Setting Off Our Own Fireworks
Finding freedom in sober summer days
Before I dovetail into the essay I am sharing - I need to bow down to
in admiration and deep appreciation for her essay that I have read 4 times since Wednesday. I will return again and again, I am sure. Thank you for the nod to this gorgeous essay that reads like a glorious book.If you are someone who finds it hard to forgive or even just finds it hard to TALK about the act of forgiveness, spend time with this essay. For me, what it brought up in was all the ways I need(ed) to forgive myself first.
The act of letting go doesn’t arrive with trumpets. It rarely feels like grace. Sometimes, it looks like surrender—like crouching low to the earth and releasing something you swore was part of you. No audience watches. No voice declares the moment sacred. You just stop nurturing the ache that’s lived off your attention.
Full essay below. Give (gift) yourself time to read it.
Note: This week I am pulling one from the archives. One that came to be as a result of a sweet offering and invitation from Caroline Beidler over at Circle of Chairs as part of her SUMMER SOBER series she rolled out last year. Thank you, again, Caroline for all you do for the recovery community.
Today is the 5th Fourth of July that I will experience as a sober woman. That first one, though, ooooof. It was heavy and hard. If that is you today, I see you. If that was you before, I remember, too. It’s so important to have a community to turn to when it is hard to find that personal freedom that we all crave and deserve.
My father used to say once the 4th of July comes and goes, the summer is over. I always felt uneasy with this expression. Here in this part of the US, schools don’t resume until late August or early September. There are plenty more weeks after Independence Day to sink our feet in the sand before fall is at our doorstep.
I think I am starting to realize what he meant though. We live in a world that loves to be in the next and not the now. Once the fireworks fizzle out and the grand gestures of Independence Day settle, we thrust ourselves into the next big thing. Step into any major retail store in August and I bet you can find Halloween costumes lining the shelves. There is a collective uneasiness with resting in the right now. Perhaps it is capitalism’s grip on our wallet. Maybe it is society’s incessant need with planning how to show up bigger and better on the stage of productivity. We keep our eye on the next prize and in the process manage to miss out on the ingredients of today. Busy making plans, we check ourselves out of the simple recipes that make up a slow summer day.
One of the many gifts that sobriety has instilled in me is the concept be where your feet are. Prior to working a program of recovery, I was hardwired to boomerang right back to yesterday or last week or last year. I would lament over that thing I did or didn’t do, replaying all my transgressions. And when it wasn’t stuck in the gutter of regret, my mind loved to show me how futuristic it could be by catastrophizing over what might happen when that other shoe drops. If worrying was an Olympic sport, I had that gold medal in the bag. It would be me on that podium, gripping my medal, all while future tripping my way to tomorrow’s calamity.
While I still slip into old ways of thinking now and again, my sober tools shift me into a gentler gear. And it took time to trust myself enough to know I don’t need substances to get me through life, the good and the bad, and the big holidays where booze is abound.
In the interest of full disclosure, the hardest day of my entire sobriety journey was my first 4th of July holiday. More specifically, July 3, 2021. I had 6 months of sobriety under my feet. There were lots of pink clouds in my skies leading up to that point. Yet, I underestimated how hard that day would be.
This was the year the fireworks didn’t show up. Literally and figuratively. My family’s tradition is to gather at my Dad’s house - steps from the beach. It’s a day of salty sea air, food, beverages, beaching it until the sky lights up with all the boom booms.
My first sober Independence Day brought a huge challenge my way. The weather. Pelting rain forced us all to stand shoulder to shoulder inside the small house instead of outside on the rolling beach. No one was talking about the empty recliner. The one my eyes couldn’t stop watching. The one that used to hold our father who passed away the year prior. That chair used to cradle a laugh so contagious. A cackle I miss fiercely. I wanted a sip of something to plug the pain from seeping through my pores.
Surrounded by my people, those closest to my heart, I felt like a broken puzzle. In my attempt to put myself back together and be present with the family still here it became glaringly obvious the pieces may never fit the same way as before. And no one else was interested in looking for the jagged piece. It was a solitary game with one participant. It’s lonely when you are the only one grieving without a numbing agent.
