Crawling crawling

Another Day 2. In my attempt to tackle this differently, I’ve got a list of things to help me with these early days (thanks, Belle!), as I keep crashing around this time. Nearly midday here, and usually on a Sunday I’d be pouring a little glass of sherry. Look away now if you don’t want to be triggered. I loved that little glass of sherry! Does that make me sound 106? Anyway, little glass of sherry is not on my list of helpful hints, so it’s fizzy water instead. I’m cooking a big roast lunch for my family, and for my parents, and even the smell of the lamb is a trigger, so when I’ve finished writing here I’m going to make myself another AF alternative which doesn’t remind me of sherry (I’ve written sherry too many times in this post. Ooops, there’s another one).

Last night, my husband nobly drove out at midnight to collect our daughter from a party. A few days ago, I had made a mental note that this would be a good time for me to tuck into the wine while he was gone. With my new if fragile resolve I did the washing up instead. I’m back in the early days of sobriety, so I know it’s not necessarily glamorous at this stage, but wow – doing the washing up on party night, staring at my reflection in the dark kitchen window, jolted me into a small realisation: I need to recreate the idea of glamour in my head, my version of Saturday night glamour at least.

In the last few days, I’ve been reading some posts by people who are struggling at the moment. The kindness and wisdom of comments which follow these posts is incredible, and I am so grateful to be part of this amazing sober blogging world. Thank you to everyone who reads my blog; you all help me in so many ways.

Back to the roast. Back to another Day 2. But no sherry.