So much of the overwhelm of a sober “first” comes from the freaky anticipatory jitters. At least for me. I can’t explain it I can just say it is a real thing that happens. This is my first sober Easter and it already feels strange at 7:50 in the morning.
The clashing collection of new feelings. The way I’m already strategizing about where the alcoholic versus non-alcoholic drinks will be displayed. All I can say is that sometimes moving through early sobriety is wave after wave of realizing how deep the addiction really ran. Because now I am pulling that sickness out by the roots.
Here you are dressed in your Sunday best and inside you feel like you are smearing mud all over what is supposed to be pristine, perfect, joyous. Celebratory.
And also. Also, digging your fingers into this new soil feels like you are learning to anchor yourself in the kind of truth that will finally sustain you. It is rich with cool relief and nutrients you didn’t expect you needed.
It’s a secret but the good kind. The kind that is just between the universe and you and no one else.
It is the kind of intimacy you have been desperate for all your life. The kind you almost destroyed yourself to get to. The kind which reveals you to yourself. The ugliest and most gorgeous.
It is messy and true and I’m here for all of it.