Mac ‘n’ cheese cures all ills

I’m exhausted and when my coach asked the team who wanted to sit out from rowing tonight because we were one too many, I volunteered. I was there. I don’t know what I was thinking except how tired I am. I have two more chances to row before I’m gone for 2.5 weeks, and it was the most beautiful day we’ve had since last fall. And yet, I found myself driving to Whole Foods instead of rowing, on a mission to get ice cream because what I was hearing in my head was that tonight wine might be a nice escape. It is my Friday, after all, and I’m wrecked.

The good news is that I can go ahead and have that thought and the counter-thoughts are growing stronger, strong enough to overtake them quickly. I don’t want to be in this “prison” anymore. I don’t want to feel like shit tomorrow. I don’t want to do or say things that I will regret. I want my spirit to continue to soar up and up. Good things are starting to happen and maybe I’m being superstitious or supernatural or supersomething, but I can’t help but connect the shift that seems to be happening to how my energy, my vibe, my FREQUENCY is shifting since I’ve been quitting drinking. And while I think I’ve been losing a little weight and it feels great, tonight I decided to have some ice cream.

Of course, by the time I left Whole Foods, I had already snacked on some takeaway Mac ‘n’ Cheese and country fried tofu. It was marked “Comfort Food” with a big ole’ sign and hell yes I took comfort in it. Sure… I was regretting the calories I hadn’t burned, and the massive fat calories I ate instead — big time. But… I was heading home to watch the sun set with my Bub, planning to do some work I needed to do with much less stress, and then hitting bed early, which is really hard after a night of rowing. And I didn’t buy wine.

I will start anew tomorrow on the fitness front. The sun is supposed to be glorious again.

This has been a really hard couple of weeks at work. WAY too much work to do and not enough time to do it. Execs breathing down my neck about getting to the next thing, doing more, doing it differently. I love my job, but this has been a not fun, hard week.

And yet, I can brag to myself that I have been exhausted and stressed and frustrated and quite literally near the breaking point, and I still haven’t drunk about it. It doesn’t even cross my mind at work (thank god), and when I get home, most days, it doesn’t cross my mind then either. It’s really just Fridays and Saturdays that are still the hard days, and I know from experience (the last time I made it more than a month), that the weekend cravings start to fade pretty quickly too.

Can’t wait for the “miracle” to happen. 🙂

My life coach suggested I might ask my doc about beta blockers for the times when I’m feeling really anxious, like when I’m on a date. Those tend to be my very most difficult times to not drink. So, I asked my naturopath about it, and she said that before I go to that extreme (I guess beta blockers mess with your heart function and a side effect can be dizziness and depression, among other things), I should consider a natural alternative called Kavinace, by Neuroscience. I ordered it and we’ll see. I think it arrived today and maybe I’ll test it out this weekend while I’m at the wedding stuff in Portland. Because really, if I can conquer those anxious situations without booze, I’m going to be happy as a pig in the shizzle. Happy as a clam. Happy as a tick on a fat dog.

You get the picture.

Here’s to mac ‘n’ cheese instead of merlot.

Rachel. Day 20.

Busting out of prison (Don’t quit before the miracle!)

Don’t worry, I’m here. I’m alright. I’m sober.

I just had an intense weekend and sort of lost my buzz (pun only partially intended) for blogging every day. When “blog every night no matter what” went head-to-head with “avoid overwhelm,” the latter won.

It was a really intense weekend and maybe I’ll recount some of it in the coming days. Need to get back on the proverbial blogging horse somehow, so here we go. Baby steps. Tonight was another intense evening with the person who shall go unnamed for the time being, so here I am, still up way past my bedtime.

Not good. I’ll try to sleep a little longer tomorrow to catch up, ’cause Lord Knows I need my sleep.

Anyhow, today a woman on another private FB group I follow posted the most amazing thing. I won’t say her name as I want to protect her anonymity, but I do want to give her credit, so I’ll use her initials, C.C.

