Flower Roots

Happy winter, summer, fall, spring’s day to you!

At this point, I just have no clue what season Georgia wants.

It just goes to show,

You can’t live with Georgia. You can’t live without Georgia.

I hope you’ve been having a delightful time deciding whether or not to accept the food baby that came at Thanksgiving.

So this past weekend, I went to a house show to support an old and dear friend of mine.

(shameless plug: check out her band Sombered music video here)

It was nice to do something that doesn’t go with the usual schedule of work and sleep. I got all dressed up in green velvet and my hair looked less nappier than usual. I even wore dark lipstick to show my “I can go outside of the box” side.

There were cheap alcoholic beverages being served during the event, and yes, I did partake in a few of said beverages.

As I drank, the giggling and volume of my voice started rising and I knew by that point it was time to dial back.

Trust me, I did not make a fool of myself more than I always do.

What did happen, however, was I went into an internal time machine.

The Yuengling and Welch’s-flavored wine took me back to my high school days when it was cool to drink because it was absolutely illegal, and for some reason you’re cool when you risk being arrested as a sloppy-teen-mess.

In high school, I was told at times that I was lame and obnoxious, and as a cheerleading captain struggling between pursuing a life towards Jesus and life towards fitting in, I’m sure I was lame and obnoxious depending on who you asked.

I felt that same smallness of being called lame at that tiny house show.

No one directly insulted me, but as I was overhearing conversations and hearing major opinions, I started questioning if I should be who I say I am.

I mean, TWO people talked about how they absolutely hated puns and that they would partake in a campaign against them.

Yes, that is so stupid for me to be upset about, but for someone who wants to use my love for puns as a career one day, it made me feel so dumb and childish.

Now remember, I was drinking alcohol at this time.

And I felt alone. It was insane how twenty-somethings could make me feel like I was five without even trying.

When I shared this with my best friend in the whole world that will remain nameless so that you don’t hound her with cameras (just kidding her name is Abbey, so please hound her), she immediately pulled me out of the funk to show me that it’s okay if I don’t agree with everyone. Just because one person doesn’t like something doesn’t mean I should change everything about myself to suit their opinions.


I talk about that all of the time!

Of course you shouldn’t change for anyone! Why was I feeling this low to go against my own teachings that I constantly talk about on this blog?

I asked myself this as I tasted the last breath of wine on my tongue.

I realized that by drinking that one drink too many, I found myself lonelier and in more pain than ever.

It’s as if the alcohol is filling my body up, and as it does, it is rising the struggles and insecurities that settled at the bottom of my soul forgotten and, thought to be, gone forever.

So what I’m confused about is how people use this toxin to numb the pain.

If anything, the drinks I drink do nothing but heighten it and rip open the wounds that had scarred over.

Maybe we’re drinking two different definitions of alcohol.

Alcoholism runs in my family, and I know firsthand what it’s like to see someone go into an emotional roller coaster after having several too many drinks.

It never seems to numb anything. It never seems to hide any of the pain that caused them to drink in the first place.

I’ve been verbally attacked more times when the person is drinking than when they’re sober.

I just don’t get it.

Yeah sure, physically, it makes you feel light and carefree, but are you?

How come when you drink in a room full of people, you feel more lonely than ever, causing you to call or text the one person that isn’t there?

I’m not saying don’t drink at all.

Even after my inner-time travel, I will still have a margarita or beer with friends in the future.

But what I won’t do is drink when I am extremely upset or feeling alone or insecure.

Because if I drink when I already feel alone, I will only depend on that loneliness to fill me, and it won’t.

So if you’re going through Hell and back, and with the holidays here, I know we all are in many different ways, don’t think that a six-pack will remove you from what you’re dealing with.

That six-pack will only get you six-steps heavier and six-steps lonelier.

So if you or someone you know is getting to that point of unhealthiness with their “liquid confidence” intake, stop that junk.

Because after drinking, it’s no longer your life or relationship to blame.

It’s the alcohol.

Love you guys,


Karlye Hayes