Trains, pains, and thinking about drinking

Let's talk about those moments when life hits you like a freight train, when grief, overwhelm, and nostalgia collide, leaving you feeling like you're drowning in a sea of emotions. I get it. I’ve been there recently.

December was really tough. It was a relentless storm of loss and memories that hit hard.

At the end of November, I lost one of my dearest friends to cancer. And although I knew her passing was coming, it still took my legs out from under me that somebody so young, vibrant, and joyful would be taken from this earth.

A couple of weeks later, a coaching client passed away from cancer, too. Another gut punch left me sad and depleted.

It was also the holidays, and I was missing my Dad in particular who has been gone four years now. I was remembering Christmases past and my Dad’s tradition of gifting me a particular bottle of booze and my tradition of sharing it with him.

And then there it was–this startling whisper, “A glass of wine would feel so good right now. Nobody would even know.”

I was sitting on the train in my roomette, leaving Miami after a week of vacation and hurtling towards home, with what felt like the weight of the world pressing down on me. Thoughts swirling, memories flashing like lightning. And when that inner voice popped into my head and nudged me towards thinking about drinking, I also noticed another smaller whisper. "I don't really want to drink."

This small and sometimes shaky whisper is the same one that led me to put down alcohol in the first place almost six years ago. There was so much external noise then, too, and disbelief that a sober path was attainable. But this wobbly, quivering whisper was the voice of truth and wisdom that desperately wanted to guide me to a life of liberation from alcohol.

Isn't that what it's all about? Clinging to that truth, that certainty, even when the world around you feels like it's crumbling? So, I want to ask you: What truths do you hold onto when everything else seems uncertain?

For me, it's knowing deep down, beneath the chaos and the noise, that I haven’t come this far only to go this far. It's that resolve that keeps me grounded when the storms rage.

But let's not sugarcoat it. Those moments of temptation are so real. They can hit you like a ton of bricks, leaving you reeling and questioning everything. Am I strong enough? Will I cave? Am I destined to relapse?

And in those moments, my love, it's okay to be scared. It's okay to feel vulnerable. But remember this–You are not alone. Your thoughts or your impulses do not define you.

So, when those moments come knocking, when the urge to escape, to numb the pain, feels overwhelming, take a breath. Step back. Ask yourself: What's happening? Why now? What else can I do?

Here is what that process looked like for me on the train.

What’s happening?

At this moment, I am grappling with a tsunami of emotions—grief, overwhelm, and nostalgia—all crashing down on me at once. The recent loss of dear friends and the weight of past memories are colliding, stirring up a whirlwind of thoughts and feelings.

And even in this chaos, there's a whisper deep within me affirming my commitment to sobriety, but it's struggling to be heard above the noise.

Why now?

This merging of emotions feels particularly intense at this moment for several reasons. The recent passing of loved ones, the holiday season with its traditions and memories, and the solitude of my vacation have all created the perfect storm. As I journey back home on the train, surrounded by isolation and reflective moments, the floodgates of memories and emotions are opening wide.

What else can I do?

In this moment of vulnerability, I can offer myself compassion and self-care. I can acknowledge the weight of my emotions without judgment or criticism. Maybe I can distract myself with something uplifting, like listening to my favorite music and dancing. Or maybe I might benefit from simple grounding techniques, like deep breathing or meditation, to soothe my racing mind. By extending kindness and understanding to myself, I can navigate through this storm with grace and resilience.

As I reflected on these questions, I realized that beneath the surface of my emotions, there was a wellspring of compassion and wisdom waiting to be tapped into. So, I offered myself the gift of kindness. I danced to my favorite tunes in my tiny roomette, allowing the music to lift me out of the darkness and into the light. And in those moments of reconnecting to myself, I breathed deeply, grounding myself in the present moment and reminding myself that I am stronger than I know.

I also released myself from holding onto any guilt or shame around thinking about drinking.

This is bound to happen because the brain goes into protective mode and seeks familiar comforts in times of distress. I reminded myself that progress isn't always linear, but it's the resilience to keep moving forward that truly defines our strength.

And with each passing mile on that train journey, I embraced the duality of my experience—the moments of struggle intertwined with moments of triumph. And I found solace in the knowledge that I am continuously evolving, learning, and growing along this beautiful, unpredictable path of recovery.

So dear one, whatever storms may come your way, trust in that still, small voice within you. It knows the way. It knows your truth. And it will guide you home.

Keep going. 

I love you,

Anne Marie