I am sitting inside my car with my sponsor, several minutes early to our favorite Wednesday night meeting. She’s a woman in her early 60s, full of wit and wisdom, in her final days of life.
I know it, and she knows it.
Several years before, ‘M’, I’ll call her to preserve her anonymity, had been diagnosed with a rare, terminal lung disease, and her timeline is running out.
I start to cry as I take her fragile hand and tell her how selfish I feel, that I am angry. Here she is the model of acceptance of life on life’s terms, and I am a blubbering mess, terrified that my partner on this path of recovery is going to leave me to face sobriety all alone.
“I’m scared I can’t do this without you,” I admit.
“Of course, you can. All of the work you’ve done and the strength you’ve found comes from within you. Besides, when you need me, I’ll come back and visit you as a hummingbird,” M says and smiles as if it was all just that simple.

M died 7 days later.

And so it is decided; I will look for the hummingbirds.

But more than that, my commitment to recovery was ignited. Here was a woman in undeniable pain, days from the end, determined to provide guidance. Even as she had to stop every few minutes to take in oxygen from the tank at her feet. Surely if my sponsor could muster the determination to pass on to me her insights into sobriety as she was dying, I need to believe I can get through anything.

And then came Covid-19—a force, determined to test my resolve. I’ve experienced months and months of deeply uncomfortable feelings of powerlessness, reminiscent of my bleakest days in early sobriety.

Every Mom out there has been pushed so far past our previous threshold of what we once considered difficult. Our reality is made worse still by the narrative that says, “Mommy needs wine” to cope—implying we are not strong enough and therefore we must numb away any dark feelings. This is a dangerous falsehood, one I refuse to believe, promote, or live by—as if it was all just that simple.

During the peak of the pandemic, I received M’s 7-year chip. Something she left for me, believing and trusting that I would earn it. I woke up early one morning at dawn, my only opportunity to take time for myself.

I sat outside looking at the hummingbird feeder my thoughtful husband bought after I told him what M had told me. I held our chip in the palm of my hand and did something I’ve done many times before.

I asked for help.

Sobriety during lockdown felt bigger than me. I knew I was meant to survive this sober, but needed a nudge of strength, as if it were all just that simple. Sure enough, M appeared as she said she would, a beautiful reminder of the courage we are all capable of, if we only have the grace to accept it.

🎙

I never imagined I’d be asked to speak on a podcast about being a sober parent during a pandemic and the dangerous notion currently circulating, that Mom’s need alcohol to cope with the challenges motherhood.

But here I am.

Weathering quarantine as a sober parent in an alcohol-obsessed culture - PeakConnection
Quarantine has become a potential breeding ground for addiction. Mothers already struggle to navigate a culture that's normalized drinking as an appropriate coping mechanism, and the habits we form in the secrecy of isolation can go unnoticed by friends and family. During a global pandemic, who's...