Fifteen

Fifteen days of sobriety.  Holy crap.  The last time I went 15 days without any type of beverage was when I was pregnant six years ago.  I wish I could say it has been easy…  that the desire to have a glass of wine was not demanding the leading role in my internal brain discourse…  but that would be a lie.

I have never been good with the word “no”. It’s a word that I have not mastered. As a receiver, I have had an inability to take no for an answer.  What do you mean I’m grounded?  Ha! I think not!   We can’t afford college?   Well, co-sign a loan!  You don’t want to sponsor my project?  You scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours!  I will make this worth your while!  You don’t think we should spend money on vacation/house/car/latest gadget? I will take money out of my savings!  I will donate plasma!  Yes!  Yes!  Yes!  

On the flip side, and perhaps more damning, I am seemingly incapable of telling others no. Plagued with some deranged and deep seated need to please others, the inability to find my way to no has been a painful path.  I have said yes to boys I didn’t want, yes to situations I shouldn’t have been in, yes to obligations I had no time for, yes to causes I had no interest in, yes to my kids when it wasn’t best, yes to opinions I didn’t agree with and yes to values I didn’t care about.  Yes.  Yes.  Yes. As I tell my team at work, “I don’t want to tell them no, we need to find a way to yes!!!”  Fuck.

The wholly ironic thing about quitting drinking is that it is all premised on no.

I have to tell myself no.

I have to tell everyone else no, thank you.  

Double-fucking-no-whammy.

No.

 

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