I sent my first weekly newsletter in August of 2019. I had seven subscribers at the time. Two were myself using my other email addresses to populate the subscriber field and set the momentum. The others were my mom, my husband, and a few friends that I asked to add. I committed to writing a weekly newsletter for 4 ½ years with very few weeks off. Mainly, when I have been out of the country, I have missed a handful of weekly newsletters. With tons of organic effort, my subscribers list has grown greatly since 2019. My writing remains incredibly personal. 

I have always had the belief that writers should be paid. I pay for writing that moves me. This includes a Medium Membership, Substack Subscriptions, paid newsletters, great books, writing courses, writing coaches, writing classes, writers retreats, hearing writers speak, and more. I gladly pay for all of it. Each month when I open a paid newsletter, I think maybe this will be the month I cancel or weed out and...

Some of my best memories are from some of my biggest drinking moments. 

It’s been helpful to think that my drinking was bad, unhealthy and alcohol took me away from myself. And now that I’ve removed alcohol, I am happy, healthy, free, and all is well. 

Although this is 100% true, it is not the whole truth. 

It is a story that I have been telling myself for years. I had to tell myself this story to get to the place I am at now, which is 5 years sober, happy, and free. 

I could only see it in the solid black and white until now. Any kind of nostalgic thinking or romantic longing about alcohol in my past was too risky. If I idealized the past for too long, I might spiral and land upside down with a bottle in my hand and wine on my lips, once again. 

I quit drinking so many times before I quit drinking. 

With alcohol, decidedly no longer an option for me, I had to march to the drum with a single beat.  The rhythm...

When I was just starting out on my sober journey I had this voice in my head, Let’s call that voice by name, the Wine Witch. She tried to sabotage me every step of the way. 

When I would see some progress (maybe 4 days alcohol free) she would start screaming at me:

 “What are you going to do?

Not drink?

Like really not drink?

Like not even drink when you get to Paris?

Come on!” 

Then the real me would hear that Wine Witch. I would think about sitting at one of those black and white striped woven wicker bistro chairs outside a Parisian cafe, surrounded by women in black berets, leaving red lipstick marks on their long skinny cigarettes, little fluffy dogs on the ground next to their high heeled feet, sipping a strong afternoon red or a crisp bubbly champagne from the region. Women living the dream just being fabulous and sitting and sipping from sun up until sundown. Did I want to be part of that? Yes I did. Could I imagine sitting...