Day 32 - The lost girl.

My new journey, my new home.

Good morning to you all. Its a sunny one here at the wee cottage and if I squint I swear I can see sunshine on the other side of the water which means its smiling on my daughter too in the city at uni. So I'm so SLEEP HUNGOVER today, we went to a gig last night in the city near my son. Meeting up from all over the place, this wee family was for one night only all in Glasgow for a few hours. Whilst the co-ordination felt like something NATO would be proud of I have to tell you doing that kind of get here for then and meet up there and then we'll see you there, was better hangover free. Much better. And seeing them, a huge sober treat.

OK so I'm not much of a public drinker, infact that's the anti-of my drinking. My drinking is very private. So being out in itself at a gig sober isn't a biggie for me, I've always lived rurally and driving is part of being out and about. But you know what struck me aside the fact that whilst I love the fact that my kids and my new husband have the same music tastes (loud, punk, political, for the main angry music) this is no surprise I guess as they all grew up with him and I appreciate their passion for it. Its really not for me. I'm not that cool, I just hang with cool folks.

What I didn't have though was that resentment at having to be out and not in at home drinking. Normally I'd be counting the time down and wondering when we got home how much I could drink. As it was, it was 2.15 am when we got in, and yes I'd have drunk at that time to 'destress' from the drive. I would have justified it as a head switch off.

Now the other thing that struck me aside the sign saying 'we now serve 2 pint tumblers' (2 pints, FFS!) was that I enjoyed being out of my drinking lair. OK, so not really my music taste, well not all of it, I'm more old school punk myself, yes I'm that old. But, the thought struck me. This is fun. I could go to gigs. Why don't I do that more. 

Doh, cos you're home suckling a bottle of chardonnay, normally in your cosy lair.

It also struck me that I can't remember when I could really last be arsed listening to music or finding stuff I enjoyed. Was that the wine too, did it rob the music from my ears? Was that Wolfie telling me, its too loud, you don't like it. You like home, you like the fire on, you like a nice glass of wine. That's your perfect evening. Wolfie tells it like it is. I'm a home buddy, I'm a parent, I'm the homemaker, I stay home, I hide in my liar protecting my family.

Well, is it, is he true? I use to dance til 4am. I use to sing my lungs out in the car. I use to find so much and so many things to DO. Be at home, all the time, me, NEVER. 

Now, lately (is the past 15 years or so lately??) I've just counted the hours down until I could drink. Made my cosy drinking nest and snuggled right in it.  I only invite my closest favouritest drinkers to join me. Like a secret club my drinking lair.  And, as its at home, that means I can still be 'there' for my family. (REALLY?? Sozzled most nights, that's how you work the parenting thing best, right?)

I'd love to blame some catastrophic event in my adult life that sent me reeling to the bottle. I became a parent, I stayed home more, like many I socialised more at home. No biggie. The drinking lair evolved slowly, like a cosy blanket, at first just there, then around your feet, then up around your body. Eventually like a nest, it became all consuming and I got comfy, complacent and it started to weave itself into my life. My marriage went bad, I blamed my husband, he left me with two small kids, I blamed him more. We all blamed him. We toasted to his crapness. He wasn't blameless, but neither was I.

Somewhere along the journey I lost myself. I lost my spark, my happiness, my accountability, I dampened myself down with wine and hid in my lair.

I can't fix the past, on a smaller scale I can fix now. I'm not even sure what kind of music I like anymore. If you've seen the Runnaway Bride - I'm going to give you a very daft analogy. The lady in the lead role (Julia Roberts) is a chameleon, she morphs into whatever her potential husbands need from her. The literal example of this is how she takes her eggs. Its the same as her 'future husbands' and different for each man. The upshot is that she has no idea how she actually likes her eggs. She's lost herself trying to be 'something' for other folks. 

I'm not saying I lost myself so far into the bottle or being a mum or whatever that I blame anyone for my own actions. Its me, hands up right here. But, when did I become this wine-lair person who freaks out at everything, the anxiety is a killer but I've always been anxious and prone to black moods. When did I stop challenging myself and hide in my lair? 

It crept up slowly, like my drinking, I lost me. I'm wondering who I am, if I'm not 'just a drinker'.

On a smaller level whilst I slowly morph back into me, who doesn't know what music she likes? I can easily fix that.  All I know for now is that I quite like Abba, (I realise they're long split up, I'm such a Radio 2 gal), I quite like melodies and singers I can sing along to and some angry punk, I'll give you that. I quite like going to gigs and I quite like dancing. That's a start.

I might have been lost, but I'm in there somewhere. My lair for now is boarded up. The Wolf no longer welcome with his comfy blankets and wine bottles.

Sober Mum, rocking out with the kids both home safe.

Sober Wife, able to drive if needed.

Sober Girl, listening to music again.

Thank you all for your lovely comments yesterday I really appreciated them. You're all stars wherever you are on your journey. Sunny here today, I hope the sun shines on you all too.

I do waffle on, so thank you for getting this far! If you've something kind or helpful to add or just want to say hello. Please drop a line below. I'd appreciate that. Thank you.