WIN a BBQ set from Chicken Farmers of Canada #ChickenDotCA

BBQ season has finally arrived and if you’re like me you’re so thankful there’s less dishes to wash!! My readers know how I adore my BBQ from all of my recipes I share.

I assure you I’m constantly looking for great BBQ recipes and have taken to modifying some from Chicken Farmers of Canada’s recipes, they even have a BBQ section!

Tomorrow I’m bringing you a gorgeous Chicken Burger which you’ll want to check out but in the meantime how would you feel about a brand spanking new BBQ set to get your grilling season started?

WIN a BBQ set from Chicken Farmers of Canada

Chicken Farmers of Canada has provided 1 stainless steel BBQ set valued at $60 to one Canadian winner!

bbq setEntry is simple, just fill in the Rafflecopter form below. Winner must be a Canadian resident, 18+ and respond within 48 hours. Contest ends June 6, 2013.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

 

Disclosure: I am participating in the Chicken Farmers of Canada program by ShesConnected.  I received compensation in exchange for my participation in this program. The opinions on this blog are my own.” (Ensure ShesConnected is linked to http://shesconnected.com)

The New and IMPROVED Marks Work Warehouse!

The New and IMPROVED Marks Work Warehouse!

Here I am for another lovely event on behalf of Julie. Have I mentioned how much I love my “job”?

If you are Canadian, you are probably familiar with Marks Work Warehouse. But did you know they’re getting a new look and rebranding? I got to attend one of the grand opening events and I was quite curious to see what was to come. Sharing a little secret with you- I’ve been going to Marks for years. And now that they are branching out with their new brand- I can see myself going much more frequently!


(Here I am, wearing my new favourite shirt. I never would have picked this colour for me, but I love it. I always get complimented whenever I wear it. Excuse the look on my face, I was only taking a picture to get help with my wardrobe for an event I was attending)

During this rebrand, they’re starting to shift their focus from mens clothes (how it started out) to both genders. You’ll find pretty much everything there- shoes, clothes, uniforms, socks, etc. They are also very committed about standing behind their products.

The first thing we saw were waterproof jeans. Instead of the water seeping into your jeans, it beads on the surface to keep you dry. That’s a pretty awesome thing to see. It reminded me of the summers my parents put waterseal our deck and watching the rain bead on the boards.

In some of the selected stores, they actually have a winter simulator. When I put that fact with a picture I took, many people laughed saying that we already know what winter is like. This is just another way the company is showing what’s new. Inside the simulator, it reaches a temperature of -40 C (that’s including the windchill) One of the people in my group was asked to put one of their winter jackets on to test it out. Even though he wasn’t in there for very long, he said the only place he felt the cold was on his face. Makes sense since it isn’t covered!


They had so many awesome products, I can’t wait to go back. Have you shopped there before?! I totally need to find another 10 shirts like the one above since people tell me I look skinny in it!


 Cheryl is a 30-year-old mother of 2 living in Toronto, Ontario. Lauren is a rambunctious 4-year-old and Jillian is a very active 2.5 year old. Jillian was diagnosed with Spastic Diplegia Cerebral Palsy at 13 months old. Cheryl can be found at Beautiful Side of Hectic and 5 Minutes for Special Needs.

I Never Thought I Would Be Addicted to Drugs

I’ve never had a drink of alcohol not even a sip, ever. Nor have I ever smoked a “joint” or used any illegal/recreational substances. I wish I could say that it was all my own doing that prevented me from walking that path, but if I did it would be a lie. God (even when I was doing my best to walk as far away from Him as possible) was the spearhead on the ability to say “No” front. That paired up with my incredibly determined nature meant that I was able to walk away from more than one opportunity to try one or both of those things.

It was fear that drove my stubborn nature. I was a shy teenager painfully so, with some serious insecurity issues. I was/am someone who commits to things fully, with an “all or nothing” type behavioural patters. I was afraid that the combination of that part of my nature and the desire to feel self-assured would allow me to use alcohol as my liquid confidence in a dangerous way.

What if I tried it and liked it? What if I couldn’t say “No”? What if the odd drink for confidence turned into a regular habit to survive?
Little did I know how valid that fear really was….

