by Paul Churchill | Jan 30, 2016 | Alcohol Relapse, Blog, Diet & Fitness, Early Sobriety, The Bottom
On January 16, at 18 days sober, I got up before dawn and drove 50 miles outside of the city to toe the line for a 25K trail race. I had no competitive goals; I just wanted to enjoy racing again. And…I did. It was invigorating, challenging, and at times even euphoric. It was all the things my addiction has robbed from me over and over again in the past two years. Trail racing is more exhausting than road racing because your brain is perpetually engaged. You’re constantly judging, calculating, balancing. As I ran through the woods, dodging roots and fallen branches and sliding through the mud, I felt more alive than I had in weeks. Maybe I can really kick this, I thought. For real this time.
Two and a half hours later, I finished, covered in dirt and full of joy. Later I discovered I was 6th female, which was a nice bonus, but it wasn’t why I was out there. I left fairly quickly, because there was an after-party for the normal people (the ones who can have a few, call it a day and go about their business) and I knew that I wouldn’t be able to handle that. Smart decision, right? Yes…but it sucked.
Because in my post-collegiate running career, I’ve learned that I could not only run well enough to sometimes win races, sometimes even win money, but that I could also reward myself with a drink or two after a race or a hard training run.
But slowly, deceptively, that drink became more than two. Eventually it became five or six or seven. Finally, it replaced running entirely, and I didn’t see it happening until it was too late. But I miss those post-race rewards. I still remember the days when that’s truly all they were.
And I haven’t fucking gotten over it.
You’re a freak. Just accept it. You never really grew up. You can’t drink like an adult because you’re just a piece of shit with no self-control, I thought as I drove home after slamming two sodas and saying awkward goodbyes to people.
The thought festered and smoldered in my mind for three days, getting more and more unbearable…but I kept quiet.
I should have told someone. I should have reached out for help. Instead, I buried the thought, ashamed of my inability to be like other people. And eventually I broke, telling myself that an impending snowstorm and the inevitable few days off work was a good reason. This, of course, is a perfectly good excuse for most people, but the reality is there is no excuse in my case. There’s only the ugly, sober truth: I can’t drink. What’s fine for most people is poison for me. It didn’t take long to sink into oblivion, and for nearly a week I became a virtual ghost, completely removed from reality. The aftermath, of course, is never pretty. A more accurate description would be “horrifying.” What I’ve experienced in the past few days is not a hangover. It’s sickness, and I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy.
I still have hope that I will run again- maybe even compete again, sooner than later. But deep down I know that the bigger problem is that this could eventually kill me, and I don’t want to die.
You can run all you want, but you can’t escape yourself.
by Paul Churchill | Aug 23, 2015 | Blog, Early Sobriety, Helpful Tips
Roughly 20 years ago, I recall sitting around our favorite round table, at our favorite sports bar, on our favorite (weren’t they all) night to party. A sweaty draft beer in front of me, I pondered just how much money I had spent during all years of drinking. At that time, all of those years only added up to a legal 3 years. Also at that time, a draft beer only cost me my share of $1.00 pitcher. At the time, I had lofty dreams that I could have already bought a house or a car… or both, with the “thousands” I had spent on my addiction. I have to believe that only an alcoholic would think such a ludicrous thought, and furthermore, continue to drink without abandon.
Back in these vintage times, when iphones, apps and even the internet where a mere figment of the Jetsons’ imagination, I didn’t have a random calculation at my fingertips. One can deduce that lack of information led me to drink for another decade… or two.
Here I am, feet firmly planted in sobriety in the year 2015. Sober for today, as I do this thing one day at a time. Part of my springboard into recovery, was a sobriety app that I downloaded the day after I left our local crisis center. I did this almost immediately because I didn’t want to lose track of my progress. I hung on that information like a lifeline. Checking it every morning, feeling victorious for making it through another sunset, and ready to move through that day’s sunrise and challenges.
Staying sober also requires a large amount of accountability. For me, “coming out” about my alcoholism was a huge part of how I stay restrained each day. I have surrounded myself with like-minded people, on the same path of sober enlightenment. Along with friends and family that have my best interest at heart, and watch my evolution. Likewise, a sobriety app is a daily accountability tool. A daybreak reminder of our progress; by the day, the dollar, and the calorie.
