myself, I lost the melody to my heart song, and I lost my gratitude.   I was sleep walking through my days.

It took a near death experience and kind words from all of you, but I'm back, now.

I'm awake.

Blahg Crisis

Blogging is weird.

Well, it is. 

I have been in a head space where I don't understand why I come here and talk about whatever is on my mind.   It's not some over-blown existential crisis, it just feels sort of silly.  

More experienced bloggers are probably nodding their heads knowingly, thinking:  Ah, yes.  I remember that phase.  At least I hope they are, because it would be comforting to know that what I'm experiencing is typical and that it will pass.

The words don't come easily to me these days.   I'll come up with an idea for a post on addiction or recovery, and then I'll think:  I already talked about that.  Or the kids will do something clever or funny and I'll start to write a post about it and just lose steam.    Nobody actually wants to read this stuff, do they?  I'll think.

This isn't a fishing trip; I'm not doing a blog post to get comments telling me to keep blogging, blah, blah, blah.   It's just the honest truth:  I feel out of things to say.

So why am I here talking about it? 

I have no idea.  

I was in the supermarket the other day, just watching Normal Regular Ordinary People (NORPs) go about their business and I was thinking about how most people don't go home and feel compelled to write about their life for the world to see -- so what is it about me that wants to do that?

What drives bloggers to put their life out there into cyberspace?

I think part of it is that I'm kind of bored with myself these days.   I'm flat and uninspired.  I occasionally get jazzed up about some new jewelry, but how much can one person talk about making jewelry before peoples' eyes start to cross?  

I'd like to think I blog to become part of a community, not just to project into the world.   But it's almost impossible to divorce ego from blogging.   Of course I'm getting something from it - why else would I do it?    But I'm losing the thread on why I blog.  

I know why I read blogs, at least.  I read other peoples' blogs because I'm in awe of the talent out there.   When I read a post that reaches in and touches my heart, or makes me laugh until tears flow, it fuels my spirit.    I'm not interested in reading bloggers that prattle on and on; I'm drawn to blogs that make me think, laugh or view life in some different way.

I'm feeling like a prattler.   Look at this post:  prattle, prattle, prattle.

Tonight I had dinner with my friend Corinne.  We're talking and laughing, and it hit me:   I would never have known Corinne if I didn't blog.   Or I'll be chatting with Heather on the phone and it will occur to me that a year ago I didn't even know she existed.  Corinne and Heather are like oxygen to me now; I feel like I've known them for ages.    Those friendships are very real, even though they were born from the pixelated world of the internet.  

Maybe that is why I keep on blogging ... because the connections that have come to me since I started are incredible.   Maybe I blog for the same reason I stay sober:   because of the possibilities, the new friendships, the opportunity to become part of new worlds.   Sobriety feels flat to me sometimes, too, when I lose sight of all the gifts it has brought me.   Maybe what I'm missing is good old-fashioned gratitude. 

Will you help me?  If you're a blogger, will you tell me why you blog?   If you're a blog reader, will you tell me why you read?   Not mine specifically - like I said, this is not a fishing trip.    I'm genuinely curious.  

Maybe you can help shake me out of this, well, flatness.