Writing Your Discovery with Ann Dowsett Johnston

New beginnings anndowsettjohnston.substack.com

Welcome to 2024, whose arrival I cheered with Frances, my two-year-old granddaughter in Los Angeles. Wearing matching red-and-white pyjamas, we read picture books and played with dollies, and headed to bed before 9:00 PM. Good thing: we both have big plans for the year ahead. As she says regularly, “It’s my turn.” And yes, it is: come June, she will be taking on the role of big sister. In my case? Well, it’s my turn too.

Fifteen Years of Sobriety anndowsettjohnston.substack.com

This past week, I turned fifteen. Not my belly-button birthday: I am 70, as many of you know. But in sobriety. As my son quipped: “fifteen, the sulky teenager.” It feels good. It feels so much better than I ever expected. When I headed into Day One on Nov. 3, 2008, I was on my knees in the bathroom, wanting to die. I have had so many failed Day Ones. Tears streamed down my face. I also had a serious case of FOMO. How could I get married without drinking champagne with my groom.

After The Fall anndowsettjohnston.substack.com

We all know the feeling: that slow-motion experience when you happen to trip, lose your footing and begin to fall. The series of freeze-frame exposures when you feel yourself stumble. The split-second moment when you try to catch yourself, before you crash headlong exactly where you hoped not to, humbled—perhaps bloodied and bruised. The thud, the lying on the ground, the painful tallying of the damage. Sometimes there are strangers to witness, offer help. Other times, there is no-one.

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Years and years ago, long before COVID closed down the world, or Holly Whitaker had become a Quit Lit star (Quit Like A Woman) or Laura McKowen had launched The Luckiest Club, or I had gone back to college to become a psychotherapist — yes — that long ago. Holly and Laura and I decided to save a little money in New York City one weekend and share a hotel room. We were all attending the “She Recovers New York” conference. I had been asked to present a workshop for the 500 sober women in attendance.

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Years and years ago, long before non-alcoholic drinks could be found on grocery shelves, decades before being sober was cool, I found myself skidding not-so-gracefully into full-blown alcoholism, blacking out on a regular basis. I was a nightly drinker, a lover of white wine, the best decompression tool I knew. I had a big job, an even bigger romance, and a major issue with my need to numb: burnout, depression, some PTSD.