It doesn’t seem controversial to say that if you’re a man you can’t just go around punching women in the face, right?  This statement should be like, Life 101. And yes, I should make it known that I am speaking as someone who has been punched in the face by a male person on more than one occasion. Once when I was about sixteen, I threw a cup of soda on a guy’s lap who was being mean to my friend. He retaliated by going all aggro, pouring an entire pitcher over my head and then hauling off and punching me in the mouth so hard I needed stitches. Another time, while still a teen, I was out with a guy who got drunk and  abusive with me. He threw me down in a parking lot and kicked me because he didn’t like something he thought I said. I was so angry I chased him into the restaurant and slapped him and he PUNCHED ME IN THE FACE.

Seriously, not cool. You would think I’m preaching to the choir but you would be wrong. There have been more than a few incidents recently where a grown-ass man punched a women in the face and instead of the world having a no tolerance policy, many have defended the man. This is insane to me.

A few days ago there was De’Andre Johnson who is a Florida State University football quarterback (well, was). He apparently pushed into a woman in a bar, she got pissed and said something to him, he grabbed her and she took a swing at him and he, yes, PUNCHED HER IN THE FACE. I was naturally horrified at a huge football player punching a woman but my response wasn’t shared by many people who commented on the story. Just look at the responses to the YouTube video. I know what you’re thinking – people who comment on YouTube are assholes right? Well, what about a progressive website? Think Progress posted the story on Facebook and there were lots of comments like these: “I never hit a woman……………if a woman hits me I’m beating her till the white meat show.” “If a woman wants to be treated like a lady she should stay in a woman’s place not act like a man by throwing punches and kicking. She got what she deserved.”

Then yesterday, I find this story about a 6’2″ male manager at Panera Bread who threw a tiny female employee down the stairs and then when she popped back up and came in angry as hell and tried to hit him, he PUNCHED HER IN THE FACE. Hard. Again, the commenters say ugly things like Yolanda who said, “Common sense tells me she was fired- and started causing a scene. I’ve been in that cage. The “flight” of stairs consist of two steps…. The media circus rolls on.” Yo, Yolanda, did you not see the video with your eyes? Or this commenter on Gawker “It’s truly amazing how the women are never in the wrong in any of these videos, regardless of what’s captured or reported. #equality” or this one who really thought it through and decided that the girl was at fault unless he finds out otherwise: “If the story comes out that she was some saint pushed to the limit due to some kind of abuse or harassment, hey, I’ll change my tune. From what I can see? Experience tells me that this is someone who went “FUCK ALLA Y’ALL” because she couldn’t hack the horror that is a retail job. Boo fucking hoo. It’s called “work” for a reason; do it.” Nice. And a lot of these comments are from women. What gives ma bitches?

Things keep coming up in the news where the police are accused abusing their power. Some police officers have bullied, used physical force and in some cases killed unarmed black men. Sometimes the victims were instigating it and many times we have found out they weren’t. And we, men and women alike, have been HORRIFIED. We have banded together and cried racism! We’ve taken to the streets and protested! Rightfully so! Me too! Fuck those racist cops and their abuse of power! But why aren’t we equally horrified when it’s women who are the victims? Women who are not in a fair fight. Women who have no idea when or if a man might have a violent streak.

Women don’t normally do this shit to other women. If I was to spill a glass of soda on a woman’s lap in a bar, she might come at me, sure. But I wouldn’t be afraid of dying; I’d be afraid of having my hair pulled hard or getting my t-shirt ripped. Hell, some men would probably think we were goofing around and throw dollar bills at us. But I doubt anyone would end up bloody or hospitalized.

I’m just so mad that this kind of incident is getting so common place and more people aren’t pissed. If women aren’t going to get outraged and stand up for other women who will? This is why people like Bill Cosby get away with rape – because there will always be people like Whoopi fucking Goldberg saying, “Sorry. I need more proof.” When will we stop needing more proof?

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9. Take a compliment – If you tell my daughter she has nice eyes she’ll say “Thank you” and move on with her day. Tell me I have nice eyes and I will start with, “Oh, that’s just because I have mascara on from last night because I’m so lazy I couldn’t even be bothered to wash off my make-up!” and end next Tuesday.

8. Play basketball –My kid actually enjoys organized sports. I think she’s adopted.

7. Update my Instagram account –Until recently, I didn’t even realize I still had one. Now thanks to her constant updates because, “Mom, it’s illegal for me to have my own account until I’m 13 so can I use yours?” I have a ton of new followers.

