#soberminded

Day 17. It feels like forever since I’ve had a glass of wine, and at the same time, it feels like I just quit yesterday. It’s weird, there’s a small window of every day when I want it so bad. I have this internal dialogue with myself going back and forth about why I shouldn’t drink each day. I have to remind myself of what happens after “a glass of wine”. 

I miss it when I get dinner started mainly. I’m usually alone prepping and cooking, which is totally fine, I love it. But that’s when I’d also love my wine. It’s my decompression time, a zone where I can create a lovely meal and actively do something nurturing for my family. And having wine somehow made me feel like I was (and I know this sounds stupid) cultured, or mature, or just a normal adult cooking in her kitchen and enjoying a beautiful glass of wine. 

Trouble is, for me, that glass would turn to two glasses, then three... then I wouldn’t be hungry anymore. I’d want to keep drinking instead. I’d watch my family eat and feel satisfied that they enjoyed my creation. But I wouldn’t eat it. After they were done, I’d finish the bottle. Then open another. I may eat later, or just snack on crappy chips instead. This happened all the time. Never could I simply enjoy a glass or even two of wine, with dinner. Nope. I had to drink the entire bottle, and then some, in lieu of dinner.

So that’s what I remind myself everyday when I crave it. I ask myself if I really want to go down that rabbit hole of drinking the bottle, maybe more, then waking up at 3 am full of anxiety and regret (along with a headache, dry mouth, and queasy tummy), and having to start all over again with Day 1. 

No. I absolutely do NOT want to go down that rabbit hole. I do not. 

I’m hoping that over time, that craving hour will subside, no longer exist. Right now it feels scary and doubtful that I’ll never drink again. So I tell myself, at LEAST make it through January and reassess. At the very least. But I’m shooting for 100 days.... which I do hope that by that time, I will be at a point where I can see how good it is without wine at all, and not want to ever invite it back in. 

I’m not a moderator. I can’t imagine ever just drinking one glass of anything. I just don’t see the point, to be honest. 

36 years.

It was 36 years ago I started drinking. I remember it quite clearly. Although I don’t recall exactly what prompted the action, I do remember the actual drinking part.

In 8th grade I was really tight with a few friends. We hung out most days, all weekends, and talked constantly. On one particular Friday we were at one of their houses and for whatever reason, we dared ourselves to raid her parents’ liquor cabinet. I remember us running to it and falling over each other in excitement and fear as we opened the doors. We looked for the bottles most full so it would be harder to tell anything was missing.

Can you guess what we tried first? 

Gag. Peach Schnapps. And I think a little bit of whiskey. Double gag.

But we liked it! Something about the warmth going down, the tingle in our throat. The lightheadedness it caused. We giggled, OH how we giggled. Lol. 

Her mom would be returning home soon, so we packed up our stuff and walked down to our other friend’s house knowing these parents would be out on the town. We wanted to keep the liquor cabinet raid going, and so we did.

From that point on, stealing and stocking up liquor and beer from our houses became our secret mission. We would save up for parties, weekends, or nights hanging out at the school playground. We had so much fun! The laughter and pee our pants memories are times I’ll never forget. 

I didn’t realize it then, nor do I think I’d care if I had, but that behavior so early on would leave a blueprint on my brain for years to come. To me, to us, drinking made things fun, created laughter and wild memories, and formed bonds that couldn’t be broken. It also gave me courage in social situations, allowed me to speak and move freely in public where otherwise I was so incredibly and painfully shy I could barely breath. Sure, in the safe privacy of homes with my closest friends I could be my silly, goofy self. But at parties or with other kids from school I didn’t know well, it’s like a cat literally had my tongue and I felt oh so self-conscious. 

Alcohol became my crutch for anything social from then on. There was no question of whether or not I would drink, it would simply be a decision of what and how much.

I was thinking of this today as I read “Blackout. Remembering the Things I Drank to Forget” by Sarah Hepola. Much of her story felt so familiar, and I found myself thinking back to how my drinking habit started. I’ve beat myself up many times for not being able to say no to a glass of wine. After promising myself NO MORE at 3 am but at 5 pm twisting the cork off a fresh bottle. Today, thinking, gee I have no early plans tomorrow, it would be a good night to drink. But no. I’m not ready to throw the towel in just yet. It’s only Day 4. Surprisingly, it hasn’t been too hard yet. But I know it’ll get there.

I’m just noticing how easy it is for me to revert to old ways of thinking though. Not only with drinking, but so much else. Today I noticed my anxious brain thinking of 1. Starting a new diet (after years of recovering from disordered eating, dieting and over exercising), 2. Starting a new program for a new career  3. Becoming a yoga instructor (??) and 4. impulsively opening a bottle of wine. 

I tend to be all or nothing. Starting big feats are my old go-to. Intense dieting was my jam. When I calmed those things down, drinking showed up more. 

What’s all that about??  I guess that’s what I’m attempting to find out. Who am I without all the things to take up my mind space? Who am I in this moment? Why must I jump forward and think of things to keep me busy and occupied? Why do I hate on myself for not doing enough, accomplishing enough? Ever?