I just loved it, and it really has me thinking about things in a new way again. Like I’ve been peeling the damn onion on this non-drinking thing since last fall, layer-by-layer, getting to the root core of what I really think and need, and changing in layers too. Morphing. Coming to terms with what alcohol means in my life on my own terms, and by listening and learning to so many others who have come before me. It sometimes feels like a bit of an Escher painting, spirals and spirals that appear to be going inward — but look again, they are moving outward. The learning, the growing, the morphing…the learning some more…

Here is what C.C. said today:

Hello my friends! I am noticing a lot of folks struggling in recent weeks. Spring is here, weather is warmer, the allure of seasonal drinking and memories of alcohol drenched summers will be calling to us. I just wanted to share some thoughts I’ve been having lately.
I just passed the 6 month mark last Sunday. How do I explain how different my life is? Everything is different. Everything. I never realized what a prison I had built for myself with alcohol. Alcohol governed my entire life. It was the Donald Trump of my soul. It was the center of my universe. I woke every morning and my eyes were on the clock for when I could open my wine. And if I had a concert to play that night, I was in a shitty mood all day because I wouldn’t be able to drink. And if I couldn’t drink, then I had nothing to look forward to. It controlled my life. It stole favor from my husband and children. From my job, that isn’t even a job, (I mean for crying out loud, I play the cello and I’m lucky enough to get paid for it). And I resented my amazing career, because it was an impediment to my drinking. I guess what I want all the newbies to know is how much BETTER life is to be out of that prison. So many of you are thinking, as I did, that “I’m not that bad. I’ve never gotten a DUI. I’ve never spent a night in jail.” But you are wrong. That’s a bunch of crap. You spend every night in jail, in a prison. Alcohol is your warden. There is a whole giant life out there waiting for you. There is a huge part of your brain and heart that awaken in the months after you take your last drink. And you realize that you have been operating on half power for years. You’ve been living life with the dimmer switch on. And I’m not going to lie, it’s not always awesome. Life doesn’t always look perfect when the lights are on full power, but by God at least you can see what the damage is and have half a shot at making it better. And the good stuff? The good stuff is still there, but bigger and brighter than you’ve ever seen it before. Take off your shackles. One day at a time. One hour at a time. Don’t quit before the miracle!!!!!!! Trust that the discomfort will dissipate. At six months I rarely even think about alcohol. But at six days, I thought I would literally die if I had to make dinner without my glass of wine, or do laundry without my glass of wine, or watch a stupid animated movie with my kids without my glass of wine. I thought I was being punished. But then slowly, the changes started happening. I slept like I have never slept before. Deep, thick sleep. I had energy in the morning to have a good attitude for my kids as we did the frantic “get out the door, dammit, why don’t you have your shoes on, what do you mean you haven’t brushed your teeth” routine. I started telling my husband when things bothered me. I was more direct. I wasn’t drinking at my feelings anymore. I wasn’t drinking “at” people when I was angry. So, that shit had to get out, and when it did, real conversations started happening. And guess what else? I’m a better cellist now than I was six months ago. My brain is clicking faster, clearer. My reaction time is faster. Yes, I still have an occasional bad day, when I fantasize about being a normal drinker. But then I remember that I was NEVER a normal drinker. Alcohol always came with a C.C. sized penitentiary attached to it. And I never want to live in those four walls again. So what am I calling for? Nothing short of a massive prison break. Bust out of there and join us. The world is a big beautiful place and life is short. I love you all and thank you so much for supporting me through my escape. And in gratitude, I will be here idling the get away car as you rappel down the walls of your Alcatraz.

LOVE.

I have a wedding all weekend starting Friday in Portland, and then I leave next Friday for my 2.5-week trip to Europe for work. I’m going to keep this and other favorites in my pocket. I’m newly inspired to not “quit before the miracle!” and I will keep on pushing until I stop caring about booze. I do feel it coming, bit-by-bit, layer-by-pungent layer. 🙂 I’m closing in on it.

(and I will write again tomorrow…)

xo Rachel. Day 18.

 

A fortnight, and in search of pleasure

It’s Friday night and I’m still sober. Toot toot.

It’s been two weeks and today was my day off. It was a busy day of errands, then a short nap, and lots of reading. I can’t complain. I’m noticing an odd craving for wine, even though I don’t want it at all, at the same time. It’s easy for me to walk it through to the conclusion in my mind, and it’s all negative. All of it, including regret, shame, fear of doing or saying something stupid. Makes me tense just thinking about it.

I guess that’s the wine harpy again. Giving it a go. Seeing if she can spot weakness.

When I really examine it, I think what I’m *really* craving is pleasure. I used to satisfy that craving almost entirely with wine (and a little chocolate) and part of the discovery now is learning how to find pleasure in my life every day, without wine. That’s different from boredom – I’m not at all bored. I’m just on a mission for pleasure, every day. What a great challenge to have, actually.

