Elisabeth Writing

November is fucking depressing. It’s something about the bare trees, the grey skies, losing the hour of light in the evenings – and my own memories. I’ve been sober for 12 years and I’m eternally grateful for that. I’m proud of how far I’ve come and I celebrate this day every year, because I still think it’s my greatest accomplishment. There is a sense of achievement and gratitude every year on this day, and when I gather around the people I love, my heart is light. 

But.

This day is a keen reminder of the girl I used to be, the people I hurt, the opportunities lost, the diverging paths. I get flashes of things I said or did when I was in a whiskey haze and I can’t help the wince of shame. Anyone that met me post-sobriety is completely unaware of who I once was, and sometimes I’m so glad that this small circle of mine includes people who never saw that girl holding a bottle of Jack Daniels and spinning. They didn’t know her, so they don’t have to work to forget her. As for the others… my family and friends who do remember, and who didn’t give up on me, I am beyond honored and stunned that you kept reaching out your hand to me. I didn’t deserve it, or any of you. I’m still working hard to deserve it, even now, years later. I’m still a fucking mess. I’m still growing – and backsliding. 

I’m trying not to hate the girl I was (or the woman I am). She’s a part of my journey, a part of me. I learned so much about myself from AA and counseling, through spiritual practice and books. Authors like Francesca Lia Block, Paulo Coelho, Glennon Doyle made me feel seen, and gave me a flash of beauty in a darkening world. I healed myself thanks to an amazing sponsor, the family and friends who always loved me, and through my own magick.

This day is a reminder that years ago it was so desperately bad that I wanted to take my own life. I recall that sharp pain and the numbness. I thought my family and friends – hell, the world – would be better off without me. I remember that girl sobbing in the darkness, convinced it would never get better. I want to crouch beside her, hold her and tell her: “It did get better.” I don’t tell her that it took a while, but it did get better. Eventually. She just needs to hear that it did. I can promise any and all of you that it will get better. I know that sounds empty and hollow but – I swear on everything that it does. Keep holding on. You are loved.

This day is death and rebirth. This day I will cry from both joy and grief. This day I hold the hands of those who walked beside me then, and the ones who walk beside me now. I love you all. I know this isn’t my usual kind of post. But to be honest I am tired, and this is all that is coming out of my heart and hands. 12 years sober. You can do it, too. The battles and the challenges. The darkness and the sunlight. I believe in you. I love you. 

Thank you Venus, Hecate, Cernunnos, the Fey and my Fey Guide S. Thank you ancestors. Thank you to my mom, my sister, my friends. And thank you, especially, to my daddy-o; you never gave up on me, even when I ruined your cars and annihilated the porch. You still loved me. I know you still do, wherever you are. 

Brightest Blessings.