6. Rocking colored hair dye –My kids can do a pink streak like nobody’s business. If I tried to do it I would just look like the world’s oldest Cyndi Lauper fan.

5. Remembering stuff –and thank goodness for that since even if I put something down on my to-do list, in ten minutes I’ve forgotten that I even have a do-list. I’m old.

4. Stop eating when she’s full. Oh yeah, she’ll eat half a bowl of ice cream and leave the rest to melt because…because…I don’t know! There’s no possible valid reason for leaving a perfectly good HALF BOWL OF ICE CREAM. Does she not understand the healing powers of dessert? Does she not have feelings she needs to numb with sugar? What is her deal? I don’t get it, is what I’m telling you.

3. Shake off disappointment – Last week she was devastated that she didn’t get the part she wanted in her school play. There were tears but the next day she said, “Hey, it’s not Broadway” and moved on. I’m still nursing a grudge about a party I wasn’t invited to in 2003.

2. Accessorize. Seriously, this kid can figure how to tie a scarf to make it look “kicky.” She can somehow pair just the right stud earrings with a cute barrette. I, on the other hand, have been know to spend an hour trying to determine if I can wear work shoes with yoga pants. According to my daughter the answer is, no.

1. Keep a secret. Do you have a crush on someone but you don’t want anyone to know? Well don’t tell me because I can’t keep my mouth shut. But if you tell my daughter not to say anything, she really won’t say anything. She’d make a terrible cast member on the Real Housewives.

The post 9 Things My 10 year-old Can Do Better Than Me appeared first on Stefanie Wilder Taylor.

Ninety-one afternoons ago, I went to a happy hour that changed my life.

Leading up to it, it was clear that I wanted a change. Sick of the lonely bottles of wine, I switched to vodka so that I wouldn’t see my own empties in the recycle bin.

As we raised our girls, I never hid my drink or even tried to control it. But now, the situation had crossed into very sad. Despite my huge career, I was now a very buzzed drunk who would zone out every single evening.

Back at happy hour, I poured down vodka with abandon at an upscale bar with old friends and colleagues. We seemed smart, beautiful and funny with the friendly bartender attentively pouring booze out of backlit bottles anytime we held out our glass.

Within a while, a few of us transitioned into a booth. Alone in my drunken stupor, I vaguely recall trying not to eat too much to not ruin my buzz or my waistline. Far more interested in “drinking my calories,” I nibbled mindlessly at a piece of salmon.

When my husband said that it was time to go, I quietly lost it. I didn’t want to leave.

Dazed and entering a blackout, I managed to stumble out of the restaurant’s bar muttering to myself until November’s fall air slapped me and I let out a stream of obscenities aimed directly at him.

Later, my husband, lover and friend of 32 years would tell me that he thought of taping me with his iPhone. But despite his disgust, he could not bring himself to capture the sordid scene.

At home, I woke up at 2:00 a.m. in another room. I got up and staggered half-dressed until I found my husband asleep in a guest room. There I woke him up and promised that I’d check into Betty Ford or Sierra Tucson.

“Who do you think you are? Get over yourself,” he said, voice low and furious.

The next morning he hardly spoke to me. As he left to play tennis, he managed, “Get your fucking shit TOGETHER!” And then he was gone.

The dogs stared at me stunned that their usually happy dad could make so much noise.

Terrified, sick and alone, I managed to get to my computer and Google, “Alcohol help. Help for drunks. Drinking help.”

Every single time, Alcoholics Anonymous would be the top hit. Finally, after enough surfing and no real information, I called the main office of AA. A woman named Jackie talked to me for two hours and ultimately directed me to a meeting nearby that day.

Ninety days ago, I parked outside a rickety old building on the other side of town just hours after taking to Jackie. The low-cloud Midwestern day perfectly punctuated my somber mood as I entered into my first AA meeting.

“Wanna dive right in?” asked the group’s smiling leader as he handed me my first coin and beginner packet.

Anxiously, I did exactly as he suggested. I read from the Big Book, shared my first 12 hours of sobriety and how I came to look for my first-ever AA meeting. Deep down I knew that I was in the right place. This first meeting held 6 men and three other women all of whom shared the same dream: A desire not to take a drink that day.

Today, 90 days after that first meeting, I woke up this time next to my husband and in the early dawn, we dared to whisper words such as “beginnings, fresh starts and hope.”

