Dear Alcohol: It’s not me. It’s you…because you’re a gaslighting motherf*cker
Enough said.
I’m 3 ½ years booze-free today. Almost 1,300 continuous days without alcohol. The best part about these numbers is I had to look them up this morning. For anyone who has tried to get sober, you know how long those first few months can go. <Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick…> Now, the days soar by and I’m grateful the obsession is gone.
But sometimes I think I miss alcohol. Booze is a tricky bastard. Thankfully, through connection and knowledge, I remember quickly that it’s not vodka I miss. I crave only the dopamine hit ethanol delivers in under 15 minutes. That manufactured, and deftly marketed, quick fix to stress or anxiety or boredom or anger or any other uncomfortable feeling. Today, I know that booze is a shortcut. A dangerous lie.
Now…this is the point when many jump in (barely suppressing an eye roll) and say, “But I don’t drink when I’m sad” or “I don’t drink every day” or “I’d never drink in the morning” or “DUIs are for suckers who get caught.” (The list is long. I know. I used half of it.) So, you don’t drink to take the edge off. I believe you.
The kicker is that alcohol lies in the other direction. It becomes the way to celebrate and unwind. Can you imagine not earning your drinks? How ‘bout:
You finished that amazing workout and burned a massive number of calories. Time for wine o’clock! You earned it.
You landed that huge project, so…SPONTANEOUS MARGARITAS with the team! You earned it.
Here’s a big one: Can you imagine that all-inclusive tropical vacation without drinks at the swim-up bar? No?
Same issue…different direction. And neither leads to anything 100% real.
It’s not booze that makes the vacation fun. It’s not what makes the holidays bright. It’s not necessary to liven up a concert or a girls’ night out. It’s not required to foster friendships or lasting bonds. In fact, you can be certain that it’s only getting in the way of genuine connection.
Yeah…yeah…I sound uber preachy. Most days, I check this behavior and chalk it up to the passing frustration that my go-to coping skill is a thing of the past. But that’s just the thing. Drinking alcohol – first to fit in and celebrate, then to relax, deal, numb – became a learned behavior. And TV, mommy wine culture, and every Insta post of a shimmering glass of cabernet against a blurred Christmas tree perpetuates the idea that booze must be a celebratory part of life. That’s when the trouble starts. It sure did for me, and I lost myself, slowly but surely.
For so many, alcohol becomes the only way to be. It’s the first-line transition from a hectic workday to sitting on the couch with a beloved pet. It’s the go-to protocol to ease social anxiety. It’s the saving grace for moms who count the minutes until bedtime when they can put their little ones down. The house is finally quiet, and although these young mothers know they need to sleep, they stay up (way too late) drinking wine and watching Grey’s Anatomy…just to feel normal for a bit.
I lived so many of these moments. In full transparency, many of them felt wonderful. There were the glasses of wine I drank while snuggling with my goofy Boxer dog on “his” soft, yellow couch. I was newly single and full of hope. Or that time when my new boyfriend and I went to a New England water park; we had a hilarious afternoon of day-drinking Coronas and racing each other on the waterslides. Or when we went to Rome on a whim, got caught in the rain, and found shelter under the canopy of an outdoor patio. We kissed, drank Italian wine, and listened to the rainfall for hours. The day he proposed in the backyard of our new home. Drinks at the fancy new restaurant in town. Our wedding day? Champagne while my hairdresser did my hair and makeup. New baby on the way? Waited it out 9 months, and then went for my first glorious beer in a while. Second baby? Same 9-month waiting period…but strangely irritating this time. Stressful new job in Boston with two boys under 3 while my husband’s business took off? Box of wine purchased by 4 PM. Boxes are better because the recycling is easier to hide…and so is the fact that I drank four glasses last night, instead of three, which is no longer doing the trick. Meeting new friends in the neighborhood for Halloween? Bring the kids’ wagon filled with booze to ease social anxiety and the fear the other parents will think I’m stupid. Feeling like the Default Parent but had no model for healthy communication? Drink some wine for liquid courage to say what’s on my mind (that went well). Promise to drink only on weekends or special occasions? Sure, I’ll cut back. Until that doesn’t stick. To find that I’m scrambling for the next drink to kill the noise, stress, and anxiety I feel. When did my fuse shorten? Did I just yell at my 6-year-old for accidentally spilling water on the floor? Wait…what is COVID? Things are shutting down!? The schools are closing!? Will I be able to buy the small bottles of vodka that I’ve been hiding to deal with All This STRESS?!?!