Game on.

Rachel. Day 14.

Lucky (Day) 13

Now that I’ve committed to writing something every night for the next 87 days, I’m even more impressed by people like Belle who have managed to do it AND be interesting and insightful every single day.

Today is my Friday — I have tomorrow off — and I felt the teeniest craving to relax into a bottle of wine after rowing tonight. It didn’t last long, and instead I came home, snacked a little and watched an episode of “House of Cards.” They sure drink a lot on that show. They sure drink a lot on a lot of the shows I watch, as it turns out. Most of the time it doesn’t bug me, but sometimes… it does.

I’m still very much in that place where I feel like I’m inhabiting two selves at the same time: the self that thinks a glass of wine would be fun/satisfying/comforting/euphoric, and the self that is looking at that situation almost from outside of myself, and knows it isn’t at all what that first self has it cracked up to be. It’s like two sides of the Cab-colored looking glass. It’s going to take time to jettison the first self. I know.

I do keep hearing that voice again in the back of my head. The wine harpy, whispering  in my ear that after 100 days I’ll see how I feel. I’m not going to fight that voice anymore — not now.  I’ll just go all Aikido on it and bend like a reed. Whatever. Sure, harpy. Sounds fine, I say to her, but back off because I’m going a 100 days this time. It’s not forever, just 100 days. We’ll see how I feel then. Talk to me then.

“Stay Here.” I finally broke down and bought the “Stay Here” bracelet from Belle. I already have the “Not Today” bracelet — I wear it every day. But something about stay here has been resonating with me lately. Stay. Right. Here. I don’t want to think about 100 days or forever or next week. I’m just going to think about today. And maybe, if I’m feeling good and bold, I’ll think about tomorrow. But that’s it. I don’t need to sort out what I’m going to do on day 100 right now. I’m a helluva long way from that and it isn’t productive for me to be spending cycles on the philosophical merits of telling myself 100 days vs 100+ vs forever, etc. For now, I’m right here.

Stay here.

I have another date Saturday night with the guy, E. This time we’re going to see some music which starts kind of early (6:30 p.m.), so I left logistics open in case he wanted to make it a quick thing again like last time. (I’ve sometimes likened myself to a “dating autistic…I feel like I can’t read men’s expressions or behaviors accurately at all. like face blindness, but with romantic cues.) But he suggested we have a “late lunch/early dinner” at 4:30, so yay! I guess ‘be careful what you wish for,’ because now I’m definitely going to be with him for at least five hours, and all sober.

I’m going to do a lot of deep breathing and power posing (see: Amy Cuddy) before he comes to pick me up. 🙂 I’m also going to have a good talk with my life coach tomorrow about bringing my female energy to the date. Tips on how to be sexy and appealing. Oh, how I envy women who just get it. I know I don’t need wine to relax and have fun with him, but just try to tell that to my reptile brain! There’s a whole lotta years of programming to undo, and I’m diving in, head first (to mix metaphors).

The sun came out a bit today and it was beautiful. My coach responded to my email, and then masterfully addressed some of the team’s attitude issue during practice today. I was so relieved. I have to work tomorrow on my day off, but my good friend and I booked our airbnb apartment in Rome this morning and I’m so excited! Two weeks until I leave for Venice. I can’t wait. I’m very lucky and very grateful. It was a good day.

Rachel. Day 13.

A Drinker’s Dozen

I know a baker’s dozen is actually 13, but a (former) drinker doesn’t need to count an extra day to make a dozen. No siree, it’s a solid 12.

The rain keeps pouring down in Seattle. Rain rain rain. I’ve said before, about a month ago we broke the record for most rainy winter since record-keeping began, and it hasn’t really let up since. Rain rain rain. I bought a sun/light box and have been using it at least 30 minutes a day. I feel ok — I don’t know if it’s working but I do feel better than I’ve felt in recent weeks — but the rain is starting to finally get to me. Walking home from work today I was full-on Carrie Bradshaw’d — you know, where you’re walking down the street and a huge car/truck/bus drives full speed through a puddle in the road and the entire volume of puddle flies from the asphalt onto you? Yep, that happened to me today. Twice. (No, I wasn’t wearing a pink tutu and manolo blahniks…)

If I weren’t headed to Europe in just two weeks (oh my god i need to start planning what i’m going to pack!!) I would be looking into flights to somewhere warm and sunny. A shot of vitamin D to the system.

sunshine

Ahhhh…

I’m hoping Italy has some sun this time of year. I haven’t even checked. I may pack my light box just in case.

