Courage to Change

Just over two years ago, my whole world turned upside down when I finally woke up and didn’t like what I saw. My life had become a tangled mess; filled with lies, deceit, cover up and was a constant raging war to change an alcoholic. I am a determined woman and was used to rising to a challenge but I eventually came to realize that a battle with alcoholism was one that I was never going to win. I finally gave up because I knew that I had tried everything within my power to cajole, support, threaten, monitor, mollycoddle and control the monster illness that is alcoholism but with zero success.  Each time that I thought I had hunted down every last bottle of alcohol, another one appeared.  I found them in every conceivable place; closets, clothes, laundry baskets and plant bushes in the garden.  I had developed my hearing to such a degree that I could hear a beer cap being removed at half a mile. (And the kids wonder why I can hear them opening the cookie jar from the next room!) I poured copious amounts of alcohol down the drain. I tried everything I could possibly think of to make a difference. Nothing I did seemed to work. 

 Alcoholism is a momentous force to be reckoned with and can only be stopped if the person decides that they want to stop and then takes steps to make that happen.  I had been promised a million times that things would change, a new leaf would be turned and an improved man would rise to the surface. I couldn’t afford to wait to find out if that would ever happen because I was in serious danger of losing my own mind.  I had become a co-dependent and my whole life was governed by the behaviour of an addict. I would say that I’d done a pretty good job of covering for him as most of our friends and family were surprised when all came to light. However, at what expense had this cover up been achieved? I was exhausted with the weight of it all. I’d like to be able to tell you that I came to a rational, informed and calm decision to walk away but it didn’t happen like that.

One Friday night, I finally snapped. After irrational, aggressive, abusive and alcohol-fuelled behaviour, I said, “No more.”  I was ‘sick and tired’ of being ‘sick and tired.’  I’d reached the end of the line with my alcoholic. I would not allow this putrid and toxic illness to destroy my whole family. I called 'time' on being in the same home with this man who I didn't even recognise anymore. I could not change the alcoholic but by God, I could change things for myself and my four precious children.

And so I did. Come Monday morning, I swallowed my pride and took myself off down to the welfare office to register for benefits, I met with the bank manager and asked for a break in my mortgage payments until I could get back on track, I registered my children for free school meals, I contacted all the credit card companies and dealt with each of them, one by one and then I collapsed and cried a river full of tears.

Naively, I suppose I still held out hope that my alcoholic would change. Surely the separation would do the trick, no. Surely the threat of divorce and then the actual divorce would be the catalyst needed to change things, no. What about everyone knowing about his illness? No. Stopping contact with the children would surely be the final straw that made the difference, no. Absolutely nothing outside of the alcoholic can change them; only an internal desire and decision to stop drinking on their part will bring about change.

So, where are we now, just over two years on from that pivotal Friday night? My alcoholic and I are divorced. I am no longer reliant on welfare to feed and clothe my children. I am making mortgage payments again. There is no longer credit companies involved. I have returned to work and am teaching again. I’ve learned who my friends are and know exactly who is there for me when it really counts. I’m learning to implement a 12-step program in my life which enables me to live a life of serenity. (Ok...not all the time but I’m more serene than I used to be! J ) Occasionally, I still cry but there are droplets not rivers of tears. I have felt like never before that God is real and near to me. 

Now what of my four children? The older ones have had to grow up before their time. They saw a devoted, loving father turn into a stranger. They know that alcoholism is a family illness and that its damage can cause cracks that tear families apart. They sometimes keep their thoughts and emotions bottled up, but other times they let them out and we have kicked doors, shouting, swearing, blaming and tears. They are learning that it’s possible to love the alcoholic but hate the illness. We are all learning to leave the alcoholic to God and never give up hope that he will find sobriety.

Why am I sharing all this with you? I share this for one reason only and that is to give those who need it hope. No situation is so bad that it cannot be changed. If you are worried about a drinking problem, be it in yourself or a loved one, seek help sooner rather than later. If you love someone with a drink problem, it is possible to find serenity whether they are drinking or not. I don’t promise you that it will be easy but it is possible. You may have to walk away for your own safety and sanity. If I can do it, then so can you.  I pray you have the courage to change. 

For The First Time

When was the last time that you tried something for the first time? I can honestly say, last weekend.

Name, easy, click. Location, done, click.  Brown or white? I don’t mind really.  Click. Size? Not too big, not too small, this looks about right. Click. Mature? Absolutely! Click. Spanish? Californian? I don’t have a problem with nationality. Click. Favourites? Wow, someone has been keeping track of my preferences and they are all listed. 

