Not once, but twice....

Within two days, I had two stories (both involving my bare ass) to prove (once-again) why I quit booze.

(Baby Meghan, summer 1995, the night of the car incident. Spot the P-funks for extra credit.)

I really used to care about whether or not I was an alcoholic. I spent a lot of time pondering if I fit the definition, and the online quizzes always told me: NO.

I was a regular drinker.

Huh.

This past weekend, I spent some time with one friend (I have known her since 2007) and chatted on the phone with another (I have known her since 1994).

And within two days, they each recounted stories of drunk Meghan. “Meghan, remember when we stayed in the hotel downtown and our rooms were joined, and you wandered into my room buck-naked at 3 am?” HAHAHAHAHA. I actually don’t remember this, but I was probably looking for the toilet to throw up because I was always throwing up when I was drunk.

And Meghan, “Remember when you decided to moon the car next to us on the freeway in Chicago, but the car was on the driver’s side and your ass-cheek was on my actual cheek and then you fell in the car while you were smacking your ass and you couldn’t get your pants up?” HAHAHAHAHA. I do vaguely remember this…or do I remember the memory as it has been told to me? I don’t know, it was in 1995…was 1995 even real?

And yeah, I was a regular drinker. No problematic drinking…at all…ha.

Of course, most of my drinking occurred quietly on my basement couch watching TV or scrolling or both. It happened quietly at dinner parties or in restaurants with friends. It was all very mindful and demure.

But the same girl whose ass was out in hotel rooms and cars was the same girl on the couch, just with more anxiety, self-hatred, and disassociation. I started businesses, was happily married, and kept a home (kind of), but I was messy on the inside.

Well, I am still messy, but I am sober-messy. I no longer embarrass myself (mostly) and I no longer laugh at those old stories. Oh sure, the idea of my ass up in air while my friend tried to drive through her laughter-tears is kind of funny, I am not a total square, but sheesh. Poor younger Meghan. What a wreck. What an attention-hungry, scared, wreck-of-soul I was. Am. Will be still. But so much healthier.

The good ol’ days looked (again, look at how cute I was) so good and some of it was so fun, but most of it was me continuously offering myself up to the altar of my worst demons.

Thank you God, god, sky-daddy/mommy/person, nature for allowing me to experience this life, free of substances. It kind of sucks, but it sucks way less than when there was a glass in my hand.

What does this have to do with parent coaching?

Nothing.

But everything I do in my life has everything to do with something else. Nothing is separate. And I mean nothing. Makeup, yoga, buddhism, coaching, parenting, friending, wife-ing, walking, sleeping, eating, laughing, not drinking-ing…it all is cooked up together. The fact that I no longer drink and see myself more clearly makes me the best coach I have ever been. Literally. I have never been aware of how much I don’t know, and I feel utterly free. That freedom equals my fullest self when I coach you…and that my friend, is magical.

So….as a gift to y’all from my sober self, I am offering my online classes with one laser coaching session attached to it.

Same price of the class, plus one session of coaching.

So, if you have a little kid this is perfect and if you have a tween, this is also perfect.

I don’t know how long I am offering it; I am not that organized, but I will let you know when it goes away.

So, stop buying cheaply made shit no one wants or needs, and get yourself some parenting support instead.

And for my paid stackers, allow me to remind you of the special deals for you: