The incredibly true adventures of me

I used to love the night before Thanksgiving, especially in my early twenties when I would head to the hometown bar and get completely shitfaced before I had to deal with my "family." I was sitting in an AA meeting tonight thinking about those years. How many Thanksgiving mornings I woke up with a massive hangover. The last few years I wasn't in a bar but I probably wasn't sober. The new normal is weird, its good but definitely weird. Thanksgiving has always been my favorite holiday because I love to cook and I love to make food for people I love. I hate Christmas...I'm indifferent to Easter but Thanksgiving in my jam. This year it is causing me major anxiety and I don't know why. I'm sober. I'm healthy. I'm loved. My wife and son are healthy, happy, and loved. I don't know what it is. Maybe it's this fear of the new normal. Of this new normal slipping away. I'm doing all the things I'm supposed to do. I have a sponsor, I'm doin

When my wife and I decided we wanted to have a child, we never had any intention of becoming a special needs parent. I'm not sure anyone does. I see the same memes you do, "God made you a special needs Mom because he knew you were special." Bullshit. Parenting any kid is not for the weak, not if you're doing it correctly. Parenting a special needs kid is just different. My friend Sara often jokes that I love my kid more than she loves her kids. And, while I laugh and agree that I am definitely a superior Mother, the truth is I just have to parent differently. Lately, that has been more difficult because transitions are hard. A new school, new teachers, new friends, new rules, new expectations. They are all hard. It's hard for me and I'm not doing the really hard work that my kid is. I love my kid, I think he's the most amazing human on the planet. This morning while dropping him off, there was a Mom who was being really short with her kids and staring at h

6.307 million minutes are in 12 years (I know because I asked Alexa and then asked Siri to double check her work). My Mom died October 4, 2007, twelve years ago. She was 54 years old and she was an alcoholic and the disease killed her. Every year, around the anniversary of her death, I try to do random acts of kindness in her honor. Yesterday, Kris and I went to lunch and I bought the lunches for a table of ladies sitting near us. I didn't get out the door in time before they stopped by to thank me. I told them why I did it and asked they also pay some kindness forward and if anyone asks, tell them that Diane sent them. As we were walking away, one of the ladies said, "she would be so proud of you." Come on lady, why didn't you just stab me in the heart?! I don't know why this particular sentence is always so hard for me to hear. It happens every year around this time or when I mention my Mom. Maybe it's heartbreaking because she's not here to say it. Mayb

On Friday, my baby boy starts kindergarten. It seems like just yesterday that we found out we were pregnant. That only a second ago he was born. It has all happened so fast and now here we are at this milestone. Leo is ready...I am not. We have lived in a bit of a protective bubble for the last few years. We spent three years in preschool surrounded by people who loved and adored Leo. They knew his all his idiosyncrasies. Since Leo’s diagnosis we have heard many horror stories about bad teachers and terrible classmates. We have been blessed his preschool teacher, his paraeducators, and his speech-language pathologist have all been amazing. They handpicked his kindergarten teacher based on how well they know Leo and how much they want him to succeed. I trust them all with my life but I’m still terrified. I don’t know these new people and they don’t know us...they don’t know Leo. They don’t know that when he gets hurt he just needs you to kiss his bumped knee or finger and then he will b

When I was first getting sober, my sponsor and sister said to me, "God either is or He isn't. You need to decide that God is and Teri isn't and get the hell out of your own way."In case some of you weren't aware, I'm a control freak. My anxiety tells me that if I can control everything and everyone then nothing bad will happen. Here's the super secret: that's all bullshit. All of my life, I have been in my own way. I am my own worst enemy and I am the thing that causes me the most grief. I am a work in progress. So, imagine giving up alcohol and drugs which helped keep those feelings and anxiety down in my gut and then giving up control without drugs and alcohol to cushion the fall. I pray. I pray a lot. Prayer without action is just lip service so while I know that God is and Teri isn't, Teri still has to go out and do the work. You want to lose weight...eat less and exercise more. You want to stop drinking...ask for help. You want the world to ch