The year I became pregnant with Bethany was a crazy one. Corey and I had been married a total of 3 weeks when I started to suspect that I’d gotten pregnant on our honeymoon, by week 4 it was confirmed – we were going to have a baby.

Never did I expect that my pregnancy would turn into the long and painful process that it did and when I was admitted into the hospital at 8 weeks pregnant with debilitating abdominal pains, I was crushed. I’d imagined pregnancy so differently, days filled with nursery preparation, shopping for maternity clothes and the need for bra’s found outside the juniors department.

That first night in emergency, as I lay on the bed writhing in pain a nurse came in, they’d ordered a pain medication for. Due to the nature of my pain, the fact that regular Tylenol had done nothing, I was vomiting everything up, I was pregnant (which ruled out a large number of options) and my lethal allergy to morphine, they’d decided a medicine called Dilaudid would be the best choice.

As the first dose of Dilaudid paired with a hefty dose of Gravol flowed through my veins, the smell of windshield washer fluid filled my nose (it’s a weird side effect for me from Gravol IV), I began to feel the first tiny bit of relief I’d felt in over a week. I was thankful, and finally I slept.

I spent 6 weeks in that hospital while doctors did their best to determine what was happening inside my body. As each day went by, and my body continued to be riddled with pain I received more medication.

I truly needed it, the pain was overbearing and I had no tools to be able to cope with it. The 4 hour doses of Gravol and Dilaudid kept me in a foggy state, I don’t remember much of those 6 weeks. Some of that is due to the ugly emotional stuff left over from a bad relationship before Corey I was processing, while I was dealing with resenting the baby (which I learned later wasn’t about her at all, I love and WANT her) that was causing me all this pain. The rest of it is simply because narcotics keep your brain in an ever crazy state, the Gravol made me tired and I spent hour upon hour sleeping.
It was awful.
Somewhere along the lines my body began to need the Dilaudid. As the 4th hour would draw to an end, I’d wake up ready for more. I didn’t see it like that, I saw that the pain was returning and I needed more help, but it was becoming more than that.
I was really fortunate for the last 3 weeks I was in the hospital the prenatal/baby docs that I’d been assigned took over. The recognized two things: 1st – that my abdominal pain was probably being cause by the severe scar tissue left in my belly from an infected and oozing appendix when I was kid and 2nd – was that they needed to get me off of that Dilaudid and they needed to do it fast.

It took 2 weeks to slowly work my dosage down, to incorporate a different method of pain management and to prepare me to head home. It was the longest 2 weeks of my life. I was having to re-learn how to cope with pain because for 4 weeks something else had been doing the job for me. I was adjusting to the horrible nausea that comes with pregnancy for me and to emotionally handle the idea of going home. There were papers to fill out and letters to my bosses.

6 weeks after they first admitted me to the hospital I gingerly walked out the doors to go home. My body hurt, I was weak (I had lost 15lbs in hospital during that time…I made up for it later gaining 60+lbs with that pregnancy) and I felt weird. My skin was itchy, my legs felt like there were bugs all over them and I couldn’t sit still. I didn’t know what would make it better, I didn’t know why it was happening and all I could think about was making it go away.

That first night at home, while I lay in a warm bathtub trying to make the bug crawly feeling go away it dawned on me – I was addicted to a narcotic.

Or at least my body was. I had spent 4 full weeks and another 2 partial weeks giving my body a heavy duty substance on a regular basis and it had come to expect it.

That moment filled me with horror, how did that happen to me?!! I don’t do drugs, I’ve never had alcohol and while I made some bad choices I’d always been the “Good Girl”, how could I possibly be addicted to drugs.

I wasn’t mentally addicted to drugs, it wasn’t like heading to a back alley to score but my body had the same auto response of someone hooked on an illegal substance. If I wasn’t of the nature I am, with the God whom I serve and the family I have watching over me that situation could have easily turned into a very, very bad one.

I made up my mind right then and there I wouldn’t take a narcotic again. Short of being in the place where I’m dying I will never again allow a narcotic to enter the veins of my body, primarily Dilaudid – and I haven’t. The idea that I could easily become hooked on it again scares the bejeepers out of me. If it happened once, it could happen again and I have too much to lose to let that happen.

