I woke at 3:14am with a familiar sense of dread and fear spreading out from the pit of my tummy to my limbs. A sense of hopelessness permeated my being. I looked toward my closet and wondered what on earth I was going to do. How would I ever escape this hell I had created for myself? Beginning the familiar task of trying to piece together the evening before, while bracing myself for the coming awareness of the toxic taste in my mouth and sensation of nausea that would take over any second now. But wait. Something is wrong. I remember every word spoken the previous evening. I regret nothing. I remember the program I watched. I actually know how it ended. There is no toxic taste in my mouth. I am not sick to my stomach. And then it hits me: I still don’t drink. And with this realization the terror dissolves into a feeling of cozy comfort. And profound relief. And blessed peace. I roll over and feel such deep gratitude that I am not in that place any longer. I notice the quiet. I sense the warmth coming from my blankets and my best friend beside me. On this cold and dark winter night something is not wrong after all. Rather, all is right with my world. I rarely wake up at this time anymore. What used to be a terrifying nightly appointment with impending doom has been replaced by peaceful slumber. For whatever reason that awoke me at this familiar time, an old pattern of pain was reactivated. But this time it was not based on reality. It was based on memory. I stretched out my legs threw my arm around my husband, whispered “thank God” and drifted back to sleep. I pray that I never again return to the nightly dread that my drinking problem provided. I wish that for you too.