I got out of bed and wrote my “morning pages” a writing exercise for the book, “An Artist’s Way.” I took a spin class and then drove through the snow to get to an AA meeting where I ran into a friend and picked up a green coin marking my 90th day of sobriety.

As a surprise, my husband created a comfy spot for me to watch TV and have a fire in the fireplace. We are closer now than we have been in years.

Tonight, we are going out for an early dinner with friends. Everyone drinks alcohol. But I know that I will not.

I have new tricks and tools to help me navigate the stressors and triggers of every day and in life. They include books, TV, tea, music, meditation, movies, candles, candy, sparkling pops, popcorn, peanut butter, pillows made of down, blankets, comfy slippers, exercise and of course penguins.

Today I am humbled, grateful and am very relived to be here. Today I am sober.

Submitted with love,

Elizabeth D.

If you are investigating your own drinking and would like online support you can go to the Booze Free Brigade or Crying Out Now There is help!

The post Elizabeth D.’s Story appeared first on Stefanie Wilder Taylor.

8:00 am Wake up super excited about the zoo if only to see the Asian elephant exhibit. Try to rally kids to my level of excitement. Fail.

8:30 am Argue with kids about the value of a good breakfast bringing up the excellent point that I don’t want to start buying expensive snacks at the zoo as soon as we get there since it defeats the purpose of using free passes.

9:00 Give 5 minute warning that we are leaving for the zoo.

9:05 “Please put your shoes on.”

9:06 “Please put your shoes on.”

9:07 “Please put your shoes on.”

9:08 “Put your shoes on.”

9:09 “Put. Your. Shoes. On.”

9:40 Leave for the zoo.

10:30 Arrive at the zoo with clenched jaw and sore neck from listening to kids argue about whether or not orangutans are monkeys. I settle the argument by letting them know orangutans are indeed monkeys. After Googling it in the parking lot find out I’m wrong. Orangutans are apes. I do not share this.

10:45 After waiting in long line to get into the zoo, realize passes are expired and we must pay full price.

10:48 Kids say they are starving.  We head to the nearest snack stand.

10:55 Pay $67 for 3 hotdogs one order of onion rings a pretzel and three lemonades. One four dollar lemonade spills on the way to the table. Shed my first tear of the day.

11: 20 Throw away most of the food and listen to kids yell that they want ice cream. Think about wanting a beer. Remember I don’t drink anymore and shed a second tear. Begin to suspect this may have been a bad idea.

11:22 Head to flamingos. After making it  20 ft. six-year-old claims she’s too tired to walk. Carry her for two minutes before deciding that it would be best to rent a stroller. Other six-year-old doesn’t want to walk either. Pay $11 for a double stroller.

11:35 Heave double stroller weighed down by ninety pounds of the combined weight of two six-year-olds in the general uphill direction of the flamingos.
11:45 Stop at flamingos. Kids can’t see through the fence. Suggest that getting out of the stroller might provide access to a better vantage point. Get met with dead stares.

11:47 Begin hyping the Elephants of Asia exhibit.

12:00 Attempt to bypass the insects due to intense dislike of bugs. Fail. Spend next ten long excruciating minutes in front of a Madagascar Hissing Cockroach. Find out against my will that female Madagascar cockroaches give birth to live young. Know in my heart of hearts that there won’t be enough Tylenol PM in the world to help me sleep that night.

12:15 Head in general direction of elephants, which seem to be at the farthest point of the zoo.

12:17 Kids spot playground and insist on stopping to play.

12:58 Explain that we really must move on to see some animals since if the kids were just going to want to play on a playground for an hour we could have just walked to the park.

1:15 Move at snail’s pace toward elephants. Nine-year-old wants to stop and rest. Sit down on bench.  Kids decide they are ready to go home.

1:25 Insist that we stop at Bat-Eared Fox exhibit because we are going to see some goddamned animals if it fucking kills us!

1:27 Start questioning parenting ability.

1:39 Generate a small amount of interest in stopping to see the apes.

1:50 Maneuver all kids out of stroller, through throngs of unruly kids and adults  and finally get them positioned right smack in front of the apes. Success. Feel secretly smug about being a great mom.

1:51 Look up at where people are pointing to see the biggest ape standing front and center furiously masturbating.

1:51:30 Remember thirty seconds too late that most apes unlike humans have zero sexual modesty. Begin trying to explain about how apes sometimes can get a very very itchy penis.

