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I changed one of the images in the sidebar to mark the passage of time and the celebration of one more year of sobriety. I'm 27 now.

My recovery life is quite different from a few years ago. The volunteer-facilitated meeting was shut down at the prison (it may have been reinstated, but I wasn't notified) in favor of an inmate-facilitated group. Prison meetings were the only ones I went to for more than a dozen years.

I haven't tried to find a new group to attend. That's risky, I know. I continue to turn my will and my life over to my Higher Power on a daily basis, and I have daily contact with at least one (and sometimes more) person in recovery.

I don't have a sponsor any more.

As I write these things down, I realize I'm setting myself up for something bad.

The good in my sober life far outweighs any negatives that pop up from time to time. And they do pop up. I've learned to deal with life on life's terms, to be patient, to think things through to a logical conclusion.

At least one of the issues I had when I first got sober has still not been resolved. I went to OA and then Al-Anon before I found AA (you can read my story here), and I'm still battling my weight, all these years later.

But I'm battling it one day at a time.

At least I've learned something.

24 and so much more

So. Happy anniversary to me.

This perfectly captures how I feel today.

Today marks 24 years of continuous sobriety, 24 years of living life on life's terms, 24 years that I haven't (thanks to Alcoholics Anonymous) used alcohol or drugs to alter my reality or mask my feelings.

Those of you who know me up close and personal can attest to the fact that my feelings are, um, pretty much right up front. HAH! I know at least one person who'd love it if I would stuff them every once in a while. (No, he wouldn't. Not really.)

If you don't know my story, you can read the 16-year version of it here. What's happened in the eight years since?

I still live in the same house, I have the same dog, and I'm living with the same person. In fact I'd married that person just a few months before my 16th AA anniversary. I've now lived in the same house with the same person and had the same dog for a longer stretch than at any other time in my entire life. People, places, things and dogs used to fall by the wayside when life got sticky. My MO was to run away – from husbands, jobs, homes, family, friends.

But I was always right there with me, and it wasn't until I quit drinking that I could quit running.

Or start, actually.

Running – the sport – is something I've picked up and a-l-m-o-s-t put away in the past eight years. I've run three half-marathons, the Army 10-Miler, a four-mile race and a 5K. I'd like to run again, but at my age maybe walking is better. But maybe not. I haven't crossed a marathon off my bucket list, and I still want to run up the steps of the Philadelphia Art Museum, á la Rocky.

I'm still taking an AA meeting to a nearby women's prison, and still marveling that having that meeting serve fewer women than it used to has made it more effective. The meeting is a highlight of my week, every week, and no matter how I feel driving to the prison, I always always ALWAYS feel better on the way home.

There was a little package in the mail Monday, an anniversary card and gift from a woman whose running blog I began reading in 2006 (I think). Our relationship began with running advice and inspiration, but guess what? She's been sober seven years now. (And has lived in the same place with the same dog all that time, and just celebrated her first wedding anniversary!) Her very thoughtful gift means so much to me, but her life and her friendship mean ever so much more.

What's new in the past eight years? I have five new grandchildren, who are now seven, six (triplets) and four. My daughter is about to graduate from law school. My son has been promoted to a new and important position at his place of employment. (My parenting skills, believe me, had nothing to do with my children's success. But my pride in them knows no bounds.)

I lost my dad – a strong Truman Democrat and the son of a strong Roosevelt Democrat – four years ago. That was a blow. I wanted to die right along with him. But I didn't die, and I didn't drink, and I'm carrying on his values and ideals because …

The other thing that's happened is that I've ventured out of my safe little world and become a loud, proud Democrat, working for candidates, being one, taking positions. I've become involved with the WV Federation of Democratic Women on the local and state levels. I think I'm making a difference, and I'm standing up for something besides me-me-me.

Because you see, alcoholics are selfish and self-centered to their core. Or at least this one is. If I'm not comfortable, you won't be either, I'll make sure of it. I'm shedding that behavior, one day at a time, but I have a long way to go.

Thanks for being here with me. You know who you are.

A new accessory

You can't always get what you want.

But if you try sometimes you just might find

You get what you need.

~ The Rolling Stones

Did you notice the new little doodad I put on the blog this morning? You're forgiven if you didn't, as it doesn't look much different from what used to be there. And it certainly doesn't mean as much to you as it does to me.

Unless you're my children. Or my husband. Or anyone who must have anything to do with me in person, face-to-face, on a regular basis.

In the little box labeled ODAT, the image has a 23 on it. Yesterday it had a 22. Which means I've had another birthday, of sorts.

Another year, One Day At a Time, for a total of 23 years of not taking a drink. Today marks 8401 days of living life alcohol-free. I've gone through a divorce, changed jobs, bought and sold property, and gone to weddings (including my own!), funerals, celebrations and the grocery store without getting drunk.

And that, my friends, is a miracle.

I wrote a little bit of my story here, in case you're interested.

If life hadn't continually gotten better, year after year, believe me I'd have crawled back into a bottle by now. But it has.

Of course there are ups and downs. No life is perfect. The miracle is that through working a few simple (but not easy) steps, doing the next right thing, working with someone who has done this before, helping others who are willing to be helped and being oh-so-grateful every damned day, the ups and downs are manageable without my needing to alter my reality.

As long as I continued to drink, I had no choice about stopping. And I really did need to drink, because real life was too real. I don't know why my perception of my life was so raw and jagged and painful.

And I don't even care.

Today I'm living the best life I know how to live, and (as my late sponsor reminded me nearly daily) I'm right where I'm supposed to be.

If you think you have a problem with alcohol, I urge you to call Alcoholics Anonymous sooner rather than later. You'll find people from all walks of life who know you better than you know yourself. They will be patient and tolerant in a way no one else has been or will be for you. They will challenge you and cheer for you and help you help yourself. You will learn responsibility and service. And humility.

And if you live with someone who has a problem with alcohol, please find an Al-Anon meeting. The entire world would be a better place to live if we all went to Al-Anon.