That experience gave me a new perspective, a rather HUGE wake up call. I no longer pass the “how could you” or “what a loser” judgement on someone that I shamefully used to pass. It could have been me, it could be you. Nobody sets out to get addicted to drugs and ruin their life. That first beer wasn’t meant to catastrophically change the path of your future forever but it could, and you may not even know it.

So the next time you pass someone on the street strung out, please think of me. Remember a woman who’s life now shows no signs of where she’s been or who she could have become thanks to the grace of God (with a little or a lot of a stubborn nature) and then see them with my eyes. They are someone’s son or daughter, they had bigger dreams than that for their life and what they really need now, more than our judgement is our compassion and our prayers.

*please know there is NO judgement passed on whether or not you choose to have a drink recreationally. Just because I don’t doesn’t mean I look down on it, the choice I made was for me, not for you!*

 

Ashley Stone is the wife of one “perfect for her” husband, the mama of two beautiful little girls, child of God and the voice behind Our Family Stone. Her days are filled with laughter, frustration and all the little moments in between. When she’s not writing at OFS, Ashley can be found playing with her girls or in her kitchen where she runs her own healthy baking business. She’s passionate about family, her faith & fitness and dreams of one day being able to go the bathroom alone.

Parenting & Puke, they just go together

Today I’m pleased to have my friend Leslie from Ruff Ruminations writing for us. Leslie is a Mom with a great sense of humor, she and I often end up chatting about some of the pleasantries of parenting……..

About Leslie Brooks
Leslie Brooks is stay at home Mommy to Grady, she is certain this is the best job she’s ever had! Avid reader and crafter whenever life gives her the chance to indulge in herself. Leslie also blogs at Ruff Ruminations.

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Puke – The Ins and Outs

This post is thanks to a conversation with Julie on twitter the other night because I was missing the beginning a twitter party due to some ill (pun intended) timed puking by my 3 year old son. I was being thankful that he was finally learning to hit the toilet. I bet your thinking “what a crazy thing to be thankful for!” Well it is and I’ll tell you why!

If you’re a parent you’ve probably had your fair share of puke incidents. If you’re not a parent you might want to stop reading, and if you’re on your lunch break you DEFINITELY want to stop reading! Here goes:

Karma is a bitch, or so they say, I’ve never had the pleasure of meeting her in person but I’ll reserve judgement until I do! I do know that wherever she is she is laughing at me for all the times I bragged about my son not spitting up, especially those times when my niece was wearing a waterproof bib on car rides and I thought I was sooo lucky!

Its true as a baby my son rarely spat up and never puked (once I figured out how to slow my milk flow).I talked about how he could wear the same clothes for days and rarely need a bath let alone a cloth. Then he developed a gag reflex, out of nowhere I swear! Around the same time he developed a distaste for going to bed…can you see where I am going? No? At the time we were also trying the wait it out approach for going to sleep…wait for it! He, glory of glories (not at all) figured out how to make himself puke! Clever bas- kidding- I won’t say that! But still smart eh? Cuz you can’t wait out a kid who has puked all over himself. And in all my naiveté I thought it couldn’t get worse!

I became PRO at hearing that fateful sound and sprinting up the stairs before he could do it, and we got over that hurdle. Then the game changed and my son was old enough to get for real sick. And every little one needs their mama when they are sick. He would ask to be held then promptly throw up his guts right down my cleavage! I hope you’re laughing because I am. It is funny now and it took me a good year to recognize the warning signs and move fast enough to avoid it. Many a time I changed my clothes more often than he had to! Once after a couple long days in the hospital due to asthma I thought it was safe to hold the little guy, I mean he had barely eaten. But I swear to you I have never before and since seen such an amount come out of a child and to make matters worse it was like he actually shat out his mouth! Poor guy and laugh it up because it was all over me, and I didn’t have a change of clothes!

So what can you learn from this? Have the reflexes of a ninja and as soon as you can teach your kid to hit the toilet! It’s a funny thing to think about teaching but it’s much better than cleavage alternatives, and now he’s fast like a ninja and we listen when he says he needs to go to the toilet, cuz he doesn’t mean he needs to pee!

