The Pain In Spain Falls Mainly On the Brain
At the beginning of March 1998, my husband called me at work with exciting news. "We've been invited to go on the company trip to Spain," he said elatedly. I was not as excited to hear this news as he was to give it. Being early in sobriety, I was scared of a trip to a foreign country with ninety people I didn't know and didn't think I had anything in common with. I told him I needed some time to think and we could talk about it later. I got in my car to go home and immediately started crying. My mind was racing with the thoughts of three other short but extremely uncomfortable vacations I'd taken in my fifteen months of sobriety. I thought about how inadequate I'd felt at Bill's work functions. I hadn't yet learned the art of sober small talk.