How Dare You Know Me

Let me paint y'all a little picture. It's early evening after a long day, I'm in the kitchen tackling a sink full of dishes that I knew I should have tackled days ago. I'm frustrated with this chore (largely because it's a physical representation of other things that I should have already done, like going back through the looming pile of hospital and doctor's bills). I can spend about 5 minutes standing out of my wheelchair at a time, putting the majority of my weight on my good leg, and that has me frustrated, too. My exhausted mind meets my procrastination combined with an annoying physical limitation...recipe for, well, you'll see.

Instead of taking a minute to get in touch with how I'm feeling, and putting forth the effort to improve my mood, I try to speed through the chore and end up dropping a plate that my mother has just given me, one with great sentimental value. It hits my favorite bowl- an imported piece of Japanese pottery- and both items acquire irreparable chips. I sit down in my wheelchair and just cry.

My husband, bless his heart, has witnessed the scene and attempts to bring some perspective by reminding me that mistakes are made, accidents happen. I cry out, "I know accidents happen, but I'm tired of everything being hard! I'm tired! Tired of hurting, tired of everything being difficult!" At this point I'm absolutely aware that I'm indulging my misery, but I don't care. I've spent 93% of my waking hours working really hard to stay positive. And for a minute I just want to fall apart.

After a minute or so, my husband gently checks-in, asking if I want to talk about it. I restate with more than a little whine in my tone that I just want something to be easy. Then, get this, he has the audacity to speak the truth. "Well, that's is your 'm.o.' isn't it? Wanting things to be easy? I mean, isn't that why you drank?" First, let me acknowledge the excellent use of "m.o.". An abbreviation of the Latin modus operandi, it literally means "way of operating". And secondly, yes, dear husband, this is why I drank.

I spent much of my adult life despairing that life was hard, and self-medicating with alcohol. It was something that worked for me for a long time. However, when it stopped working, I didn't stop trying to make it work. Instead, I increased the dosage and frequency of my drinking. My husband, many of my friends, and some of my family saw this behavior for what it was, alcoholism. But it took me longer to admit that I was powerless over alcohol, my life unmanageable. Once I did, my life became better than I ever thought it could be. I've found the best years of my life lie in each moment that I spend in the attempt to be present, practice acceptance and live in gratitude. (Sidenote: I'm very open about my recovery from alcoholism. If you have questions or are curious, please feel free to contact me.)

So, yeah. Breakdown at the kitchen sink. Momentary annoyance that my husband knows me. How dare you know me. And with my next breath...thank God for the ones who know me.