I am in charge of what I drink, and I don’t want to drink. While cooking supper for my parents this evening, old habits reared up and I asked my husband if he’d like a small glass of wine while we cooked. ‘We aren’t going to do that,’ he said, and my immediate reaction was anger: how dare he tell me what to do! I can drink if I want to! And at that very moment, I knew that I didn’t want to drink, that my anger was directed towards my weedling drinking voice, not my husband.
Off to bed now, at the end of Day one, otherwise known as another sober day. Back on track, I hope, the last two days a glitch in my journey.