I’ve been stressed today, and haven’t fully shaken off the bummer that happened last night at rowing. I think I’m drinking too much caffeine again — time to cut back…. I think I need more sleep. Tonight I met a couple of friends for dinner and I was just off. Too tired and grumpy, and my best friend said she could tell something was up. No one drank any booze (I had another shrub drink) and the check was so inexpensive!

I’m not very interesting tonight but writing because I said I would. Tomorrow is Thursday and I have Friday off (yay!), and I have a date Saturday evening to look forward to too.

Happy happy, joy joy.

Sober, sober.

Rachel. It’s actually a non-drinker’s dozen (12). 🙂

 

Soundly flogged by my own

Tonight, rowing was hell.

I didn’t actually row — I had to be the coxswain, because it was my turn. We rotate through the lineups, and because I was out for work for a couple of weeks (grrr), I didn’t get to row, but my number still moves forward to cox. Bleck. At least it’s over now.

I couldn’t see (it was too dark without the moon), I couldn’t hear (it was windy and our coach was behind us), I couldn’t do much right except make the calls to keep them rowing, but even that I fucked up a few times. I was in Backwardsland tonight for some reason (I was literally sitting the reverse from normal), and kept wanting to call the rower on the opposite sides. Some of the rowers were being jerk faces about it (just rude and un-teamplayer-like), which embarrassed me and bummed me out. This is my thing. I’m really good at this. And for a couple of bitches (frankly) to get oddly vocal about how things were sucking, was a bit too much for me. I wish I’d told them to shut it, grow the hell up and have some class. I didn’t think about it until I’d been stewing in my own shame for a little while, and then became quietly indignant. Like, what the hell, why did they need to be that way? For realz. I go back and forth between regretting not calling them out and being glad I took the high road. But did it look like weakness? Aren’t you supposed to meet bullies head on? Maybe.

I emailed my coach and asked him if the team could have a little talk next time about supporting each other in harsh conditions. We’ll see what he says.

Anyway, I left pissed off and wanting to head to Whole Foods, buy a big bottle of red and drink three or four big glasses to stuff down these feelings.  Sadness, anger, resentment, frustration, shame, embarrassment, regret, disappointment — it was all there. The whole nine yards of drinkers’ best excuses to drink!

But I didn’t.

Quickly I realized that was just a dumb idea, and I really needed to sit in my feelings and feel them. Gah. Feel yer fucking ass hole feelings.

SHALT — Sad, Hungry, Angry/Agitated, Lonely, Tired. Try to avoid that shizzle. Do some deep breathing. Drink some tea and take a shower and write a blog post quick before I need to get to bed and start a new day. It’s time to end this day. That’s a fact.

What is it about Tuesdays? I’m noticing a pattern here. Last Tuesday sucked ass too.

Ah well. I’m home with my dog, Bub, who is sweet as ever, and he is ALWAYS, WITHOUT EXCEPTION, loving and supportive of me. Always at my side, no. matter. what.

I’m really tired and I just want to shut my eyes and start again tomorrow. So, with that said, I think I will.

SOBER

That’s all.

Rachel. Day 11.

The cute guy *really* doesn’t care that I don’t drink

I wasn’t going to go to the SMART Recovery meeting tonight — but I did.

I had been thinking I was too busy this week, that I have something going every night except Friday (so far), that I’m slammed at work and my dog is home long days, and…and…I’ll just skip this time because I’m feeling good and it’s fine.

I’m fine.

But then, I kept noticing a certain niggling, nagging chatter in my head. The kind that goes, You know why the cute guy (E.) hasn’t texted you yet, it’s because you were boring because you don’t drink. Or maybe you’re just too high maintenance, that’s probably why. Or maybe he thinks it’s just the tip of the iceberg and you must be hiding something. He wonders what it means. Or maybe… you just weren’t sexy because you didn’t have a glass of wine… 

You’re not good enough (because?)(and?) you don’t drink.

Brene Brown (who is also sober) would have a field day with this.

I kept hearing Belle in my head saying, “You don’t want to get to the point where you start thinking, ‘This is too hard.’ That’s Wolfie. Avoid overwhelm. Don’t drift from your supports. And don’t wait until you think you need them, because by then you could be on your way to relapse…”

I kept hearing the promise I made to myself (and to anyone listening on my blog–that’s YOU) that this time I was cranking up the support and doing this differently. This time I would LISTEN to the advice of others and do what they say. I promised.

