The wins shouldn’t feel shameful

Well, we’re finally home from the hospital. We got home late on Sunday afternoon after I confidently expressed my abilities to care for Christian at home with all of the medical equipment and medications we have at home. They agreed, since he was seemingly hydrated enough to be off IV fluids by that point.

I spent those first 2 nights at the hospital completely sober. Which was brutal and painful. I’ve been slowly decreasing how much I’ve been drinking these past 2 weeks, and it’s been…difficult. So I used those 2 nights in the hospital to try, for the first time aside from pregnancies in like 6-7 years, being sober at night. And it was every bit as hard as it was promised to be.

Yet still, the nights in the hospital were easy. I had a job to do, stare at monitors and numbers and make sure my kid was breathing.

Sunday night was different. We were finally home, I was mentally exhausted and burnt out and fragile and did I mention exhausted?

I wanted nothing in the world more than to drink. But I knew that if I had any chance of attempting true sobriety…going into it with the momentum of a hospital stay and somewhat forced sobriety was my only chance.

So I did it. I crocheted all night long (until my pain was too much to ignore), I drank boba tea (my husband got some from Target earlier that day) and I tried to go to sleep. And failed. But I didn’t drink. I didn’t even make a drink.

Last night was…the hardest night yet.

I was supposed to have therapy. Much needed therapy, mind you. But with less than 3 hours until my appointment, she cancelled. And I about lost it internally.

It took me a solid 3 hours to calm myself down the from instant panic attack that ensued. I won’t be going to therapy next Monday night, and between that, her moving and the difficult sessions we’ve been having recently…I just REALLY thought that last night would be the night that things turned around. So, her cancelling was essentially the end of the world.

One of the bigger motivating factors for me deciding to not drink on my first night home from the hospital, Sunday night, was so that I could walk into therapy the following night and be something resembling proud of myself.

Sure, even if you don’t count those first 2 nights in the hospital (and even if you don’t count them, my withdrawal symptoms still do), I still had to make the choice to not drink on Sunday night when I was home. And that’s a choice I have not willingly made in well over half a decade. So, it’s not nothing. Even that one night was a big fucking deal.

My husband hasn’t said a single word about it. Not one. He’s noticed, I’m sure. But it hasn’t been addressed in the slightest. I haven’t blogged about it. I haven’t told anyone. Not even my closest people.

It feels like too much pressure to talk about. Like, if I do talk about it, I’m making it a thing. And then it’s a thing I can fuck up and fail at.

So I’m doing it quietly. But I don’t want that either. My entire life is filled with shame and secrecy.

Why do my wins have to be filled with shame and secrecy as well?

Honestly, I just want someone to be proud of me. I want someone to pat me on the head and tell me I’m doing a good job.

And I want my relationship with my therapist to not be complete bullshit anymore. I need it to be back how it was a few months ago. When I did feel safe and probably secure and trusting.

Yes, I fuck everything up. Of course I do. I always do.

But I needed last night to be a turning point back to making things go well again. And I lost that.

I had a terrible night. I haven’t slept in 4 days. My withdrawal symptoms I swear are only getting worse. And I’ve had multiple panic attacks this week.

But I didn’t drink last night either.

So now I have 4 days.

And I haven’t told anyone.