Goodnight tree (day 3 recap)

22:30 ish. So I had my weird moment with the dress metaphor and then I realized I was slipping into old patterns. Getting all perfectionist and sh*t. No, I can’t be doing that, no way no how. I’m here to get fully sober yo, not perfect. Perfect is as perfect fails. How’s that for a saying.

I was sooo, sooo happy today. I just felt grateful for everything. It’s been a long time since I felt so deeply light and happy. It was the weight of making that decision off my shoulders. I’d been pondering it for ages (yet again). But giving over to the delight of it. I’ve seen some bloggers call it the Pink Cloud. I’m not sure the pink cloud is a real thing, TBH. I believe that (i.e. the “pink-cloud”-like state) is how we beings are meant to be, most of the time. It’s not some false state of reality that is meant to wear off. The problem is we keep losing touch with real reality, i.e. the Now and Awareness. All I had, while I was happy, was peace with who I was, and with what I was doing, in each moment.

I picked the kids up for lunch, dropped them off again after a picnic at the park; spent an hour relaxing. Relaxing! I am taking care to take care of myself. Then I sprang into action to finish the housecleaning.

My husband is home on weekends (he works out of town). Right now he’s flossing his teeth so hard it sounds like he’s roping a steer. He’s really good about his teeth. He’s really good about a ridiculous number of things! This guy is sort of like a Marvel superhero. Everyone agrees.

— Tree, Tree, please tell me?  How can we continue to be, me and he?

— Care-full-y. And be honest.

I don’t like to be honest with him. It’s not about things like my downsides or my drinking. I’m too happy to be honest about those. It’s about stating my needs. I do not like to state my needs. Because he doesn’t like to hear them.

Am I being fair? Yes. He doesn’t like to state his own needs either. So in that way he is fair as well. Still, I feel I’m not actually being fair…

Let’s just say I have learned to be very un-needy. That’s a good thing, maybe… or maybe not. I was not really needy before I met him. Actually, I was over-independent. Or was that an illusion?

Either way, I actually do have needs. Or at least, wants. One of those wants is for peace and love. So I’ll sometimes do anything to keep the peace and love flowing. Even reject my own needs.

He was drinking beer (reasonably) and chuckling and telling stories about work. As I poured myself another diet soda (dear Tree, help me only use water/herb tea as a replacement for wine, one day?), and there was a small lull in the work stories, I casually mentioned I’d accidentally drank a whole bottle of wine on Tuesday.

(No response.)

Me (45 seconds later): No comment?

Him: Oh, you want me to comment. What did you say? Okay. Well, what do you mean by accidentally?

Me: I mean that I started out meaning to have a glass or two, and suddenly, the bottle was gone.

— So?

— Well, I was pretty drunk I suppose, by the end of it.

— Oh right, it actually affects you like that.

— Yeah.

— Well, so what? [subtext: I know what you’re like on wine. Just cheerful and happy. Doesn’t matter.] Sometimes it’s just nice to relax.

— Well, I don’t know. I didn’t clean up after dinner. The kitchen was a mess the next day. And I was a little surprised to find it that way. (I felt terrible shame as I said this.) Of course seeing the mess everywhere reminded me of everything; I didn’t black out or anything. But still, it was only 10:30 when I went to bed! That means I drank a bottle of wine in four hours!

And so the conversation continued. Him trying to convince me I need to alter anything about myself or my life, other than the drinking; me thinking that the drinking is the most reasonably dispensable element. I’m too lazy and/or private to record the whole conversation here. But he’s always confident and I’m always second-guessing. Usually, anyway.

This time I said, well, let’s look at any other toxic substance. Cigarettes, for example. I gave those up nearly one year ago. (He HATES smoking with a passion, by the way, always has; his mom was a chain-smoker. She was also a 2L/day winoholic. She’s dead now. Died of stage 4 throat cancer — a cancer most commonly related to alcohol abuse, alongside smoking — 6 months within diagnosis. Gods love her as I did, and may she forever be in peace, warrior woman that she was.) What if I said, oh well it’s relaxing to have a cigarette every now and then, maybe even a whole pack, occasionally, maybe I should start again?

I could see some gears click behind his eyes at that one. He nodded thoughtfully a little. He himself knows how to argue like a lawyer. Some of his skills may have rubbed off on me, after all these years.

My written conversation above makes no sense. I’m honestly too tired to write anymore. Going to bed.

Tree, will you connect with me when I hit the pillow? I love that feeling. I just want that happy feeling back, that I had earlier in the day.

— Be still, and know that I am with you

— Okay. Love you, and thank you so much, Tree


* * *

Edit 2019-06-08: un-published shortly after publishing due to FUD. Re-published now. (Perhaps sober confidence building? becoming okay with myself and my needs? I still love my husband.)

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