I’ve been doing a lot of reflection this month. Specifically, reflection on the things I am grateful/thankful for. I haven’t always been very good at being intentional about my gratitude and this is something I am actively working on. I was fortunate to grow up in a healthy, loving family with all my physical, mental, and emotional needs being met with ease. Besides the normal teenage angst that all teenagers experience to some degree, my life has been relatively “easy,” so to speak. I was able to do the things I wanted to do, participate in the hobbies I wanted to participate in, make and keep friends easily, make good grades without trying super hard. I dated a bit, had my heart broken a couple of times, and broke a couple hearts myself, but no heavy drama or trauma in terms of romantic relationships. I met, dated, and eventually married a great guy who treats me like a queen. We were able to have kids when we decided we were ready and those kids have been relatively drama free, all things considered.

In general, I have been able to skate through life without many hurdles. Now I don’t want to discredit myself here – I have worked hard for the life I have. None of these things have fallen into my lap. I put the work in to get the results I wanted. But I am very aware and conscious of the fact that not everyone has had the circumstances I have had or been set up for success in the way that I have. I think I took a lot of my privilege for granted for a long time. It really wasn’t until I went through my journey to sobriety that I became so acutely aware of all the things I had to be thankful for. It wasn’t until I went through my first true hardship that my eyes were opened to all the good things in my life and the reason why so many of the things in my life seemed to go so well.

Today I want to talk about my parents. I always knew I had a good childhood, and I was lucky to have the support system that I had and still have, but I didn’t really appreciate it to the degree that it deserves until I had an opportunity to reflect back on just how drastically the way that my parents raised me set me up for a lifetime of success.

So, I guess this is a love letter of sorts to my Mom and Dad. Patti And Robert. Gigi and Papa. Ron and Pat.

I pretty much hit the lottery when it comes to parents. Anyone who knows me knows how close I am with my Mom and Dad. I am an only child and we moved down to North Carolina from Michigan when I was seven so it’s pretty much just been the three of us for as long as I can remember. I spent my life doing homework at the kitchen table, eating family dinners at the table every night, and witnessing two people who love each other unconditionally show me what a healthy romantic relationship looks like.

My mom made me an egg sandwich with the crust cut off for breakfast before school every day. My parents knew all my friends by name and could still to this day recite all their phone numbers and birthdays. They knew my school teachers and dance teachers and never missed a single thing that I participated in. They talked to me about sex and my period and corrected me when I let them know that the neighbor girl told me what a blow-job was (turns out this is NOT when a boy pees in your mouth. Who knew?). They hugged me tight and re-assured me that I was worthy when the boy I liked decided he liked the new girl with the big boobs in the tight cheerleading uniform who gave hand-jobs more than they liked me in middle school. They helped me see reality when I was in a relationship that maybe wasn’t best for me long term. Not by forbidding me to see the boy or by tightening their grip on me, but by having open and honest conversations about my future and what I wanted it to look like. They pointed me in the right direction but ultimately gave me the freedom and confidence to make my own choices, even if they didn’t always agree with them fully. They took me to the OB/GYN and helped me get on birth control when I started having sex, even though they were disappointed and thought I was too young.

They didn’t let me coat my face in makeup in middle school and told me I was pretty enough that I didn’t need it. My mom took me shopping every weekend and helped me discover my love for fashion and clothes. My mom bought me my first pair of Apple Bottom jeans and even bought me a New York Knicks jersey dress out of a panel van in the parking lot of the mall. We went shopping for winter formal and prom dresses together and she showed me how to value quality and class when many girls my age were more focused on short-lived tacky trends and showing as much skin as possible.

They created a safe space in our little home on Sunset Drive, not only for me but for my friends as well. My friends always felt welcome at my house and many of them craved the attention and the conversations we had there. Many of my friends thought of my mom as their second mom, especially if they didn’t have the best home life with their own family. My mom listened to everyone, without judgement. She had an impact on many of my friends to a degree she may not ever fully understand if it weren’t for the fact that she witnessed her own mom having the same impact on her friends when she was younger. The way they were so open to my friends gathering at our home made me want to be there and open my world to them. When many other kids were beginning to resent their parents, keep secrets from them, or shut them out altogether, I found myself getting closer and closer to them. There was nothing in the world I felt like I couldn’t come to them with. They said no when they needed to, I am still salty about them not letting me go to my best friend’s 18^th birthday “hotel party” (turns out it got busted by the cops and it was a huge blessing I wasn’t there 😉). But they also gave me some freedom to try things and make mistakes, knowing they would be there when I needed them.

