The first time I ever took a drink, on my own, was at 9 years old. Oddly enough the drink was a result of “playing church”…… It’s really the only humorous part of my story. I was adopted into a Catholic family and church was never an option on a Sunday. I went, I listened, but I never really understood what was happening. I even had a beloved uncle who was a priest, but no one really explained “church” or “God” to me. I remember getting my first communion. I was on stage, people were clapping, my mom made a beautiful sash and I felt important. I also really, really, loved the sip of wine I could now take every Sunday. I looked forward to that sip. It didn’t do anything to me, it wasn’t enough, but I liked the taste. I did not know that it held the power to tear down my walls and allow me to participate in the big scary world.
Back to “playing church”, my parents were out for the evening, my grandma (who lived with us) was home but she must have been in her room. I decided to pretend I was having communion, so like any good little budding alcoholic, I took a piece of wonder bread out of the cabinet and patted it down and formed it into a circle. My mind told me that if it looks like a host that we have in church during communion, then it’s fine. It was also fine to take a glass of wine out of the refrigerator. Those two elements in hand, it was okay for me to proceed to recite what I had memorized in church. It was okay for me to eat that “bread” and “drink” that wine. What I didn’t know was having more than the usual sip would leave a warm and fuzzy feeling in my belly. What I did know, was that I liked how it felt.
“Recovery is not where we arrive, but rather a state of being”…….JeanIrvin