And so life begins… apparently.. forty in all its glory and supposed fabulousness. Underwhelmed, might be a more accurate statement. I have a sense of anti climax, of not quite being where I want to be and a crushing sense of shame that for some reason I can’t seem to get there.
Its been nearly two months since I last wrote and it doesn’t take a genius to work out whats been going on in that time. I had 100 days within touching distance, but I got complacent, believed I could handle the ‘occasional’ drink – a birthday celebration – a meal out with friends – a stressful day – and slowly, but surely everything unravelled.
So here I am again. Day one. My tolerance back up at two bottles an evening. Hating myself, hating what I represent, how I must look/sound/smell to the kids and my husband. Weak. Selfish. Stupid. Frustrated.
And perhaps the craziest part – a whole bunch of my closest believe I no longer drink – they have accepted this fact unquestioningly and with a degree of admiration. I have let everyone down, including myself, fallen down a giant rabbit hole of secrecy, shame and self loathing.
So I’m picking myself up, dusting myself off and starting again. Sunday is Mothers day. I want to be a good mother, a present mother and most importantly break the cycle that teaches my kids that drinking is a good coping mechanism for the crap life throws at you. I can’t seem to do it for me, but perhaps I can do it for them.. at least initially until I figure out a way of seeing myself as a person who is deserving something better.