I haven’t had a drink or drug in 1,460 days (that’s four years for my fellow communications majors). And that means no caffeine either. Just kidding! Hell nah brah. There are certain things I just gave up on trying to give up (#coffeeandpopcornandfroyoFO’LIFEbitches). But the alcohol and drugs part is true. I’m four years sober today—April 21, 2017. Holler! And it has been 1,460 days of pure, effortless bliss.
BAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAAAHAHAHAHAHHAAAAAAA
A girl can dream, right? If there is one thing that I’ve discovered over the past four years it’s that LIFE IS HARD, AND—how we choose to show up in our lives during all the hard-ness is what can set us free from it. Hence today.
I officially started partying in high school. I had been drunk before that, but my freshman year was when my party really started. It was clear from the beginning that I didn’t drink like a “normal” person. Not remembering parts of the night was my norm from the get-go, and blacking out completely became quite commonplace as the years went on. By the time I graduated high school I was a professional jackass, and I am not even going to get into my days at Chico State. Just take my word for it. Please. It continued on from there, different yet the same. A lot less partying but the sh*t show prevailed. Blah blah blah. Boring, boring. Same ol’ shit.
Then one day I showed up in full force in all my jackass glory and it was the beginning of the end. Walking home from a local bar post “Sunday Funday,” 29-year-old Jamie passed out in the driveway of a Catholic church in broad daylight on a sunny Sunday afternoon. An elderly couple leaving a church service thought I was dead and called 911. Three fire trucks, a couple of cop cars, an ambulance and a deeply embarrassing display later, I “came to” covered in tape and wires and surrounded by people in uniform.
Although I’m pretty sure that was my rock bottom, I drank for another year or so after that because I wasn’t a daily drinker, so I didn’t have a problem. I focused so much on the word “alcoholic” and what a real alcoholic looked like, that I just couldn’t relate. I kept jobs and got raises and had relationships and handled my sh*t. My life was moving along just like everyone else’s, and besides, everyone parties sometimes. Alcohol hardly affected my job, except of course for the standard Monday sick days. My friends thought my drinking was mostly comical and entertaining. My family didn’t—and even to this day don’t—think I had a problem.
But in the end—rather, the beginning—in a pool of tears and a brief moment of truth, I knew that enough was enough. Drunk Jamie was careless, insensitive, arrogant, catty, fake, obnoxious, dangerous and full of complete sh*t. Oh, and she was pretty fun sometimes, too. That is not who I am, and as long as I continued to invite her into my life, I knew that shame would always be a part of my story and that I would never be the person I so desperately wanted to be. Shame was destroying me, and it was now or never. I can’t tell you why God chose that moment, but it was crystal clear for me.
If you still don’t quite get the picture, here is a picture for ya:
On the left is a photo of me post pre-party headed to a bar a few months before I got sober (I think I just threw up in my mouth a little). I don’t know about you, but I think she looks slightly evil, super puffy and like she’s ready to pounce on your boyfriend if you so much as look the other way (and let’s not even open the hair and makeup can of worms, K?).
The one in the middle is a photo of me a couple of months ago in Sedona in my very favorite wolf hat (there is no purpose for this photo other than the fact that this was feeling kinda heavy and I wanted to lighten the mood a bit, and also because my wolf hat is F*CKING AWESOME).
And the photo on the right is a recent selfie I took at the park on the very special occasion that I was actually wearing a little makeup and regular adult human clothes (that are not yoga pants or pajamasor some combination of the two). This girl looks really nice to me. Comfortable in her skin. Genuinely happy. I’d choose her. All. Day. Long. I do. And I will.
So almost four years ago to the day, I walked into the rooms of AA for the very first time. I was asked to lead the meeting, and not knowing what that meant at the time, I ended up sitting in the tall chair at the podium in the front of the room, led the entire meeting, and shared my story. It was one of the scariest things I have ever done, and I cried all the way through it.
And I haven’t had a drink since.
I saw a quote online the other day that said, “Your life unfolds in proportion to your courage.” And this is most definitely not to be confused with fearlessness. It’s quite the opposite, actually. Courage is not the absence of fear, but the ability to look fear right in the face… and jump anyway.
I know without a shadow of a doubt that the most profound and remarkable growth in my life has come from really tough acts of courage. Showing up. Taking risks. Speaking my truth. Being accountable. Jumping even when—especially when—I’m scared.
Courage has been on my mind a lot lately as I explore new (and scary) opportunities for my life. Although I’ve moved most of my obvious mountains, I still struggle on the daily with massive amounts of fear in various areas of my life.
For some reason I’ve had in my head that when I’m confident enough to do XYZ, that’s when I’ll finally do it. But the more I put things off, the more I realize that I will never build the confidence to do the thing without actually having some experience DOING the thing. Confidence comes after the jump—not before it. You get me?
I posted a picture on Facebook the other day of the new “Courage Board” I made for the wall in our apartment. Accountability is huge for me otherwise I’ll just sit on my ass and talk myself out of it. So I gave myself my very first “assignment” with a deadline of today.
I’ve been wanting to create a Facebook page for my blog for over a year now, but that little bastard in my head keeps telling me that I’m not good enough. No one cares. Your writing sucks. People aren’t going to like your page. You’re going to embarrass yourself. And that’s super arrogant of you anyway. Good luck, loser.
But today, a year and some change later, I told that little bastard to suck it sideways and I put our Courage Board into action. If only for today, I am staring fear in the face and choosing to jump anyway.
Day 1,461.
And if you’d be so kind, perhaps you might pop on over to Facebook and like MY NEW PAGE? :-)