Mom and Dad were always there, at the drop of a hat. I can’t tell you how many times I called them from a party in high school because I needed a ride home. They didn’t judge or ask too many questions; they were just happy I called them. They often picked my friends up as well. Many teenagers stay in situations they are uncomfortable in or make bad decisions like driving drunk because they are scared of their parents or their reactions. I didn’t have that. I knew I could count on them and they never ever let me down. Not even one time. This continued through college and my 20s as well (thanks “Ruber”). Having that unwavering support is so critical and truly shaped who I am.

My parents somehow knew how to push me when they knew I could do more, by building me up rather than tearing me down. I knew they had high expectations of me and strived to achieve in that way, but never feared their disappointment if I didn’t succeed in the way I wanted to.

I have mentioned before that my Dad quit drinking before I was born (the real MVP). I obviously never experienced him drunk (very grateful for that) but the way his drinking was always described to me was that he didn’t drink every day, though had a hard time stopping once he started. Fast forward 30 years, and I would describe myself and my drinking habits in the exact same way. I think if I hadn’t had this example my entire life, I probably would have never even thought to question my own drinking. If I grew up with parents who prioritized their drinking over all the things I just described, then I probably would have thought my habits were normal and would have never thought “I feel like things could be better.” I am so thankful for that standard that they set.

My mom and I drank wine together and we enjoyed it, but we weren’t the same in terms of drinking habits. Mom could have a glass or two and then put a cork in the bottle and be done for the night. I was more the type to throw the cork away when I opened the bottle because “who the fuck doesn’t drink the whole bottle once it’s open?” So we drank together, but we didn’t really drink together the way I wanted to drink. We would get two bottles to share and I would drink a bottle and half while she drank two glasses. Just like all the other examples I described above, my parents were really great and careful about how to approach their concerns regarding my drinking. They knew me well enough to know if they said “hey I think you’re drinking too much, and you should stop” – I would end up sliding in the opposite direction to say “drinking too much? I’ll show you drinking too much!” Instead, Mom would maybe suggest we only buy one bottle rather than three. When I wanted to drink mimosas for Sunday football, she would say “I don’t want any today, but you can if you want to,” knowing I wouldn’t drink by myself. They knew me well enough to help guide me and point me in the right direction, rather than forcing me or asking me to do it for them.

I can’t actually put into words how much it means to me, their reaction to what I can only assume was a very concerning and worrisome phase to watch their daughter go through. I gained a lot of weight, very quickly. My drinking ramped up, very quickly. And they had every right to sit me down and say, “what the fuck is going on, get your shit together woman!” But they didn’t do that. They continued to support me, they continued to be great examples of what life should be, and they continued to slightly nudge me in the right direction, very, very carefully 😉.

Eventually, I got there on my own, and they have been nothing but 100% supportive and proud beyond measure. I TRULY do not care if people drink around me. It genuinely doesn’t bother me and I have expressed that to all our family and friends. If my sobriety and lifestyle changes inspire others to make some changes regarding their drinking, I am all about it, but the absolute last thing I want is for anyone to feel uncomfortable around me or to feel like they can’t drink when I’m around if that’s what they want to do. I have told my mom this REPEATEDLY but the woman still very rarely drinks around me. I don’t know if this is purely due to supporting me and making me want to feel 100% comfortable at all times, or if my journey has inspired her as well, but it’s likely a combination of both. As much as I preach that it doesn’t bother me, she knows me well enough to know that of course I’d prefer to not be around it. We’ve never talked about it, but she knows, because she always knows.

Thanks Mom and Dad. You’ve made my life a joy. You’ve given me the tools and instilled in me the character traits that I needed to not only succeed, but to do really fucking hard things. You’ve supported me in silent and loud ways. You’ve taught me how to be the wife and mom that my family needs. You’ve given me the space to spread my wings but a safe space to land if I ever need to come home. I love you and appreciate you both more than you can ever imagine.

PS – Sorry for the cussing. And Happy Thanksgiving.

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