But as sad and hard as it is to have puke-fest on your hands it usually ends in this:

 

 

Or this:

Or these:

And that makes up for all the chunks down between my, well you get it! Happy Ninja training and I hope you enjoyed this post 😀

All Fooked UP – I'm so there

Have you heard of the HILARIOUS blog All Fooked UP??

allfookedupI’m over there guest-posting today, be prepared though….I was PMSing when I wrote Inner Beauty Which is Motherhood.

Here’s the site’s disclaimer, which I adore:

This blog is not for the light-hearted or easily offended. If either one of those descriptions applies to you, i would suggest you start drinking before you read this blog. A sense of humor is suggested. If you don’t have one that sucks for you … find one and get a life!

 

Hope for the Hopeless-From one alcoholic to another

Sober Doesn't Suck smallShari

Today I’m pleased to share a story I received on the Sober doesn’t Suck page, it’s from a wonderful woman named Shari Lynne who is being generous enough to share her story. Shari Lynne blogs over at Faith Filled Foods for Moms where she offers encouragement, laughter and spiritual insight. Thank you so much for sharing here Shari Lynne, I know you are helping someone who is reading!

 

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My story starts in October, 1958. I was born to 2 young parents that were very career oriented and had known each other most of their lives. People assumed that they would get married so they figured that is what they should do! So after a very rocky marriage my parents divorced when I was 10 years old.

I remember the first time I met my Step-dad, the first thing he said to me was “You must be the ugliest kid I’ve ever seen!” Wow, I didn’t even know what to say! As soon as my Mom started dating my step dad life went from bad to worse. They started drinking very heavily, things became out of control very quickly. I knew something was deeply wrong when I found my Mom overdosed on pills after trying to commit suicide.

My Mom lived, but went on to live a very miserable alcoholic life. Crisis after crisis is really the only way to describe living with my Mom and Step-Dad. Ambulances and Police were constantly at our home due to the violence that was always present. My Step-dad was sexually abusive and a very evil man.

My Mom loved me I knew that for sure (in her own sick way) so one day I decided to get up the courage and tell her about the abuses committed against me. She would have nothing to do with it. She told me that I was a liar and began to criticize me for my behavior. Then she turned her back on me and did not want to hear anything more about it.

What does a kid do after that kind of response? I thought my mom loved me. How could she say I was a liar? How could she say all of those horrible things about me?

So I began to rebel. I started smoking, drinking and taking drugs when I was 11 years old. I started running away from hom,. sleeping in the bushes at night, anything to get out of that house. I became quite out of control at school, failing my classes and hanging out with the wrong crowd.

At age 13 my Mom sent me to go live with my Dad and Step-mom. Believe it or not, it hurt so bad. Even though I was in such rebellion, I felt so rejected. I was being sent away.  My Step-mom was very young and had 2 children of her own. The last thing she wanted to do was deal with a troubled teenage stepdaughter thus began the beginning of many years of emotional abuse.

My Step-mom was a very emotionally unhealthy person and so of course she had nothing to give. I look back at those years as the Cinderella years. She was the wicked step mom and I was Cinderella. I did all of the house work. I cooked dinner every night. I did most of the care for my younger step brother and step sister. On family vacations I was left home to care for myself. One year they all went to Disneyland and left me home. My Step-mom said I was too much trouble.

At Christmas time I usually got 1 present from them. One year it was a bottle of shampoo because I washed my hair everyday and my step mom said “it was costing too much money so this is what you get for Christmas!” Well I could go on and on but I’m sure you get the picture.

One day while my Dad was driving me to school I thought I would take a chance and talk to him about my Step-mom’s behavior. So after I was done with all my complaining my Dad simply said “I’ve already been through one divorce, I just can’t go through another.” The end! Conversation over!

On so many occasions I just wanted to die. I was so dead inside, I had no hope. I continued drinking and taking drugs through out these years. I moved out the day I graduated. Believe it or not I moved back to my Moms. Nothing had changed their.