Yes, I have finally caved and resorted to on line services. No you numpties, not a dating website but online grocery shopping. I figured if my parents can figure out how to shop online at their age, then so can I. Don’t get me wrong, I use Amazon and other sites but have never handed over the responsibility of allowing someone else to pick out my plums and feel the melons.  However, I do not want to waste several hours of my precious weekend trawling the aisles of whichever grocery store seems to have the best offers; especially not with several children in tow. Gone are the days where I leave the kids with hubby while I escape for some ‘me time’ and do the weekly shop. Yes, I can hear you child-free, youngsters thinking, ‘What kind of nutter considers a food shopping trip, me time?’ All I can say is, just you wait. Even a trip to the bathroom alone is considered bliss when you have small children.

I’m pleased to say that the whole process was relatively straight forward and painless. Although, I must say, if supermarkets think their slogan, ‘Save Online,’ is going to catch on, they are mistaken. It’s definitely ‘Spend Online’ and the process is not painless to one’s bank balance. As no real money is exchanged, it’s rather like playing shops, after a few hasty clicks and in less than half an hour, you find you have racked up quite a bill. Never mind, perhaps it will stop my impulse buying which is almost inevitable once I enter the hypnotizing , ‘scientifically proved to induce buying,’  fluorescent lit shop interior which draws you in and filters prospective shoppers with its strategically placed products  which ensure that  you are driven to all four corners of the store.

One of the good things about the process was that the order could be changed at any point up until midnight  the night before delivery; perfect for people like me who forget things and have had to return to a store three times in a day.  You could also pick a suitable hour slot for delivery. Presumably, there are a group of organised people that do this weekly and have their designated slot. Clearly, I will not be one of these people. My orders will be as and when I remember and will end up taking whatever delivery slots are left.

So, as the next day dawned and my hour of delivery arrived, I was beginning to wonder what the fine print said about late delivery times. Was there a ‘late delivery / free pizza’ type policy? Now that would be nice.  You will not be surprised to hear that, given my inability to retain important pieces of information, especially where times/dates are concerned, my ‘preferred hour of delivery’ clashed with me having to nip out for 15 minutes to take my daughter to work.  So, with ten minutes left of my delivery hour to go, I had to dash out, leaving my trusty neighbour once again to take charge of proceedings should the delivery arrive.  And yes, it did arrive, two minutes after I left the house and with five minutes remaining of my hour slot so no option of testing the ‘free pizza’ policy.  

I was impressed with the overall order apart from the strawberries being a little riper than I would have liked. You know me. I like to inspect the strawberry punnets, not only for quality but also for value for money. I want plenty of strawberries for my pound. My twelve year old was not quite so impressed with the order. ‘Mum, why does your shopping order sheet say Alcohol & Tobacco at the top?’ I assured him that despite my stress levels of late, I had not taken to lighting up but did have to confess that I had ordered a couple of bottles of wine. Hey, if someone was willing to deliver my Friday night date with Mr Rioja, who was I to say no? I’m just surprised that there was not a heading on the order form with ‘Not good for you but just the thing for Friday nights in alone’ and then they could also have included the pizza or microwave curry for one, chocolate and ice cream in that category. This would leave the delivery driver with no doubt that you are a pathetic singleton, with an evening of Friday night TV to keep you company. Sigh. C’est la vie.

Having said that, will I be ordering on line again? You betcha! I’m already wondering why I did not start doing this ages ago. The order also stated, ‘If you are unhappy with a product please hand it back for a full refund.’ I also received a coupon for 10p OFF per litre of fuel, not to be sneezed at, as well as some coupons for Pyrex dishes which I could save up and purchase to add to my already groaning glassware cupboards. Now, if online dating agencies had the same perks, who knows? I might even consider giving those a whirl! 

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Don't Mess With My Ducks

Blast! Isn't it always the way that as soon as you feel like you've got all your ducks in a row, what appears to be a trigger happy marksman comes along and pops one of them off? I'm not sure my ducks are ever quite in a row (I'm not that organised or neat.) but some days I feel like they are definitely waddling along in the same direction whilst  I flap alongside, squawking, pecking and generally trying to make sure that we don't run out of toilet paper. Other days, it feels like my flock is scattered far and wide; lost and needing far more than I am able to give.

One day last week as I arrived at work, I just had to exhale deeply and say to myself, 'Let go and let God.' I had left my 17 year old at home to deal with the task of getting through to the Doctors to make an appointment for herself. I honestly believe that the odds of winning the lottery exceed the chance of getting through to our local, snippy receptionist within the first five attempts at hitting redial.  My  12 year old, who quite literally would forget his head if it wasn't attached, was left to remember school bag, bus money, swimming kit and all the ingredients to make scones in third period along with an apron (of which failure to produce results in detention). My 9 year old was literally sent packing; suitcase and wellies in hand for a school residential trip. Last of all, the staff of my 4 year old's nursery had to prise her from my leg where she had attached herself like a limpet, eyes brimming, lip quivering in the classic, 'Let's make Mum feel guilty for leaving me here instead of being a stay at home parent' pose. I would say that I go to work for a rest but my  job there is to look after and attempt to educate others' ducks.

