Jan. 13, 2021 – Feeling means knowing deep down that these were the heinous acts of truly free people ― people who operated without fear of consequence. And feeling meant acknowledging that I, and others who look like me, may never be that free.
At the end of my drinking, I wasn’t partying or getting turned up. I wasn’t glamorously brandishing a martini during cocktail hour. For me, there was no such thing as “a” glass of wine with dinner (actually, who needs dinner)? In the end, I was drinking round the clock, and I couldn’t stop. I hurt the people who loved me. I put my children in danger and effectively separated myself from everything that mattered in my life.
Like most of my friends last Wednesday, I was shook, to my core, and the pain of it felt like too much for me to bear.
To numb or not to numb? To feel or not to feel?
Before I have time to contemplate further, another notification pops up; this time, it’s a text and a Zoom link from a Black female friend of mine in recovery.
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