Quitting drinking quite possibly could be the most difficult thing you have ever embarked upon in your life so be sure to add a sobriety tracker to your tool kit.
Users can email us at info@recovery elevator.com if you would like the Recovery Elevator Sobriety Tracker app.
by Paul Churchill | Aug 6, 2015 | Blog, Early Sobriety, The Bottom, The first Year
I’m an alcoholic. Okay, so that probably didn’t really get your attention since this is a blog about that very subject. Let me say that another way, and note that I will use the past tense. I LOVED alcohol. I loved the way it made me feel. I loved to hold it. I loved to buy it. I loved to smell it. I Loved to talk about it. I LOVED alcohol.
I also liked to hide it. I liked to drink it late at night, when everyone was asleep. I liked wine that was concealed in a box. I liked to have a few beers while I got ready for a party. I drank before I drank, you could say. Yeah, that was fun.
I was okay with all of that. I was okay with justifying anything that revolved around alcohol. I was okay that I ran for the bar at every party. I was okay that I had to have wine with steak, beer with burgers, and margaritas with Mexican. I was okay with all that.
With that said, I hated waking up in the morning and not remembering the last hour of the previous night. I hated looking in the mirror, that same morning, and seeing a pale face with bags under my eyes. On some mornings, those eyes might be extra puffy because I cried in that same mirror about 6 hours earlier. I hated that damn mirror.
So there you have it. I loved it. I liked it. I was okay with it. I hated it. That was my ride with alcohol. I say “was” with hopes that I can run from that ride. If it catches up with me, that ride will ruin my life. There’s no doubt about that. None.
I am blessed that I can run from this problem with people who love me. I am blessed that I can go to meetings with people that can relate to me. I am blessed to look in that mirror and see color in my skin. White in my eyes. And I’m so blessed to not have cried at that very face the night before.
I am thankful that I can write for this blog and tell you this. I am thankful that I stopped alcohol at the age of 41. I am thankful that I have a family that loves me so much. I am thankful for my memory. You see, I have awesome things that go on around me, and it’s nice to keep those awesome things from being blacked out.
I’m not sure if alcohol is a disease, a mental disorder, or what. All I know is that I, Robert Stedman, have an allergy to it. I refuse to be ashamed of that. It is what it is. I will say this. I will no longer dance with my addiction. Let me rephrase that. I HOPE AND PRAY that I will no longer dance with my addiction. I’m worth it.
by Paul Churchill | Jun 22, 2015 | Blog, Early Sobriety, Moms in Recovery
Today I am 18 months and two days sober. And today I am happier than I have been since I was a little girl and the solution to all of life’s problems were found in the highest whispering branches of the tree in my front yard. In those days I fell into bed drunk with exhaustion from building forts and skating on metal wheels and climbing trees and flying from the rooftop into my pool. I knew no fear. In those days I was invincible. I wore capes. I had serenity.
I can’t say precisely when that changed. Not precisely. But the fear crept in. Perhaps it was when I began to realize that adults did not have all of the answers and worse, they could not be trusted. They could be selfish and neglectful. Ugly. Life for them seemed confusing…heavy, unromantic, full of obligations and responsibility. It sucked. And, the kicker, adulthood was an inevitability.
So, since I could see nobody around me who seemed to wear adulthood well I became afraid. I was afraid mostly of what I did not know. The unknown was my compass that led me in the opposite direction of possibility.
As I got older, I began to notice that there were, however, people out there who seemed to know some things. Happy people. Successful people. I thought that somehow, they had to have been born that way or had parents with answers. More than likely, insanely rich, parents with answers. But I was different and could never hope to have what they had. I was not chosen for that life. I did things mind you. I earned a degree and had a business, but I was unsatisfied. I became resigned to a life of quiet desperation.
So I drank to make life fun. Then to make it bearable. And finally because I could not stop, I lost things, important things; the trust and respect of my children, relationships…countless pairs of sunglasses. Then I lost hope. I did not live, I existed. I subsisted. I did not really expect to live much longer and believed my children to be better off in the long run for it.
