How I Ditched Alcohol (Again) and Lost 30 Pounds

“Setbacks are simply reminders.” ~Alison Schuh Hawsey

The nightly wine was back. This time with a vengeance.

It began in late October, when I was happily organizing the bathroom of my new home. The phone rang, and everything changed. My beloved friend/soulmate/ex-boyfriend/twin flame was in the hospital. Three days later, he passed over the veil.

This was also the day I began completely giving up on any continuation of clean eating, drinking, and living. That evening, I downed three dirty martinis on an empty stomach after a long spell of not drinking. Throwing up in my driveway was a …

“Setbacks are simply reminders.” ~Alison Schuh Hawsey

The nightly wine was back. This time with a vengeance.

It began in late October, when I was happily organizing the bathroom of my new home. The phone rang, and everything changed. My beloved friend/soulmate/ex-boyfriend/twin flame was in the hospital. Three days later, he passed over the veil.

This was also the day I began completely giving up on any continuation of clean eating, drinking, and living. That evening, I downed three dirty martinis on an empty stomach after a long spell of not drinking. Throwing up in my driveway was a new low. Soon after, my dear friend Kristen helped me to bed.

For the next several months, a ritual evolved. I would pop into the grocery store around 5 p.m. to buy one—just one—bottle of wine. I had no interest in the 10% savings on a case because I clung to the hope that tomorrow would be different. Tomorrow, I would be strong enough to manage the emotional pain without wine.

Alcohol for me was a choice. I wasn’t an alcoholic, but I was someone who abused it when my emotions were too much, or to celebrate, or to alleviate my social anxiety, or simply when I was bored.

More than a year went by.

About fifteen months later, my father, days before passing over the veil himself, commented, “You need to cut your hair… and you drink too much.”

Humbling, to say the least.

Looking back, I was lost, depressed, and the heaviest I had ever been. I no longer fit into the “regular”-sized clothing and had to venture into the plus department. I hopped on the scale at my parents’ house, and the number was so shocking I couldn’t even cry. So I laughed.

That was a turning point for me. I let go of the guilt and embarrassment when people did a double take after not seeing me for a while. I let go of the shame that erupted when friends and loved ones had heart-to-hearts with me about how worried they were.

I knew the forty pounds, inflammation, achy joints, low energy, lack of productivity, anxiety, and depression were completely blocking my intuition, connection, and contentment.

The most ironic part was that only three years earlier, I had created my own program to help other people drink less.

Who was I? How had I lost track of myself? When would this cycle end?

Then, of course, like any synchronicity, she popped in unexpectedly.

By “she,” I am referring to Elegant Evelyn.

My muse was born several years earlier, as I sat at my kitchen table with a notebook writing down the names of people I admired. As I listed their favorite qualities, I began to cry. Many of these people had passed over, yet I could feel them right there with me.

I now understand that this deeply emotional and personal moment was the gift of a lifetime. The qualities in my notebook were also hibernating within me, ready to burst forth like the first flowers of spring. Just as rain births the first vibrant daffodils and fragrant hyacinths, my tears bring forth my muse.

Just like magic, the name “Elegant Evelyn” sang through my ears and heart.

The name came from my grandmother’s best friend, who was also my mother’s godmother. While I didn’t know her well, I admired her from afar.

Evelyn was the closest thing to Coco Chanel in my small hometown. As she served scrumptious appetizers on silver platters at her parties, I would admire her chic way of dressing, the way she held herself, how she spoke, how she ate, how she made others feel comfortable, and, of course, her fabulous way of decorating.

Years later, when she was ill, I had a vivid dream. Evelyn in capri pants, ballet slippers, striped boatneck top, floppy hat, and her signature red lipstick. Riding a bike with a baguette and bouquet of flowers in the basket. As she rode in front of me, she smiled, waved, and cheerfully said, “I’ll see you soon!”

The next morning, I woke and shared the dream with my mom. She replied, “Meg, she passed over last night.”

That dream and the inspiration she evoked within me stayed tucked away for years, just like a valuable and delicate gift waiting to be opened at the perfect time.

When my life, body, work, home, intuition, and sense of spiritual connection were at their lowest, Elegant Evelyn came knocking, and thank goodness I answered.

Channeling her, I was able to slowly turn the ship of my life in the right direction. It’s a never-ending journey, but the ship is no longer sinking.

I owe everything to her, or, in essence, I owe everything to myself.

There are parts within you that are begging to be unwrapped in your life. Perhaps you feel a sense of embarrassment thinking about being the person you daydream about being.

Please believe me when I share that playing dress up as your muse is not pretending to be someone else. It is, in fact, coming home to yourself.

How Does One Craft Their Muse?

Imagination