1:52 Six-year-old wonders if ape’s penis got poison ivy since it seems so extremely itchy.

2:00 Push on toward Asian elephants while answering question after question about itchy penises.
2:10 Promise ice cream just as soon as we see the elephants.

2:11 Stop at ice cream cart and spend $16 dollars on 4 glorified popsicles.  Curse life.

2:20 Ask kids to please stop saying the word penis.

2:30 Arrive at the elephants which are all sleeping.  Feel like crying. But then start joining children in yelling to elephants to “Wake up!” “Wake up, you lazy elephants! You have a job to do! You are asleep on the job! Start giggling. When six-year-old yells “Hey, they don’t pay you the big bucks to lay around all day!” Start laughing.

2:32 See elderly couple gives kids and me a dirty look. Laugh harder. Think to self that some people take the zoo way too seriously.

2:40 Return the stroller.

2:45 Carry six-year-old through the parking lot because her “legs hurt from walking so much!”

3: Drive home while mentally tallying the cost of the day which including entrance comes out to $157 dollars. Look in rear view mirror and see two out of three kids fast asleep one of whom is covered in chocolate popsicle. Admit to self that in the end, it actually was totally worth it.

The post Diary of a Trip to the Zoo appeared first on Stefanie Wilder Taylor.

Playing a little poker

Getting congress in session

Doing squat jumps in the cucumber patch

Getting some vitamin F.

Taking the Weinermobile for a spin

Doing the antler dance

Do you have time for some breakfast sausage?

Talking about Christmas

Chitty Chitty Bang Bang

Bidness time

Paying the rent

Checking for ticks

“Appreciating” each other.

Richard visiting Virginia

Nik Nik –from Latke on Taxi

Riding the wild Gillooly

Snaking the drain

Taking old One Eye to the optometrist

Going to Home Depot

Buttering the beans

Feeding the kitty

Putting a roll of coins in the change box

Frosting the pastry

Dinky Dunkin’

Okay, I think that’s enough. Do you have any you’d like to add?

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I’m trying to think of ridiculous things to do for the new season such as the pole dancing class I did or the tattoo I got. One idea I have is a trapeze class. What do you think? I need ideas! Give them to me! And watch the show on Nick Jr. so I can fool NickMom into thinking I have fans!

The post Parental Discretion appeared first on Stefanie Wilder Taylor.

I started trying to quit drinking right after Christmas 2012. Well, I guess I tried to start a year earlier, when I quit drinking for the month of November 2011. I did it just to prove that I could, to prove to myself I didn’t have a problem. And the day I made it, I poured a huge goblet of wine and toasted myself. A whole year later I was so far past where I had been, I felt hopeless. I spent 2012 trying to “discover” myself. I went to therapy. I quit my soul sucking corporate job to pursue my freelance writing and photography career, a life’s dream! My schedule finally wasn’t full to the brim with work, so I could actually spend quality time with my kids. After months of preparation and practice, I had everything I ever wanted. And I was miserable.

That’s when I realized I had a problem. Until then I kept making excuses. “My job is so stressful, I deserve a glass of wine.” “My kids are insane, I need that bottle.” “My husband is never home, might as well drink.” But then everything was better, but I couldn’t stop drinking. I basically drank a bottle of wine every single day of the month of December. And then in January, on a work trip, I decided to stop. I woke up covered in cold sweat and had horrible insomnia. After a week, I gave in, and was back to the booze. I figured I had to drink to sleep, so I drank. That’s about when I finally joined an online community for women in recovery (the Booze Free Brigade) and infamously Googled “symptoms of an alcohol addiction.” I introduced myself to the online community and quit for two weeks, but I didn’t stay with it. I faded away, feeling shame as I read posts from people who were able to make it through. I watched as people who started posting around the same time as I did hit milestones like 30 days or three months and I was so jealous. Why couldn’t I do this?

After many stops and starts, I finally took my last drink on April 15th, 2013. I had just returned home from my dear uncle’s funeral and saw the news of the horrible bombings in Boston. There was a bottle of wine on the counter and I had two glasses before I felt sick. I knew I could not do it anymore. I finished the bottle and went to bed. When I woke up, I felt horrible as always, in a hungover fog complete with pounding headache. I made it through the day white knuckling it, and then went back online to figure out how to join the private Facebook group that was associated with my sober community online. The minute I was added to that Facebook group, I received tons of notifications from other sober people welcoming me and telling me how glad they were that I was there. That was my turning point.

