Wednesday, September 19, 2012
A Step Five Admission
My blogger friend Dawn over at all that heaven will allow, has been blogging about the Twelve Steps of AA of late. The other day she wrote about Step Five which is arguably one of the most difficult steps to complete because it requires honesty and admission to God, ourselves and another human being the exact nature of our wrongs.
Did you catch that? The exact nature of my wrongs. That would be all the ugly, fuckedupedness that was my drinking life. Everything. Way down deep. Those things I promised myself I would not only never think about again, but that I would take to my grave. Why? Because we're only as sick as our secrets so in order to get well, we can't have any secrets.
Now for me this really was never much of a problem because I'm kind of an open book. I will tell anybody just about anything to the point they are backing away saying, "TMI Sherry...TMI!" And even the ugliest of crap I managed to squeak out, if only once. Long enough to release it to the Universe. The problem I have with Step Five is that I never seem to be done. Everytime I think I've admitted all of my crap, I think of something else that sends me back into my hometown of Shameville, USA...population...me.
This time it's a sick kid.
My boy is crazy sick right now. He hasn't been this sick since he was very little and to say I'm a little bit worried is an understatement. Not, rush him to the ER worried but, work from home tomorrow worried. Until he turns the corner, I need to be where I can lay eyes and hands on him.
Sorry honey, you're a wonderful father but sometimes a mommy needs to do what a mommy needs to do.
But sitting here thinking about him today got me thinking about some of those other times my kids were sick and it interrupted happy hour.
ALL ABOARD!!!! EXPRESS TRAIN TO SHAMEVILLE LEAVING ON TRACK 1!
I can remember (all the way back to my daughter) getting ready for date night and having a child start throwing up. Or looking forward to a night out all week, only to have one of them spike a fever. Or...whatever...doesn't really matter. If it interrupted the magical drinking time, I was devastated.
Now, most every mother would be a little bit dissappointed to have to cancel plans because of a sick child, but my level of dissappointment was epic. I wish I could say it was solely because I was looking forward to a night out with the hubs (which I was) but, more often than not, it was because that was the only time I would get to drink. Back when they were little, I never drank at home so I really, really looked forward to a night out.
Later, when they got older and my drinking had escalated to the stay at home variety, a sick child meant that I had to "keep my wits about me" as the hubs would say. That meant I had to limit my intake. For me that meant no drinking because even in the early days I knew that one drink meant a bottle or three. So I would stay sober and resent the hell out of it all night.
Oh my...that is so hard for me to admit. That even though I never put my kids in harm's way, I knew enough to stay sober in case I had to drive them to the hospital or something, and I never left them with my mother or a sitter when they were ill, I still resented them for getting sick and interrupting my drinking time. Yep...that's right folks...I resented a child for getting sick because it meant that I wouldn't be able to drink.
Damn that was hard to type.
I hope you guys count as "another human being" because I sure as hell don't want to have to type or speak that again. I'm getting the fuck off this train at the next stop...Forgiveyourself Beach, population...me; last stop before Recovery City.