It was a cold and dreary December morning I woke from a 7 day blackout alone, defeated. I prayed to a god I did not believe in. I prayed to whomever was listening and I picked up the phone.
That was when I came to believe that a power greater than myself could restore me to sanity.
I turned over my life and will to the care of my higher power and started working the program of AA, an idea that repulsed me for years. Go figure,
Today I have the happy heart of childhood. Today I have serenity. Today I am a grateful alcoholic.
by Paul Churchill | May 28, 2015 | Blog, Early Sobriety, The First 72
During Paul’s Recovery Elevator podcast interviews, he often asks about our first 24, 36 or 48 hours of sobriety. Where were we? How did was pass time? Did we experience detoxification in a safe environment, or did we survive on our own root desire and strength?
My first 24 hours of sobriety were spent in the emergency room. After my daughter and ex-husband called our local crisis center for my placement, they dropped me off. However, the” bouncer” at the door conducted a breathalyzer on me. The results came in; I was over the legal limit and was unable to enter their facility until I went through a detox in the hospital.
After they took my vitals, and my shoes (I threatened to run away and go home) I slept intermittently until the following day. Around noon I was taken to the Hope House, where my journey into recovery would begin. I spent six days there. I learned how to conduct myself in group therapy, took walks, participated in cut and paste projects (with child proof scissors and glue sticks), and began the intense sugar cravings accompanied my new sobriety. The experience was an education in the varying degrees of addiction and a sincere eye opener.
The following is an email I sent my loved ones on day two in recovery. With a fresh 10 months of sobriety, I can now read between the lines. I was scared. I was ashamed. And I was incredibly sad. Yet as you will see, I seem optimistic and relieved in the email. The experience seems surreal now. I had no idea when I typed those words that I was about to embark on a life altering endeavor.
Today I am grateful for the memories of my time in Hope House. I often wonder what became of the other addicts I met there. I always thought that I would see at least one of them in attendance at an AA meeting. That hasn’t happened. It did prove fateful, not just in my own recovery, but because that is where my path crossed with Paul’s. He was employed as an aide there.
It’s a bit crazy that we now collaborate to help other’s still suffering. Everything certainly does seem to happen for a reason.
Good morning,
I am doing well. Getting lots of rest and enjoying the opportunity for therapy and talking with the other residents. The stories are interesting, colorful, tragic, and inspiring.
I must say, I feel like it’s a cross between the Bob Newhart show, Big Brother, and a dysfunctional episode of The Brady Bunch. I think by saying that, every generation of our family will understand what I mean. There are two residents that are really a mess, and I thank God that I am not that manic. But have decided that we all have issues; they just differ in the way they manifest.
Yesterday we did an exercise in group therapy. We were each given two cups. In one cup we had to find things from nature that represented what we felt represented our weaknesses. For every one of those weaknesses, we had to find two things to represent our strengths. In my “bad” cup, I chose a dead dandelion, a piece of bark, and a gray rock.
Dead dandelion = that I am feeling stagnant, with the “beautiful” part of my season gone.
Bark = not sustaining the life of my “tree” (s), feeling old.
Gray rock = feeling a loss of my shine and exuberance.
Now the good news, in my good cup:
A red leaf = representing my fire. The fire that I know I have inside me, that I need to reignite.
A blade of grass = representing “music”. As in Grandma teaching me how to make a song out of that blade of grass and that I have the ability to “sing” and find joy in my own music (not literally; I can’t sing…but figuratively)
A living dandelion = that I have the opportunity and faith to distribute these seeds of life to my kids and to have a positive impact on those around me
A rock that resembles a Petoskey stone = representing the youth in me, and my ability to block out outside influences while I seek peace through my focus and intent.
It was very cool. There was another group session in the evening that was even more enlightening.
In all this has been a very positive experience. The time had come to seek guidance, and I believe this is just the place I needed to start.
Thanks for all of your kind words and help this week. I should be home by Friday.
The girls came to visit me last night. Jessa with a big smile and a Diet Coke. Emma was very sullen and didn’t want to talk. Emma agreed to go to her counselor this week to get some advice.
Love you all,
Kellie
