It finally happened. Or is about to happen. I feel good enough about it at this point to finally draft this post, as a few weeks back I was still hanging on to ‘cautiously optimistic’. I have nearly reached the so-far-unattainable milestone of one month without a bottle of wine entering my house.
To tell this part of my story properly, we need to go back a few months to the start of summer, where I gave up. It was not a conscious decision to take a break from sobriety as much as it was a slow-tripping crawl into “fuck it”. Summer had gotten too hard. My willpower was tapped. I found I could occasionally do that relentlessly sought after moderation nonsense and have a beer or two out with a friend. But almost always, maybe not that night, but most definitely the next, a bottle of wine would appear magically at my house. Any bottles that magically appeared were always completely consumed in secret the same night they were purchased. And most often the same thing would happened the next day, and then I’d find myself a couple days in a row with this pattern, to which I would respond with panic and dump or give away any bottles that remained.
Now don’t get me wrong – fun was had. There were parties and weddings and lovely nights by the fire in which I won the battle of moderation. Or was able to leave the drink there at the party, without more following me home. Often I was able to share a bottle of wine at the lake or out with a friend, instead of drinking one alone in secret. The tricky part of these small wins was they added to the myth that I didn’t have a problem. That I was in control. And I don’t want anyone reading this to feel complicit. This is my own journey, and this summer marks another step in that journey.
A few specific incidents stand out from this summer of submission. At one point I truly gave up and bought an entire box. I drank half the box in not enough days, and then handed it over meekly to someone I knew would accept without questions or judgement. If you’re reading this, you know who you are and I thank you for that kindness. Another night was very bad, and I awoke with the worst fear I can possible describe wondering if my marriage had survived this time. Spoilers: it did, but not without a great deal of pain from both of those in said marriage. That wasn’t quite the end of the story – though it should have been.
What followed was some more attempts. Some wins and some more failures. I was always so amazed at how my resolve in the morning would always be un-done by afternoon, similar to what I described here. I spent many afternoons outside of liquor stores gripping the steering wheel with white knuckles telling myself aloud “you don’t have to go in there”. I almost always went in. Something inside would cave and I’d wander in like a puppet who’s body had been taken over by some evil puppeteer. You can only do that so many times before you truly believe you’re no longer in control. And give in further.
Then, a few weeks ago, I awoke quite hungover and realized I had drank an entire bottle of wine in secret for 7 days in a row. That was astounding to me. It shouldn’t have been, given some of the story I just told, but the math just sort of clicked open a new pathway in my brain. I don’t know how else to describe it. I was astonished. I could suddenly see that I was slowly killing myself this way. That I would likely end up in a centre, or worse, if this continued. It helped that I was feeling physically rotten of course to get through that day and the next without wine. And then I just kept going.
Another thing that helped was a new habit. No one reading this will see it as a win at all, but it has made it easier. I had been free from the burden of cigarettes for almost 5 years when I picked up a pack after having “borrowed” too many from friends and family to any longer be kind. Some drinkers find yoga or meditation or exercise help in their first month, I found my old friend nicotine. But as I said to my frustrated Darling DD, these things are killing me slower than alcohol right now, please give me a month. One of my favourite sobriety writers Catherine Gray said you just have to get through those first 30 days, when discussing a common sugar addiction for post-drinkers. Don’t worry about the rest, just don’t drink for a month. I’m taking her advice to the next level.
And that’s it. I’m hanging on in cautious optimism that I will reach that new milestone in a few days. Some may argue that it’s not truly one month sober with a new (old?) addiction replacing it, or with the glass of wine I shared with friends at some point in the middle of this stretch. But I do. That glass of wine didn’t hit the way it used to. It was dripping in sadness and shame. I hated the way I felt physically and emotionally afterward. And I walked away from the second, politely, and politely turned them down since. That alone, is a milestone worth celebrating.