...<breathe in, breathe out>…
Alcohol is a lying mother fucker that will eventually take your spirit, mind, and body. In that order. The trajectory happens faster for some than others, especially if you win the genetic lottery that predisposes you to addiction. (She raises her hand.)
The beautiful thing about sobriety is that you can have it all back. All of it…and more. Sobriety gives back everything alcohol steals but in reverse order. Ditching vodka gave the Body back first. Organs healed, bloating vanished, vitamins replenished, skin glowed, hair and nails grew back. Then the Mind turned on. Right before I stopped drinking, it was operating at a low hum. Brain fog. After a month without booze, I felt (ironically) like I was on NZT. My work got more productive. Dare I say, I started to enjoy the job. I could hold things in my mind longer. My sons’ schedules seemed less daunting. My fuse grew back; I was more patient and present. Dealing with…well, fuck, just Life…felt manageable. Beautiful even. And that’s when Spirit started to grow. It was a warm tangible hum in my chest that allowed me to be there when my dad was dying. Actually be there. I didn’t numb one painful second of his dying, and death, with alcohol. I held his hand, and my chest hurt, but I knew I was honoring him, and will continue genuinely to feel the ups and downs of his being gone. I love you, Dad.
Here’s the dirty little secret Budweiser, Stoli, Jameson, and all the other assholes don’t want you to know: Alcohol numbs the bad…and the good. It stole from me years’ worth of tiny moments I didn’t know were happening all around me. My husband turning on the tea kettle before the chaos of the day started. My older son hugging his little brother in the next room for no reason. My youngest pronouncing “singular” like “sing-GLEE-err”. I knew stuff like that was sweet and meant for the memory bank. But I didn’t know how much they could fill me up. Today, these moments bring me to my knees with gratitude. Fine – I’ll say it: HASHTAG BLESSED. Because I am. Because I got off the hamster wheel shitstorm that is Gray Area Drinking. Look it up. Addiction isn’t binary. It’s not “people who can drink” vs. “homeless people living under a bridge drinking mouthwash”. It’s a scary-wide spectrum. And both nature and nurture dictate your spot on it.
...<breathe>…
I’m stepping off the soapbox now. I realize many stopped reading this eight paragraphs ago. Fair enough. But to those still reading, some may be thinking, “Good for you, lady. It’s not my journey, but well done.” They’re telling the truth and I appreciate your reading my thoughts.
Still, others may read this and find all the differences, and not see the similarities. I get that. I really get that. One thing I do want to make crystal clear is that my choice not to drink does not mean I’m judging your choice to drink. That’s the God’s truth.
But, if you’re anything like I was almost 4 years ago, you’re scared. So, I’d like to offer one thing I wish I knew and believed back then: You are not alone. But you can’t do this alone.
“The opposite of addiction is not sobriety, it’s Connection.” ~Johann Hari
I tried to get sober alone many times over two years (longer if I’m honest). But this time, I knew I had to do something different. So, I connected. I found a group called Women for Sobriety (WFS) and started pandemic Zooming with them every Wednesday. I found online support groups and I’m a member of three of them. One has 8,500 members; the other has 11,500; the last one has 6,500 members. Every single one of these individuals is struggling, succeeding, failing, coming back, growing, learning, helping, sharing, and supporting. Given those numbers, I’m guessing at least one person reading this is struggling, just like I did, to figure out how to get yourself back.
You’re in there, sweetheart. And you’re braver than you think.
Alcohol lied to me. But today, I know better. It wasn’t the wine that made my Boxer snuggle time so special. It was the hope and potential for new love and a family someday. It wasn’t the Corona, champagne, or Italian wine that made those days with my man unforgettable. It was that I found the real love I was looking for in his laugh. Together, we made the family I dreamed of. Alcohol was taking it away, and I was letting it. I didn’t hit that stereotypical rock bottom, but that’s not the issue. Not even a little bit. I realized I had to ask the real question, “Is alcohol bringing anything of value into my life?” The answer was a resounding No. It never did.
Because alcohol is a gaslighting mother fucker.