Since then I have done lots of things to stay sober. The first thing was really, REALLY recognizing the fact that I cannot drink alcohol safely. I am not a one drink kind of girl, so I must be a no drink kind of girl. I check my online community daily, and post as often as I can. With encouragement of my sober community, I have started attending AA meetings, which at the very least are free therapy and at very best are saving my life. I came out to my husband and two friends about being in recovery. I text sober people when I’m feeling vulnerable and I try and provide support to others who need someone to talk to. I drink lots of sparkling water and allow myself nightly treats, like ice cream or candy. For the first week or so, I stayed tightly in my bubble, spending a lot of time sleeping and watching TV on Netflix. My kids have watched more TV in the last month than in their entire lives! I order out for dinner more often to avoid the stress and triggers of cooking. I listen to the Bubble Hour podcast, a podcast that covers topics for women in recovery, while I’m cooking or cleaning, or even mowing the lawn. I have almost completely forgone the gym, as I had no energy early on in my sobriety and I didn’t want to try too many things at once. Hopefully I can get back in to that soon.

What has changed? Well, there’s the physical stuff. I’m 10 pounds of bloat lighter. My skin has cleared up and brightened. My fingernails, which had started pealing off, are growing back. My eyes are clear and the dark circles underneath them are fading. I still get headaches, but not nearly as often, and I hear these will fade over time. I’m finally not tired anymore, but that only kicked in during this past week.

And of course, the emotional growth has been magnificent. I actually enjoy spending time with my kids. I am present in their lives, not just in the room. My husband and I are working hard, but it’s not easy. He does not think I have a problem with alcohol, but he does admit I’ve been more fun to be around lately. We’ve been out at several events and I always get to drive his nice car home. My work, which was severely neglected during the end of my drinking and beginning of my sobriety (due to shear exhaustion) is finally back on track. I am creating again, and it feels incredible. But best of all, I am seeing things again. I remember when I first got eye-glasses as a kid, and I walked outside and saw all the individual leaves on the trees. I was amazed! My whole life I’d only seen a green blur from afar, and now I could see each leaf. It was astonishing and awe-inspiring. That’s how I feel in sobriety. I see each leaf. I see each flower petal and every inch of the blue sky. I smell the raindrops on the wet ground. It’s like I’m seeing everything in my life for the first time. What a gift! It’s like being reborn.

So, that’s where I am. Day 30, with many more sober days in my future.

The post DGDF: Megan’s Story appeared first on Stefanie Wilder Taylor.

Looking back I vaguely remember three things about that year:

• A pot of coffee: I brewed a full pot of coffee every day at 3pm so I could have a drink in my hand all afternoon.
• A 12 step program: I believed I had a chance at a different life…the kind of life I saw those people living so I listened and did what they told me to do.
• The mirror in the bathroom: I could finally look at myself in it again.

My grandmother died one year–to the day– after my last drink. And I had a choice. I had always promised myself that when my grandmother–my absolute favorite person on earth–passed, I would throw the biggest party of my life. The choice I was faced with seemed really important as the funeral approached. I could drink to celebrate her life and lose the inertia of sobriety or I could show up at the ‘after party’ stone-cold sober and face death and life on it’s terms.

So the day of the funeral arrived. And let me just say, you can’t conjure up the kind of stuff that happens to you when you are stone-cold sober. I ended up writing the eulogy the night before and one of my heavy-drinking-buddy-cousins, Brett, who I hadn’t seen in years, read it. At the ‘after-after-party’ (yep, my brothers know how to keep the party going) Brett, sat down next to me and when I asked him what I could bring him to drink, he said he’d given up drinking. I didn’t have the guts to say I had too, but silently I felt supported when I poured myself a glass of lemonade instead of a gin and tonic–my grandmother’s favorite cocktail. What are the chances two recovering drunks made a beautiful contribution at my grandmother’s funeral service?

When my life orbited a bottle of wine, I could not conceive of the life I have now. I never imagined that when I was pouring those cups of coffee and surviving my first year of sobriety, I was amassing character that would pay dividends later. Today, I am doing things I never imagined: taking risks in my career, in my writing, in my relationships. I live with tremendous intention. And it is because I put down the liquid-courage.

Does my husband still have cancer? Does my mother still drive me absolutely crazy? Do I still struggle to get the laundry folded? Do I still loath the school projects that require poster board and glue sticks? Yes on all accounts. Some things in life didn’t change when I quick drinking. But the really, really important thing did. I changed. I have a second shot to live a courageous and beautiful life.

