“I’m no different than any other mom out there. You’re doing the best with what you have. What you were given.” At least, that is what I told myself. Over and over again. “It’s fine. Have another glass of wine. Just one more shot of vodka.” I would convince myself it was normal. Tequila, my arch enemy, stashed in the pantry called at me at 5 o’ clock most days. Well, it was 5 o’ clock somewhere. “The kids are older now. They take care of themselves,” is what I would whisper to myself. But they didn’t take care of themselves. They did need me. When I started drinking more than a glass here or there, they were aged from two to ten. All four of them needed me. Years of abuse as a child had suddenly caught up with me. A nearly broken marriage with a narcissistic alcoholic, who only fed my feelings of inferiority. I slung drinks like I was at a saloon instead of the playground. My faith was questioned over and over again in my mind. If God wanted me to be happy, then why wasn’t He helping me overcome this? Then, magically ten years passed. They were growing up. Moving out. Getting married. I couldn’t stop drinking. Drowning all of my past in 90 proof. Only now, in my mind, I had more reason to drink. I had abused their childhood. Just like mine was. I had told myself I wouldn’t do that, but I had. Did I have time to sober up and redeem myself? Maybe, but what’s done is done. Here we are a week later. Cold turkey sober (which I don’t recommend). Seven days. Seemed like the time to start this blog. Get some of my frustration out. Encourage other women. Women tend to be catty and disheartening. We need better from one another. I know there are other women out there like me. I want to hear from them. I want them to hear me. One sober momma to another.
This is the excerpt for your very first post.