I started dating a neighbor fella. Within a couple of months I was pregnant, I was 17 (almost 18). We got married and I had a beautiful baby girl. A couple of years later I had another beautiful baby girl. My drinking and drugging continued throughout these years (except when I was pregnant).

By the time my oldest daughter was 8 years old I had become out of control with my drinking. I was in a black out most of the time. When I didn’t have alcohol to drink I would get the shakes and drink just about anything…yep even Nyquil. I never wanted to become like my mother, I couldn’t think of anyone worse to become like. But the truth is I was even worse.

One day my husband came to me and said “If you don’t do something about your drinking, I’m going to have to take the girls and leave.” At 25 years old I had become my worst nightmare…my mother. I loved my girls and knew that I couldn’t live without them.

I went into an alcohol treatment program and was diagnosed as an acute, chronic, late stage alcoholic. I hated it there! I was so full of anger and hate. I remember throwing my food tray at one of the nurses the first night I was there. I hated going to AA meetings. I hated the word God in those 12 steps. I hated being away from my kids.

One day I went storming down the hall after an AA meeting, straight to the nurses office. I poked my head right in there and said “All you guys are trying to do is brainwash me!” And one of the nurses looked at me with a smile on her face and said “Isn’t it about time you took your brain out and washed it?”

That was the day I broke. The truth is I wanted desperately to stay sober and didn’t have a clue how to do that. I had drank and drugged for more than half of my life. I simply did not have any tools for life. Yes, it was time to take my brain out and wash it.

Well I have been sober now for 27 years. By the Grace of God. There is so much more I could say about how I got to where I am today. My heart is to share my journey with you. How God met me in my most rebellious state and loved me for who I am today, forgave me for what I had done in the past and gave me a wonderful future.

My prayer is that my recovery would give hope to the hopeless. Never give up on God. Never give up on people. My mom finally got sober after I had been sober 11 years. She asked my forgiveness and then died a year later of Cancer.

My Step-dad died two years after my Mom in a drunken stupor.

My Dad and stepmom are still living and have asked my forgiveness.

Today I have a most wonderful life, but I did not get here without a lot of hard work. Every tear I’ve ever shed, every broken-hearted thing of the past I faced was well worth the healing and freedom of today!

Thank you for reading my personal testimony.

“May the Lord Bless you and keep you and make His face to shine upon you”

The Laundry Dance with Mom

Joining us today is Deanna who can be found at Maple Leaf Mommy, Deanna is a friend of mine who is filling the gap for me! She’s witty, so generous and my hero today as I am resting off a migraine. Maple Leaf Mommy is a fabulous site, full of stories like the one below, products reviews and the giveaways we love!

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I have two small kids, one is almost two and the other is four. Of all things this makes doing the laundry ridiculously difficult because my four-year old, who normally appears to have zero separation anxiety issues, freaks out every time I go into the basement. She seems to be possessed by a fear that I actually snuck out the side door, or perhaps the basement ate me.

My laundry room is a danger zone, filled with tools, cat poop and beer bottles. It’s off-limits to the kiddies, so when I need to do the laundry I need to head in their solo. I’ve tried the get kids playing and then sneak away quietly variant. This does NOT work. Their mom-radar goes off, they almost immediately notice I’m missing and then freak out.

So the usual routine goes something like this:

      • Set up toys or colouring books and attempt to get both kids playing independent of me
      • After five or so attempts at the above, and breaking up several death-matches and or stopping kids from colouring on the walls, things are as good as they are going to get. Time to head downstairs.
      • Tell four-year old, “I am going downstairs to do the laundry. I will be right back.” Pause and wait for response. Repeat. Ask, “Did you hear what mom just said?” When she says, “Yes, you’re going to do laundry.” I reply with “Ok. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” emphasizing again that I will indeed return.