 Everything happens for a reason. God gives the toughest battles to His strongest soldiers. Those who fly solo  have the strongest wings. Blah, blah, blah. What if I don't want things to happen for a reason, be the strongest soldier or have the most powerful wings? Really!! And while we're on it, I'm ready for some blessings that aren't in disguise and I'm quite happy with my character remaining exactly as it is.

However, I'm learning to accept that despite everything, life is going to happen anyway and all these interruptions are my life. I will occasionally run out of ketchup. I will turn up a week late for a dental appointment, or early as happened on one occasion for a parent's evening. My children will have temper tantrums and act out because they have already learned that life isn't fair. I will occasionally (or to be more accurate, frequently) need a friend who offers both a listening ear and depending on time of day, a cup of coffee or glass of wine. I will run out of money despite having cheques left in my cheque book. There are times when I will have to make tough calls regarding the contact that my children have with their father. I will have to turn down work on days when I have a sick kid and inevitably, no one is free to have them for the day. The day will come when my child turns 18 and will go ahead and get the tattoo. I will have evenings where I feel like getting all dressed up but have no one to go out with. My children may develop ailments and syndromes over which I have no control. They will get into scrapes and bad company, leaving me to pick up the pieces.

This is life and it's up to me to soldier on, believe that everything does happen for a reason even if I never know the reason, continue to fly solo, developing the most awesome wings and just be thankful that I've got some ducks. Who cares if they aren't in any kind of organised row?!

Thankful for today

The Closet

After what feels like a very long time, now that I am working again, I am able to say to the kids, 'Yes, I think we can afford that. I'll order it.' Simple words but let me tell you, they fall from my mouth with a lot of meaning, gratitude and relief; which has not escaped the attention of my children. They'd 'almost' got to the point of not asking me for anything because they knew what my answer would be. Therefore, it was possible for me to order a  brand spanking new, four-door closet for my teenager to house her copious amounts of tops, skirts, dresses, coats, dance gear, etc.

With much anticipated excitement, the closet arrived at 8am Saturday morning. Not so awesome was that it was flat packed. We all know that if there is any single 'DIY' project that is inclined to 'tip one over the edge', it is definitely having to build furniture that usually arrives with a few screws missing or instructions that are either in a foreign language or worse still, written by an engineer. So, to ask the proverbial question: 'How many women does it take to build a flat-pack closet?' The answer: Just the one, who then calls in her Dad and two brothers who are happy to oblige; providing they are cooked a big breakfast and offered unlimited mugs of coffee. This post was actually going to be titled, Three Men Coming Out to Erect Closet, but I feared that my family would not be best pleased to be splashed across social media in a sentence including the words: men, coming out, erect and closet!

Eventually, after several pots of coffee, a cooked breakfast and then sandwiches and donuts for lunch, the wardrobe was erected; having had extra pieces of wood screwed on for reinforcement. My 12-year old who was awaiting a lift into town was told that it would just take them a final half-hour to secure the hinges, handles and doors. He wasn't best pleased when the half-hour turned into an extra hour and twenty minutes. As women, we are fully aware that a man's, 'I'll be finished this job and home in half an hour' is equivalent to our 'I'll be dressed and ready in half an hour.'

 I ended up giving my son his lift to town. Then I came home to find my two younger ones, having found the Styrofoam packaging in the flat pack boxes,  had managed to 'snow storm' the playroom and were clearly having a whale of a time. Once that was cleaned up, I decided I could just about squeeze in mowing the lawn before dinner; only to accidentally run over a pine cone five minutes later which was hidden in the jungle, putting the mower out of action. At that point, I called it a day and decided that all I was fit for was ordering a Chinese take away, sipping a glass of Pinot Grigio and watching The Voice.  Alas, all's well that ends well and my teenager now has enough closet space to indulge her OCD tendencies and her belongings are colour coordinated, categorised, organised and hung to within an inch of their lives. Woe betide anyone who enters her room and dares to move anything out of place. She will KNOW!

Huge thanks to Dad and my two brothers for having completed the task with skill and good humour. Dad's only concern was what I would write about him in my blog this week.  So Dad, you are coming up to your 78th birthday but you're still awesome and I honestly believe that you can fix anything!

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