sixty days with

Sixty days ago, I stood in my kitchen and said, "Tonight I won't drink." I mixed lemonade in my favorite glass beer stein instead. I didn't add vodka. I felt that strong desire. I drank the lemonade.

Fifty-nine days ago, I sat on my bedroom floor and said, "Tonight I won't drink." I drove to Sonic a while later and ordered a strawberry limeade. I didn't add tequila. I felt that strong desire. I drank the strawberry limeade.

I'm not sure what all I've drank in the nights since, but I do know this. May 3, 2019 marks the day that I reset my life, that I stopped numbing my mind and heart with alcohol and drugs.

Tonight I drank crisp water, and then I ate this cake.

My boyfriend recently told me, "Happy birthday," in regards to this day. I didn't understand. He explained that for a lot of people, sobriety is a lot like being born again--like starting a new lifetime. I didn't understand at first. Then I reflected on the last 60 days.

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When my therapist asked me, "How have you felt sober?" I smiled at the floor before frowning at my feet.

"I feel better, stronger, happier. But I also feel so much more--I have to actually feel my emotions. Do you know how hard that is sometimes?" I sighed.

She laughed and stated, "Yes, sometimes feelings are uncomfortable. But we should still feel them."

I know she's right.

I know that if I didn't feel the intense fear of potentially falling out of the first tree (a level four) I've ever climbed this past Friday, I wouldn't have paid much attention to what I was doing. I know that if I didn't feel anxious about changing my plan to leave Iowa permanently, I wouldn't have spent spend so much time considering my place in the world. I know that if I didn't feel exceptional joy, I wouldn't have danced in public spaces. I know that if I didn't feel unconditional support, I wouldn't have set off my first firework. I know that if I didn't feel a nauseatingly high amount of trust, I wouldn't have held a boa constrictor or let her slither across me--two nights so far.

I know. And how? I've unlearned what I knew then.

Growing up, I developed a fear of pain--of the world crushing my dreams and crashing my trajectory. Many adults still emit this energy into my corner of the world. I fight every single day to shield it away. I constantly ask myself two things:

1. What are my intentions?

2. What is there to lose?

More often than not, I find comfort in my intentions. I strive to only act on goodness. When I realize that I haven't or won't, I ask myself why, I wonder if I know what I'm doing. And then I ponder the idea of changing who I am, what I do, and how I interact with the world around me.

Less often, I find that loss is inevitable. Often times, it feels less like losing and more like growth. Grasping onto that feeling, I've leveled up in life. A third question has formed, and I think about it while awake and asleep:

Am I comfortable or confident?

When the former is the only answer, I know that change is necessary. I've lived for more than 22 years. Although many days, nights, and in-betweens have included uncomfortable feelings, I've developed comfort in myself. Independence keeps me safe. But does it make me confident?

Is independence the answer to my desires? I'm starting to think not, to think that having people in my corner is healthy...that it can make me happy.

I'm not confident in that. I'm not confident in much these days. But I still have my comfortable mode. I still have wholeness, even when happiness is gone.

I've spent the last 60 days with my thoughts & feelings, with hard decisions & soft sobs, with dark nights and bright mornings, with a new me and new friends and new experiences. I've spent time with self-respect, personal reflection, and emotional growth.

I've finally spent time with the positive world.

Here's to the next 60...and all that comes with.