        • Jet to baby-gate, lock it behind me and zip downstairs as fast as possible
        • Step foot in the laundry room.
        • Hear four-year old yell, “Mom?”
        • Walk to the washing machine, open machine door.
        • Hear her yell, “Mom?” again.
        • Race to toss clothes from washer to drier as quickly as possible. As in, if this were time trials for an Olympic event I would so qualify.
        • Hear the sound of kids shaking the baby gate. The big one is yelling “MOM are you there?!?! While the toddler chimes in “Mom!! Mom, where aww eww?!”
        • Realize things sound like they are reaching a frantic pitch, so even though I’ve only transferred 3/4s of the laundry I run up the stairs to the gate and reassure my children that I am alive. “I. Am. Downstairs. Changing. The. Laundry. I. Will. Be. Right. Back. Ok?”
        • Jog back down stairs and finish swapping loads, while kids continue to yell “Mama? Mom? Mama? Where are you? Mom??”
        • Look at pile of dirty laundry and wonder if I should put a second load into the washer.
        • Hear sound of baby gate shaking wildly.
        • Yell at the top of my lungs, I AM IN THE BASEMENT DOING LAUNDRY. I AM HERE. I WILL BE RIGHT BACK.
        • Start to load washer as quickly as possible
        • Notice kids are now screaming “Mom, Mama, Mom” over and over and sounding quite frantic.

        • Worry that something is actually wrong.
        • Run upstairs to check. “What’s the matter?!?!” Are you ok?” Four year old responds with “I didn’t know where you were. I thought you were gone.”
        • Try to remain calm. Take a deep breath. Ooookay. One more time. “I am not leaving the house. I am going downstairs to the laundry room and I will be RIGHT BACK. I can hear you down there, you know? Just play quietly and I’ll be done in a minute, ok?”
        • Make it all the way back to the washing machine and start to swap clothes. Notice it’s quiet and think hey maybe they finally caught on…. Bang, shake, howl. Or maybe not.
        • Rinse and repeat.

If it wasn’t for the fact that my girl gets genuinely distressed, I would laugh about this. Does anyone else have this problem? Do you run the laundry race?

If Shame Was My Illness, Then Love Was The Antidote

Sober doesn't Suck!Today I’m honored to have an inspiring woman sharing her story of alcoholism with us. Schmutzie is a writer and designer who has been blogging at Schmutzie.com since 2003….enjoy her piece here and then head on over to her blog and experience her intriguing mind at work!

Almost four years ago, in the summer of 2008, I started giving serious thought to the role of shame in my life.

I had a desk job in a beige cubicle in an unfriendly office. It was so inhospitable to me that I could no longer watch television shows about the lives of quirky office mates or crime dramas in which police officers butted up against their stern superiors. Even watching fictional portrayals of work life sent a familiar, stomach-clenching burn up the back of my neck. I was like Pavlov’s dog, except instead of salivating at the sound of a bell I was trained to feel shame at the site of office supplies.

I ended up burning out and waiting out the shame at home in my living room for an entire year. The shame didn’t seem to be going anywhere, though, and it dawned on me that I had been living with a near constant sense of it for most of my life. This latest dollop of the stuff was born of abuse and ugly personalities, for sure, but it was not a first. I looked back down the telescope of my life, and there shame was at nearly every stage. It was a common denominator for most of my struggles, and when I looked around for what I could do to combat it, I realized that my best tool for fighting it was something I had very little of for myself: love.

If shame was my illness, then love was the antidote.

I didn’t know how to work love to my advantage, being that I had spent so many years under the cover of self-loathing, so I decided that my best plan of action was to ferret out whatever created the shame in my life and get rid of it so that there could at least be more room for love, however that might manifest itself.

I officially quit the job that had crushed me, and I felt free and bold, but once the foufera about that had settled down, I essentially felt the same. I looked deeper into my life and had to admit that there was a lot more shame there than that one job could hold. I looked at what triggered it and how I dealt with it when it rose up, and I hated what I saw.

Everything, it seemed, triggered my shame. Family dinners, waking up in the morning, going to bed, going out with friends, eating, leaving the house. Everything triggered it, because I realized that I had been dealing with my shame the same single way for almost twenty years at that point: I got drunk.

I drank alcohol to unwind and to forget. I drank it to erase that terrible burning I felt so often up the back of my neck. I drank it so often that when I wasn’t drunk I was either hungover or waiting for the next opportunity to drink. It was such a prevalent force in my life that it was insinuated into every decision, every movement I made.