Buckets of rain stomped all over the roof top. The wind whipped the rain sideways. Tap, tap, tapping the window - as though there was constant knocking. But no one else noticed. No one else felt the need to answer the call. It was a door I was trying to find and open. But fear kept me from turning the knob. As the summer storm raged outside, my internal atmospheric pressure spiraled right through me. Chest heavy, fake smile plastered to my face; I was barely able to hold conversation with anyone. My mind was still hijacked by a liquid I hadn’t slid down my throat in 6 months. As the rain fell faster and stronger, my ability to stay in the house grew weaker. My own weather pattern was forecasting the need to find shelter.
And so, I did. I gave myself permission to exit the party.
“I’m taking the kids and heading out. I have to get out of here.” My husband hardly cared. He looked relieved, actually. As his eyes glazed over my declaration of discontent, I saw his body settling into the warmth of the alcohol, sliding right into his own oblivion. My 14-year-old son locked eyes with me. And I knew. I knew that his eyes were able to measure the distance between his father and me.
I gathered my two kids and my two nieces, and we left. We blasted tunes in the car, pulled up to a drive-thru for some Frosty’s and my ears took in their laughter, their singing and the sounds of them making their own memories. And I exhaled fully, knowing that I took care of myself and that next summer I will be sturdier.
And I was.
When
asked me to contribute to her SUMMER SOBER series, I questioned whether I should share this part of my story because I want to be here with a message of encouragement and positivity. Not, look how hard it was.I share this here because I want those folks who are on fresh sober legs to know, even if right now, if the thrust of a fresh hot summer in your face is making you panic or worry over how you are going to get through the beach days sans drink in your hand feet in the sand, if that is you, hear me out. YOU CAN DO IT.
What I didn’t have back then was a sober community. I wasn’t reaching out to folks who chose to live alcohol free, so I was white knuckling it by myself and flailing on the hard days. Lean into others as you plan your summer. Stay close to those who understand. There are so many wonderful resources for sober folks. Don’t be afraid to use them.
My sober legs were stronger my second summer. As that big July 4th holiday was getting closer on the calendar, I read a quote that I taped to my desk.
Someone once asked me how I define sobriety, and my response was ‘liberation from dependence’
~Leslie Jamison
I still visit these words because they have proven to be my truth. No longer do I depend on a substance to tell me that it’s time to celebrate. Now I support any day of celebration without relying on booze to dictate what a good time is, and, in this space, I find expansion. My aperture naturally expands, and it is as though my senses open up in a way that wakes my entire being up.
Once I was able to depend on myself and trust that I can still regard July 4th as my favorite holiday, I found a new lesson. One I will carry into every sweet summer - I can’t stay sober on yesterday’s sobriety. Or tomorrow’s. Or next July 4th’s. The freedom comes when I allow myself permission to plant my feet firmly in the sands of today. The glasses I place on my face zoom in on the hour in front of me then the next then the next.
My summer is NOT over once July 4th comes and goes. There is so much to look forward to today. And the day after.
If you are reading this because you are sober curious or because you are at a crossroads where you know you need to make difference choices, choose freedom over the familiar pull of alcohol. Liberate yourself from the lever of automatic numbing that we’ve all been conditioned to pull. Pull instead on what you want, what you need, right now. There is such freedom when we listen to that voice.
Before I sign off, if you are reading this on the Substack app, come join me for some wandering and wondering on Notes. 31 questions for the month of July to keep us collectively curious. That’s how we stay open (and free).
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We’d love for you to share in the comments:
What does personal freedom look and feel like to you?
Are you stepping into summer with sober sunglasses? Tell us what is lighting up your summer skies.
Allison Deraney lives in Massachusetts with her husband, two kids, and rescue dog. She is a woman in recovery from alcohol who credits sobriety for waking her back up to her first passion—writing. Allison is a licensed real estate attorney who is looking to pen more creativity into her days. She spends her free time wandering in nature with her dog and cheering her kids on from the sidelines of the basketball court. You can find more of Allison’s writing on her Substack,
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I am so glad you got as much out of Thaissa's essay as I did. Her writing constantly amazes me.
This is such an important story to share because those folks who are just putting their feet on a new path don't want sugarcoating, they want mentors who will stand in the fire with them and show them how hard, and sometimes ugly, it can be to embrace sobriety and demonstrate living proof that it's possible to get through. Living a sober lifestyle is the most beautiful thing but it didn't start out that way!
Such freedom here... being present exactly where we are, facing the direction we wish to go, listening to that inner voice. Thank you for your beautiful words and reminder, Allison. Lots of love. ❤️