This is too hard.  No, I wasn’t thinking it yet, but somewhere in the back of my mind I was worrying. I could feel it back there, a lurking shadow. The faintest whisper — surely from the fecking wine harpy — saying, Being sober is hard. It’s really hard. Especially dating someone new. You want to be NORMAL with this guy, don’t you? Don’t give him reasons not to be excited about you. It doesn’t have to be so uncomfortable… If you just had one glass of wine at dinner, you would give him one fewer reason to reject you. Be nooooorrrrrmmaaaaalllllll…..

But the thing is, E. was awesome about my not drinking. He was supportive and didn’t even finish his drink. All that shit is going on in MY head, and I really had no reason to believe that my not drinking had phased him negatively at all.

AND WHAT ABOUT BRADLEY COOPER? Natalie Portman? Naomi Campbell? Ben Affleck? (Rachel B! Brene Brown!)

All fantastically sexy and interesting people (I’m sure!), and they don’t drink.

So, at 5:45 p.m., I found myself very suddenly packing up my stuff and heading straight to the 6 o’clock meeting for the support. And because only five people showed up tonight, we spent some time breaking down my assumptions about what normal-drinking people think about non-drinkers, and how the goal is to normalize my not drinking (in my head) in situations like dates — or every day life. Essentially, the meeting leader said, E. was most likely not thinking about my not drinking at all (that was me), and the more we can treat it like a non-issue in these situations, the better off we’ll be. That’s the goal.

Wouldn’t that be awesome? That freedom? To be, like, ho-hum, no big deal, I don’t drink but you go ahead. That’s how I am with pot (I’ve never liked it or cared). And meat.

If I’m honest, I’ll admit I’m still a wee bit stressed out about it, that E. will care if I don’t drink, but I really do think I just need to breathe and decompress. It’s just compounded by the fact that dating is just nerve-wracking! The actual real issue is the part of my brain (wine harpy!) that is trying to use this opportunity to negotiate “moderation” or some bullshit. That is the God honest truth of it and I know it. That’s what the harpy wants.

She can bite me.

I won’t do it. Not this time. It’s not worth it, and do you know what? I’m kind of curious about what it’s going to feel like to spend time with the guy without wine. There is that silly stuff like, what do we do right before the music show this coming Saturday when there isn’t time for dinner? In the old days I would have said, Let’s have a drink! But now? Hell, I don’t know… Appetizers and fun fizzy drinks somewhere cool, maybe?

Hm. I think I just answered my own question. 🙂

Boom.

Rachel. Day 10.

Sunday is Daylight Savings and I CAN NOT WAIT. The sun is staying longer, flowers are beginning to bloom, and I am excited to see my favorite flower soon. Peonies. They have such a short window, but they are the absolute best while they are here.

KONICA MINOLTA DIGITAL CAMERA

Weekends at the speed of light

The weekend goes too fast. Two days is not enough time to decompress from the week AND get a ton done that I don’t have time to do after work Monday through Friday.

I’ve had a TON of herbal tea today — I kept wanting to put things in my mouth, so I tried to keep it to tea when I could. I was about 50% successful, seeing as I also made a point of buying a sober treat of a cupcake and a little ice cream. “This is my sober treat,” I told myself, as Belle advises. I savored every bite.

I’m feeling good, even if I’m looking for distraction at the same time as needing and wanting to be productive. There aren’t enough hours in the day. No wonder I wasn’t getting anything done when I was drinking!

Ah, me. Life.

A short post so I can get to bed on time. Like right now. 🙂

Happy sober week, y’all. So glad you’re here.

Rachel. Day 9.

p.s., BABY GOAT

baby goat

Dates go a lot faster sober

Saturday, Part 2.

Dates sure go a lot faster when we’re sober — or at least this one did. In and out in 90 minutes — AND he wants to do something again next weekend. 🙂

When the waiter came by and asked if we’d like anything to drink, he looked at me and said, “Do you want wine?”

Ugh, that awkward moment when I have to disappoint a date and not share a bottle. My worst fear.

I told him I was still not drinking (even since my cleanse) and I’ve been really cutting back the last five or six months. Playing with how much I can drink before feeling like crap. I told him I find anymore that I just feel better when I don’t drink at all and it’s been working for me.

