Josie Robinson - The Gratitude Jar: A Simple Guide to Creating Miracles

There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle.

Albert Einstein

When the student is ready, the teacher appears. Mine found me during a snowy Minnesota February while I was a disenchanted housewife with a big drinking problem. So it was a good thing she found me when she did. My teacher introduced me to the Gratitude Jar the thing that ultimately turned my life into a miracle.

At the time, my husband Shawn and I were living in a little rambler with our two boys, ages four and almost one. My husband worked as a high school English teacher. I was a stay-at-home-mom and very part-time school counselor. Over the years, my part-time position had been cut to almost nothing, so I just used it as an excuse to stay home with the kids. We made it work as best we could and scraped by month-to-month on my husbands teacher salary.

On the surface, it had all the makings of a quaint life: mom at home with the kids, dad off to work. Me making homemade meals from scratch (much cheaper) and going on fun, free field trips around the city. Most of my mom friends worked full-time, and frequently told me how much they envied me. How great to be home all day! You must be so happy!

Yes, I love it, Id say, smiling. Then Id launch into a story about a silly tea party the boys and me just had or some crazy outdoor adventure in our backyard. I so love being a mom, Id say, smiling again.

But really, I was lying.

It feels terrible to admit because I love my boys, my husband included, very much, but every morning when I awoke there was a knot of dread in my stomach about the day ahead. The constant laundry. Cleaning food particles off furniture. Trying to pretend I liked playing with cars and Star Wars figures. Diapers. Screaming. Whining. Being so broke that I didnt know how we were going to buy groceries for the week. Spending the babys naptime making homemade whatever to make our food budget stretch as far as possible.

I hated it.

Most of all, I hated the fact that I hated it.

I was irritated, tense, or depressed almost always. Relief didnt arrive until my husband came home from work and I could finally start drinking around five p.m. Id tell everyone it was time for me to start working on dinner, which actually meant sneaking off to the kitchen to get loaded while taking a suspiciously long time to put together spaghetti and meatballs.

I felt good after my first glass of wine. After an entire bottleand on most nights I had two I didnt feel anything. I found numbness preferable to the near constant irritation I felt all day. Id then pass out on our oversized family room sofa while watching television, wake up the next morning with a giant hangover, and repeat the process all over again.

This cycle had been going on for several years. It started shortly after Lucas, my first child, was born. My husband said I went into a postpartum black hole right after delivery.

I think thats a pretty accurate description of what happened.

Both mental illness and alcoholism run rampant in my family. I spent the early part of my life sneaking heavy pours and trying to prove that I wasnt crazy, too.

To prove this, I held everything in and presented a perfectly controlled, pleasant image to the world. If something bothered me, it was squashed immediately. And I would go on with my life with a gigantic smile plastered to my face, telling everyone how great I was. I eventually became a counselor because I wanted to help people solve their problems, since I didnt have any of my own. I was great!

Nevertheless, there were a few red flags along the way. The first being that I was, in fact, mentally ill (Id been diagnosed with an anxiety disorder in college). And the second being that I was also, in fact, an alcoholic (I used it to manage my anxiety and party like a rock star!). Despite efforts to the contrary, my apple didnt fall that far from the family tree.