Chapter 1: Embracing Change

In the wake of abandoning alcohol, a newfound vitality often emerges, demanding an outlet. For some, this means transforming their living spaces with zeal reminiscent of a home makeover show. While I may not reach Martha Stewart levels of tidiness, I certainly dive into cleaning with enthusiasm.

For others, physical activity becomes a sanctuary. Whether it’s yoga, running, or weightlifting, these activities channel that energetic surge. Yet, they can also stir emotions long buried within. This is perfectly normal.

I've found myself shedding tears after yoga sessions, feeling a wave of emotion during hikes, and sometimes coming home from a walk with the urge to scream. It was during one of my Saturday swims that I realized I had merely skimmed the surface of my healing journey after years of drinking.

Every Saturday, my family participates in swimming. While one child attends lessons, my husband supervises the other, and I take to the lap lane. I've settled into this routine: swim a few laps, rest, and swim some more, all while keeping an eye on the clock to ensure I’m out in time for my son’s lesson.

On one particular Saturday, I asked the lifeguard, “How many laps make a mile?”

The teenager hesitated before replying, "Thiiiiiiiiirrrrty-siiiiiix?" He seemed uncertain. My heart sank; I hadn’t even approached that in my 28 minutes of swimming.

The mere thought of that goal ignited a spark within me. “Thirty-six. Can I do it? How long will it take? What do I think about attempting this?”

With determination, I plunged back into the water.

I pushed myself hard and fast. But I quickly realized I'd need to establish a counting system. I began to repeat the numbers in my mind.

9. Stroke. 9. Stroke. Turn. 10. Stroke. 10.

Turn. 11. Stroke. 11. 11. 11.

Turn. 12. What was I like at 12? 12. 12.

At 12, I adored singing! In the shower, on my bike, in choir, performing solos. Writing was another passion—I crafted stories only a child could dream up. And soccer was a beloved pastime.

Turn. 13. 13. 13. I was on the path to forging friendships in junior high, experimenting with alcohol and cheap beer while wandering canals. I eventually quit soccer.

Turn. 14. 14. 14. Drinking became a monthly ritual. When I wasn’t drinking, boredom reigned. My teenage years revolved around obtaining cigarettes and alcohol, while my writing shifted to tales about boys.

Turn. 15. 15. 15. Should I continue swimming? Perhaps I should stop. This will take a while.

But halting would mean giving up, much like I had with everything else—except drinking. I had quit piano, church, Girl Scouts, and sports, opting instead for rebellion.

Turn. 16. 16. 16. At 16, I thought I was an adult. I dated older boys and felt ready to be independent, though I wasn’t truly prepared.

Turn. 17. 17. 17. I acted too cool for choir and school, eager to live independently.

Turn. 18. 18. 18. I considered myself an adult! But I couldn’t afford to move out.

Turn. 19. 19. 19. I began to take care of myself, quit smoking, and reduced my drinking as I focused on college.

At 20, I shed a lot of weight and felt invincible! I loved life. It was a fantastic year, but as I swam, I questioned if I should leave soon. No, I reassured myself; my husband would understand. I should persevere.

Turn. 21. Broke up with a long-term boyfriend, celebrated most nights at bars, dancing drunkenly and feeling vibrantly alive!

Turn. 22. At 21, I mused, “Can I still drink?” Sure! The fun continued.

Turn. 23. Yet, I was no longer 21. Arriving at work hungover at 4 PM became routine, and I missed many morning classes.

Turn. 24. I began drinking at home and at parties, reserving bar nights for special occasions, avoiding crowded events.

Turn. 25. I celebrated graduation with champagne and remained inebriated for months. What came next?

Turn. 26. After ending a long relationship, I drank a case of beer daily for weeks until one day I penned a song about my feelings. The next day, he called. I decided to leave it all behind.

Turn. 27. I moved to the mountains, enjoying drinks with friends after adventurous days outdoors.

Turn. 28. My outings dwindled, and I began drinking in solitude.

Turn. 29. I grew dissatisfied with my relationship, unable to recall why we began dating. I avoided confronting the issue, masking my feelings with whiskey in my morning coffee.

Turn. 30. After tearing my ACL while snowboarding under the influence, I spent the New Year in the hospital with a pulmonary effusion—something typically affecting much older individuals. It was a wake-up call to reevaluate my life. However, I still didn’t quit drinking; I simply reduced my intake.

Turn. 31. I sank into a depression, unsure of my next steps. I dated someone long-distance, appreciating the solitude that allowed me to confront my feelings without distraction. I walked home drunk nearly every night. Yet, here I was, still swimming through the murky waters of my past. A change was on the horizon.

Turn. 32. 32. 32. I moved in with my husband, purchased a home, and became pregnant. Relief washed over me; this child would provide a reprieve from drinking.

Turn. 33. I faced preeclampsia, and my son Liam was born a month early. I felt isolated and depressed throughout the year, grappling with the transition to motherhood.

Turn. 34. I found myself in the garage, consuming leftover wedding wine, growing accustomed to ‘mommy’s wine time’ as a coping mechanism. I felt grateful to be pregnant again, hoping for a different experience.

Turn. 35. Baby Ben arrived via scheduled cesarean, and I couldn’t have been happier to bring him home!

Turn. 36. I realized that every attempt to quit drinking led to increased consumption.

Turn. 37. I sought various strategies to curb my drinking, yet it spiraled out of control. I began researching rehab and AA.

Turn. 38. I haven’t had a drink in a while and feel fantastic! I remember being 20, loving life, and feeling vibrant again. I'm still working on shedding that extra weight, but I refuse to revert to my former ways.

Turn. 39. What do I want for my 39th year? Sobriety.

Turn. 40. Approaching the finish line, I feel invigorated and capable of continuing. Sober. Sober. Sober.

Resting at the pool's edge, I removed my goggles. My family waved and smiled at me. A wave of joy filled my heart. Would this be my reality without my past? I shudder to imagine an alternate scenario.

As I joined them in the pool, my husband asked, “How was your swim, love?” He understands me; he gets it.