As y’all know, I recently celebrated a year of sobriety. I was surrounded by many of my beloveds and received calls, texts, flowers, gifts, and love from many others. My son spent the evening with a few our favorite people and was loved beyond belief. I didn’t grow up like this. This abundance of blessings and love is not something I am used to. I was the kid that other people’s mothers didn’t want them to play with. I was the bad influence. In my 40’s, I’ve become this other person and I don’t know how to play it. I read a meme the other day that said, “I’m afraid if I heal from my trauma, I won’t be funny anymore.” While it made me laugh, it also struck a cord. I have been this hot mess for years and I got pretty comfortable in the muck. Now, with a giant shove from my therapist, I am cleaning off the muck and finding this person underneath it. I’m glad you have all stuck around because I have some of the best friends and family in the world. Before I go to sleep at night, I count al

I had my first conscious, meant to, drink when I was 11. I started binge drinking at 14. By the time I was 18 I was regularly blacking out. I went to rehab the first time at age 22. I have been in and out the rooms ever since. I never expected to live past age 25. I have no idea how to be 44. I expected my rock bottom would be Motley Crue level drunkenness followed up with a line of coke, a bong hit, and a night (Or several) in jail. Instead, I became a housewife and stay-at-home Mama who occasionally drank more than I should and maybe when the doctor prescribed 2 pills, I took 4 (or 6...let’s be honest). I didn’t expect it to be my last drink when I had that last drink. I went to an event, drank half a beer and then told my friend Sarah I was tired of feeling like shit and I quit. It was a few months later that I realized it might be more of a problem than I thought. So, I went back in those rooms and listened to the stories from the old timers and tried to work the program the right

Peace Prayer of St. Francis Lord, make me an instrument of your peace: where there is hatred, let me sow love; where there is injury, pardon; where there is doubt, faith; where there is despair, hope; where there is darkness, light; where there is sadness, joy.  O divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled as to console, to be understood as to understand, to be loved as to love. For it is in giving that we receive,  it is in pardoning that we are pardoned,  and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life. Amen. I’ve heard this prayer all of my life but until the last few years of becoming a mother, lots of therapy, and getting sober, I never really understood it. When Leo first received his autism diagnosis I would pray for it to go away. I would pray for it to be different. Then I realized what a gift autism is and I started praying that his gifts would be seen. That he would live to his fullest potential. That he would be exactly who God made him.  I’

Last week, I sat in a courtroom with a young friend of mine who testified about the years of sexual abuse she endured from her father. She was brave and strong and told her truth and her father was found guilty and will be sentenced in June. While I sat and listened to her story, I wondered if I would have been able to do the same. She is mere 17 years old while I am 44 and I still don't think I have the bravery that she does. I have told some of my story but not all of it, I don't know if I ever will. When I first reported my abuse as a child I wasn't believed. When my "parents" found out I had told family secrets I received an extra dose of a beating. As I got older and began to drink and use drugs, my stories of abuse were met with, "well, she's a drunk...she's an addict...she's crazy." Maybe I was all those things but that didn't change the fact that I was a victim of abuse. Here's the thing about growing up in a small town (and I

Yesterday was a scary day for me yet I felt oddly calm. I told my therapist that I was worried that I wasn't worried enough. She reminded me that I have an incredibly strong support system and a strong faith. I laughed and said, "I'm not sure how your relationship with God works but mine is something like this, "Seriously, Lady?! I get my shit together and now I might have cancer?!" The good news is, I don't have cancer. The better news is, my sisters of support (there are some brothers there too), my beloved, and my boy are all there. I spent not one moment yesterday (or the day before or today) feeling alone because I know that I am loved. I haven't always felt this way and I haven't always had friends who had my best interests in mind. Let's also be honest, I didn't always give a shit either. There have been people in my life that were there for what I needed. I'm an addict, I'm manipulative, and I can be a real asshole. For the fir

Hi kids,  Welcome to the new blog. I'm going to jump right in to overshare because that's usually how I roll. I've been riding the struggle bus as of late and decided I don't want to ride alone so I'm inviting you all along for the ride. On July 27, 2018, I had my last drink. I took my first intentional drink at age 11. I started drinking regularly when I was 14. Over the years there were times when I drank constantly and there were times when I was a binge drinker. Since becoming a mama five years ago, I cut my drinking significantly but I was still using alcohol as a coping mechanism. Over the years, I started adding other substances, Xanax, weed, narcotics, anything that fell into my hot little hands. Here's the deal, when you grow up in an abusive household with shit parents, you never learn those coping mechanisms that other people learn. You learn to hide any vulnerability because it's a weakness and any weakness puts you at risk. So, you act tough,