“That’s cool,” he said, and he really seemed to mean it. “If you feel better without it, then don’t do it.” He ordered a glass of wine and I ordered a beet ginger shrub AF drink. He sipped that one glass for the entire meal and didn’t even finish it. Astonishing.

Sure, I wished I could have been helped to relax by a glass of wine. Sure, I would have liked to have shared a romantic experience with him, and moved into the buzz of the wine in sync with him. As nice as the meal and conversation were, I was aware of the absence of the wine. But I would be. I’ve only just begun.

But I was pleased and excited by the fact that we had great conversation and I was completely sober. I wasn’t blotting out my edginess, and I had to be in my body and be present. We laughed and teased a little, and even got a little vulnerable at the end talking about “what vulnerability means” — and all sober. I found myself admiring his smile and his hands, and his laugh and sense of humor, and being sober allowed me to admire that without crossing boundaries. Without getting sloppy.

A 90-minute date just never happened when I was drinking. In the past, my date and I might drink a bottle and probably order more, talking into the evening and then possibly going somewhere else for a nightcap. Sometimes, it might even lead to more, which I’m definitely not proud of, but it’s true. Looking back on it now, in the last couple of decades (except when I was married) I had a bad habit of moving too quickly into intimacy, and it was always aided and abetted by the bottle.

I think this is actually how grown-ups get to know each other. Not always — plenty of sober people and “normies” move quickly too, I imagine — but slow and steady is a good thing. Right now the thought of meeting him for 90 minutes once a week is a bit scary. I’m impatient. I’m restless. What if it fizzles out? What if he gets bored — or I do? What if I like him and I want to spend more time with him? That’s a lot of build up in between dates. What if I’m rejected?

But when I really think about it, moving too fast and forcing intimacy quickly (again, always with booze) never did me any favors. Maybe getting to know him sober, a little bit at a time, is best for both of us. When I asked him what being vulnerable looks like to him, he said it was being able to be honest about how you’re feeling no matter what. And that’s scary.

Sounds like being sober. 🙂

I agreed, that is scary, and for me, I can struggle with letting myself let go, for fear of being hurt. We stopped and looked at each other and he said, “That was intimacy!” And we laughed. But he meant it.

Maybe we both need to feel safe, in our own ways, and just maybe, doing things differently than I have done in probably the last 25 years — since before I started drinking — will lead to different results. At the very least I’ll learn something about myself.

He was cute and fun, and said he had a great time and asked me out again for next weekend. No games. No hedging. It was nice.

And when we parted, he gave me a light hug and he was off.

Now, it’s 10:30 on a Saturday night. I’m sober and home with my Bub. I’ll wash my face, get into my warm, clean sheets, and read a bit of something easy before falling asleep. And tomorrow, I’ll be up early and feeling proud of myself and excited for the week ahead.

Rachel. Day 8.

It’s Saturday, which calls for a two-fer

Saturday: Part 1.

I’m headed to rowing this morning for the first time in a couple of weeks. I was out of town for some of it, but if I’m honest, I haven’t been for the most part because I needed a break. And last week my mood was down and I didn’t go to bed Friday until very late. 1:30 a.m. or something crazy. I was ruminating and spinning and feeling lonely (Danger!), and I realized it was more important to get a full night’s sleep — even if it meant missing rowing. That was probably the right call — it turned out to be the unplanned Day 1 — but still. My first day of re-entry on the water in a while and my hand callouses (my badges of honor!) have dramatically shrunk. Boo.

At the recommendation of my coach, C., I bought the book “The Depression Cure” and a sun lamp. I’ve been feeling down for weeks, which is too long, and I think it’s just the record-breaking wet winter we’ve had here in Seattle (I need light). I want to do whatever I can to avoid medication, if possible. I’m not anti-meds when they’re needed. Not at all. But I’ll try natural remedies first. And I’m actually feeling better this week, by a lot.

Maybe it’s the boys paying attention to me. That always feels good.

Maybe it’s the impending spring (flowers are blooming!).

Maybe it’s shifts at work and my trip to Europe (for work) is less than 3 weeks away!

Maybe it’s me coming to terms with some things in a healthy way and choosing to be grateful. Choosing Grace.

Maybe it’s just natural rhythms and a little bit of everything.

Whatever it is, I am grateful.

And now, off to rowing!

Rachel. Day 8.