A Drink vs. Self-Worth.

Originally posted on April 2, 2013 

I knew I’d get here, to this day.

To the day when I’d really, really want a drink.

See, last month, I decided that I simply like myself more when I don’t drink.  Of all of the reasons I’d come up with to stop, this seemed the most sane, the most logical, the most loving.  Aren’t we all supposed to do (or, in this case, not do) the things that make us like ourselves?

Last month I visited friends out-of-state, drank champagne in a way that felt responsible, defended points and laughed abundantly – and then endured the worst hangover I can remember.  During my day of nausea and headache, I did not begin my typical inner conversation of self-hatred.  Rather, I was patient and kind with myself, stumbling upon the idea that liking myself was a good enough reason to quit drinking for good.

The month that’s followed has been sprinkled with beautiful moments and inspired ones.  I’ve met new, massively important people.  I enrolled in B-School and have quickly fallen into the trap of expecting everything to fall directly into place immediately.

And today, in increasingly strong waves, the mama-reality of everyone-before-self kicked me in the face.  And I’ve felt angry.  And I’ve felt like I want to be regular, like a person who can dissolve some of her frustration in a glass of red wine, who can not have that glass of wine represent the new everything.

I knew I’d get here, to this day.

But this is my Truth, however eye-rolling it might seem.  And writing about it so openly makes it, somehow, easier.  This continues to surprise me, this equation of truth = freedom.

Alas, I don’t appear to be that regular person.  I’m envious of her, whoever she is.

Today, I’m surprised to see myself saying that I’m going to make the choice to keep liking myself, even when it feels really hard.

I think I might be worth it.

*E