That’s the ‘AFTER-after-after party.’

The post DGDF: Elizabeth’s Story appeared first on Stefanie Wilder Taylor.

I have no reason to have a problem with alcohol, but I do. I was raised by both parents in a fairly well-adjusted environment, even though I think that my mom did a little psychological abusing…but hey, who doesn’t think their mom abused them psychologically from time to time?

My parents drank a little; that is,  my dad enjoyed a beer or two after he cut the grass. My mom drank half a glass of wine or a quarter of a White Russian once or twice a year. Alcohol made her sleepy. Alcohol was not a big deal in our house. They gave me the occasional sip, I pretended to not like it, and that was pretty much it. I had a great group of friends all through high school, and we were the “smart” cool clique. We didn’t attend (nor were we invited to) the “cool” kids’ parties, where parents were out of town, or better yet, HOSTING the parties, and providing the alcohol. We were all church going, straight A, band nerds–although pretty popular band nerds; we were happy with ourselves and one another, and we had enough fun doing various other stupid things to have any need to drink. In fact, we thought we were “better” than those who drank. And we wondered why teenagers felt the need to drink, when there was so much more to life and friendship.

I went to college, and guess what? I didn’t drink there, either. Of course, I wasn’t in a sorority, so there wasn’t the never ending party scene in my social set. I spent summers working as a counselor at a Christian camp.

During my second summer, I fell in love. My boyfriend was planning to go to seminary to become a pastor. We got serious in a big hurry. And on New Year’s Eve, my senior year of college, he proposed. I said yes. And I blissfully set about preparing myself to be a pastor’s wife. Until, less than two weeks later, he decided he’d made a mistake, and not only was he not sure I was “the one”, he also wasn’t sure he wanted to get married, ever. Period. There followed weeks of clinical depression for me. And then an older guy, the friend of a friend, was always comforting me. With flowers. And wine. And I discovered that it was FUN to get rip roaring drunk. That didn’t last long, though–only a month or two.

Then I started dating a guy who had serious alcohol and marijuana issues. But I didn’t sink to his level…no, I tried to SAVE him from his evils. When I graduated, though, we went our separate ways. I went to camp for one last summer and dated another “I’m going to be a pastor” who turned out to be a huge jerk. But I can’t complain too much, because it was through him that I met my now-husband.

Then camp was over, and I was off to the big city. And hey, now I was a grown up, and there was nothing wrong with having a few beers at night, right?

A lot of crazy stuff happened over the next couple of years, most of which is inconsequential, but one important thing DID happen. Eventually I started dating my ex-boyfriend’s friend. Three guesses what his occupation was? Another pastor. I joked that it must be my destiny to marry a pastor. And at that time, my drinking was basically non existent. Champagne on NYE, that was about the extent of it.

When he and I got engaged, and then married, all of my dreams came true. Except that suddenly I wasn’t joking about being a pastor’s wife; I WAS one. And we were serving a most difficult church. And I had a rotten, crappy, difficult job. I would come home, and my husband would fix me a bubble bath and a glass of white Zin. Only later did he say that he worried I was a little TOO excited about my glass (or two) of wine every night. But again, there was an ebb and flow…I drank a glass of wine every night for a few months, and then I didn’t. I would have beer, and then I wouldn’t. He did the same. And then I got pregnant, and not only did the thought of alcohol make me sick, but so did everything else. I threw up for nine months. (And people ask why I don’t have another child!)

But then I breastfed for a year, so I didn’t drink for 21 months, right there. Then we both sort of eased back into it. We had some good friends who drank, and it was nice to hang out with people and NOT be “the preacher” and “the preacher’s wife”…to be “normal”. To have a couple glasses or wine or a few beers. And then we weren’t just drinking with them, we were drinking more at home, too. Basically, every night. Beer or wine for me, vodka for him.

At the time, my husband was very busy with church things. He was gone almost every night during the week, and all day on Sundays. And I was just really getting into Facebook. Well, he wasn’t there, so I was getting started with my drinking earlier than he was… and he wasn’t there, did I mention that? And I found that a couple of old flames were on Facebook. I did not actually have an affair, at least, not in the Old Testament sense. But in the New Testament, Jesus says that THINKING is the same as DOING. So in that sense, yes, I had an affair. Two, in fact. Several months apart. And my husband found out about both of them. I am fortunate that he didn’t divorce me then and there.

