300 Words on Three Days Sober
Seventy-two hours without a drink in my hand and my thoughts are no longer smothered by the pressure to reach for a glass. Instead, they are eagerly hovering over the keys with clarity and ambition, reaching for ways to display their excitement through words. I see expression in myself, my children and my world that I never knew was there.
It’s like I’ve been living with the lights out and ears muffled, stumbling and bumping into things and never quite sure of which direction to take. After making the conscious choice to drink less, the energy around me is palpable and bright. My lungs are expanding with greater capacity, and the crispness of the air refreshes my mind, bringing focus to my little space in the universe.
It’s the moments between each breath where a feathery touch or tinkling laugh make me realize staying present will continue to benefit me in ways I never knew were possible with a drink in my hand. These moments were ones the bottle convinced me to ignore most, draining vibrancy from my life. Though these feelings prove I am worthy of sobriety, my head continues to persuade me I am missing out on good times without a glass of my favorite red. It’s a gentle tug pulling me backward.
I’m hesitant to say I am free because I know I’m not. The days ahead of me will be long and filled with uniquely challenging pressures that I haven’t yet prepared myself for. Yet, I will figure them out, one by one.
Tonight, I’ll have a glass of wine because it’s the weekend and because I’m flawed. Maybe tomorrow night I’ll have steamy chamomile tea with a teaspoon of honey instead. For now, I stand here: three days sober, seeing the clear skies ahead.
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