The Sacred is in the Ordinary...
Today we have seen a return to the rain and wind here in Ireland and my brand-new Birkenstocks with their shiny buckles will have to wait a little longer to be worn in favour of cosy socks and shoes with full coverage because there is literally nothing worse than wet toes. Life is ambling along quite nicely at the moment. I am busy with work and I have just finished the Recovery Coach Professional Training with CCAR. Through this training I have learned so much and I hope that with this new knowledge, I can be of service to those struggling with addiction.
Last night I went to my local book club where we had a lively discussion about my book choice - a Nancy Drew adventure – The Secret of the Old Clock. Once upon a not so long time ago, I would have woken up the next day after book club tired and hungover. I would have delicately sipped a few glasses of wine with my friends during evening, then on my return home I would have opened another bottle to have a proper drink. Instead, this morning I woke up more tired than usual but still hopeful and happy for the day ahead. My son is about to embark on his Junior Certificate state exams, and he knows that I am here 100% for him in whatever way he needs me simply because I am not drinking alcohol.
At the beginning of 2026, STEADY was the word I chose for the year ahead, and I really feel like I am living up to that word. These are ordinary days – days I never had really had when I was drinking, when each night and morning was punctuated by how much I had had to drink the night before. It felt like I needed alcohol in my life to raise the drama barometer and that it was a vital component in my life to spice things up. Nothing madly exciting is happening right now but the ordinary days are the ones I have come tolove the best. The early morning rising, the meditation, the cup of coffee in my favourite cup, the WhatsApp greetings to my sober friends, the making of school lunches, the putting on and out of washing, the teaching, the practice, the writing and the dreaming. All pretty insignificant acts in themselves but since I stopped drinking these tiny daily actions have become highly significant. Why? Because they help to anchor me to a life I actually want to be in. My two feet are on the ground, and my arms are open wide to embrace what each new day may bring. This is all the more precious because for so long I ran from feelings, I ran from emotions, I ran from people, I ran from everything straight down the dark green glass bottle neck of alcohol. I thought it was my salvation, I thought I needed it to function as a wife, as a mother, as a singer, as an everything. Instead, I have discovered through taking the first tentative step towards a life I wished to lead as opposed a life that I felt I constantly needed to run from, that beauty exists in the ordinary, in the moments that to most might seem unremarkable. But to me these moments are like precious gemstones glinting each day to guide me home to myself. Home to myself and home to the person I was always meant to be. Yes, it might sound cliched, yes, I may appear self-satisfied and smug. But I don’t care, I am satisfied. I have found peace, and that is the best feeling in the world.
My preconceptions about giving up the drink were that I would be bored, I would become boring and life would be ‘meh’. Instead to my surprise I have found over 3 years down the line that life is sparkling and beckoning saying ‘come on; you’ve wasted enough time, try this, and this and this, and this. My sobriety is the biggest gift that just keeps on giving, and for that I am and I will always be eternally grateful.
And of course there are still dark days, days when I struggle to sleep, days that feel covered by clouds. But rather than running from these days to the scarlet substance that muted my sadness before numbing me into oblivion, I am here for those days too, I am really here, holding on tight to those tiny daily actions that I know will anchor me and get me through, holding onto a little hope. The darker days always pass, and they seem to pass quicker when I can turn to them with curiosity and ask what are they trying to teach me. Sometimes it’s hard to scrub the surface and see what emotion or feeling is lying beneath. Sometimes I am afraid of what I might find but it is truly never as bad as I think it will be. In not being afraid to uncover my feelings and hold them up to the light, I am learning to live better, to be better, and I am learning to find the sacred in the ordinary.