We were working through things, but we were both still drinking.

And then we were moving to a new church, and we had the opportunity to start over, we said. A new church, a new town, a new beginning. And for him, it mostly worked. He stopped drinking. I started drinking more. He caught me. I cried. He stopped trusting me, but what else was new? I bought beer and hid it. He would confront me, and I would deny. And then cry. Our son worried himself to death because I was “acting weird” or because Daddy was “going to be mad at you.”

One weekend, something happened that made my husband stop drinking once and for all (but that is his story to share, not mine), and suddenly I was smug. Well, I rationalized, at least I’ve never done THAT. Until, less than a month later, I nearly burned down our house because I passed out while I was cooking something. But *I* had forgiven him, so he HAD to forgive me, right? Well, I thought so, anyway. But he continued to harp and nag (I thought), and I continued to hide alcohol.

He threatened to throw me out, to divorce me, to take full custody of our son… and so I finally stopped. But when he would go out of town, I would have more. Just to *show* him that he couldn’t tell me what to do. It was all HIS problem, you see. Not mine. I could handle it. And then came a few months where I actually did stop. It was a relief to not have to hide anything anymore. It was a relief to not worry if you could smell it on my breath. But one day I was in the supermarket, and I reached out, like I used to, and put a 6 pack in my cart. And I drank it, in between work and coming home. But that was it. No more. I was no longer drinking daily, look how good I was doing!

And then this morning, for some reason…I really and truly don’t even KNOW why, instead of going straight to work, I went to the store instead. And I never even drank it, because my husband saw it before I had the chance. And finally, FINALLY, I realized that the problem was ME. The problem was MINE.

It is not my husband’s fault that I have become addicted to alcohol. It is not my son’s fault. It is not being in the fishbowl that is a pastor family’s life that “made” me drink. It was, and is, choices that *I* have made. Destructive choices that have nearly cost me my marriage more than once. Dangerous choices that could’ve cost my life, or the lives of others. Stupid choices, that might’ve meant that I never got to see my son again. Because for me, it isn’t about the “alcohol”–I just really, truly like the TASTE of beer. (Good beer. Or red wine.)

Honestly, I don’t like the way the alcohol itself makes me feel. And yet I drank it anyway. Because it TASTED good. That is the absurdity of it all. That for years now, I have been putting my desire for a TASTE of something that is, for me, a dangerous substance, above my family. Above my husband, who has stood by my side in spite of my many and frequent shortcomings. (Oh yes, I left out the part about going to church drunk one Sunday…) Above my son, who is the reason that God put me on this Earth: to be his mommy. Above my God, who should be the center of all that I am, anyway. Because where would I be without mercy, and grace, and forgiveness? It has been many days since I actually had a drink, but today I gave into temptation and WOULD have had a drink, had I not gotten caught.

All I can do now is make the choice, daily, to NOT give into the temptation. My family is worth it. And so am I.

Note from Stef: If you’re looking for support the Booze Free Brigade can help.

The post DGDF: Rhonda’s Story appeared first on Stefanie Wilder Taylor.

2. Drunk Blogging: I gotta be honest and say that many journal entries were written after a night out with quite a few Long Island Iced Teas creating havoc in my blood stream. A lot of really deep thoughts fizzled out mid-sentence. I can only imagine how shitty I would feel after realizing I’d hit “publish” in a blackout.

3. There would be virtually no talk about parenting which is…well sorta why people read my blog. On the other hand, no talk about parenting!

4. There probably would have been multiple instances of me writing “Talk to the hand.” And no, I probably wouldn’t have been being ironic.

5. The biggest story going when I was in my twenties was AIDS and AIDS is not as funny as you’d think to write about.

6. If you don’t like it when I do posts on American Idol you really would have hated my Star Search recaps

7. No husband bitching.

8. Due to my obsessive nature, all posts about my dating life would have started out “He STILL hasn’t called!”

9. I can’t think of a number nine due to all the partying I did in my 20’s.

10. You would have been subjected to pictures like THIS!

 I don’t even know whose cat that is! Okay, so if you want more posts on this topic, hop on over to one of these blogs and see why you should be glad they didn’t blog in their 20’s. It’s a blog hop y’all!

The post Top 10 Reasons You Should Be Glad I Didn’t Blog in My Twenties appeared first on Stefanie Wilder Taylor.