Alcohol was no longer the medication to assuage my shame but was now the main source of that shame. I no longer chose things for myself. Alcohol did. Alcohol dictated my friendships, my work choices, my poor diet, and then it wrapped me up in warmth and forgetfulness when those choices came to bear. It was obvious that if I was going to remove shame and find more love, I was going to have to remove alcohol from my life.

I didn’t want to fully admit that, though. Admitting that meant admitting my own culpability, and I didn’t know how to take responsibility for over twenty years of my life. It was too much. It felt impossible.

It ended up being another year before I walked away from drinking in August of 2010. I watched my friendships, my sleep patterns, my eating habits, and my thoughts over year leading up to my taking on sobriety, and could finally see how very sad I was, how soul-deep sick drinking was making me. I had followed the shame, and it brought me home to what I did not want to see. Alcoholism had turned me into my own little shame factory. In choosing it, I also chose the things that drove me to it.

That day when I finally stood up from my table at a local pub and walked away from alcohol, I knew that I was walking away from shame fed by addiction, the snake that had been eating its own tail for over twenty years. I didn’t know how to love my life, but I knew how to lose a large chunk of my shame. I walked into sobriety, I made room for love, and I began to heal my life.

 

Overcoming the Guilt of Being an Alcoholic

Sober doesn't Suck!Robin is an amazing woman who I met when I during my first blogging days. She is a wife, mother and a passionate Christ follower. Robin’s blog is Diet Coke on the Rocks, she writes about her whole life because we’re not just a title, we are alcoholics who have lives!

 Thank you Robin for being vulnerable here and sharing your experience in hopes of helping someone.

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I present the speech I wrote and shared the night I took my 1 year cake at my AA meeting. At 2 and a half years of sobriety today, things have only gotten better, and I am fully aware that God has worked a miracle in my life.

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Coming into AA one year ago was essential for me to realize that alcoholism is my disease. Yes, I had tried to quit before, unsuccessfully, but I always thought it was my will power that failed. On the first night coming into this room, someone shared about the allergy concept, discussed in the BIG BOOK. And it clicked in my head. It made me feel like something legit was going on inside of me, and finally there was a chance for me to get help. REAL Help.

That night I went home and grabbed the big book I had on my book shelf, the one given to my husband by his mom when he was young partying college kid. I always thought she was kind of a prude or goody goody, not having had a drink in 18 years. Now I realize I am so much like her, and so many other women out there.

My drinking increased from “party status” to REAL drinking after I had kids. I would get through my day at work, and look forward to drinking once I got home. At first I made myself wait until after they were in bed, but it soon became with dinner, then 5pm the minute I got home, and on weekends it was acceptable to drink at lunchtime. Shoot, I could be convinced of mimosas for breakfast. I justified that it would make me more patient and fun for my kids (then 5 and 2). But really I drank the first 2 drinks so fast to get the buzz that by drink #3 I was no longer as patient as I had hoped. And I tired way too quickly.

From the outside it looked like I had it together, but the guilt inside is what was tearing me apart. The next morning is always when the guilt set in that I wasn’t a good mother. I didn’t listen to them as much as I should have, I didn’t remember every little detail about the night before. Maybe I snapped at them. I didn’t play with them like I should have, because I was more consumed with getting my next drink and relaxing. I wasn’t PRESENT, and today I was going to do better and not drink….Or as much….Or, nevermind, it’s 4pm and I can have 1 drink tonight. But we all know, 1 drink doesn’t work.

My rock bottom was when the guilt became so overwhelming. I got my butt into a meeting, since my mother-in-law went to them all of the time and swore by them. And that’s where I learned I had a problem not to be ashamed about, a problem you all could help me with. You reached out and talked to me and made me feel welcome. You cheered when I took chips, you hugged me when I came in the door. And you were funny so I wanted to come back. The best was that there were so many people in here I could relate to…the first time I shared I found out *L has kids the exact same age as I do. Moms, guilt, you all got it.

At first I was upset that I couldn’t drink like a normal person, like EVER again. But as the months passed by and the daily experiences with my family happened, I realized I wouldn’t trade this for anything, because I found God and my relationship with my family is

REAL and guilt free. AA got me to where I needed to be.