I cannot put my finger on the moment when I slipped into a dysfunctional relationship with alcohol. It crept up on me during my forties at a time in my life which was stable and seemingly comfortable and happy. With hindsight, I think I was bored and feeling anxious about the future. Past unresolved traumas chose this quiet time to start clamouring for my attention. I was living with my husband, our two teenage children and my father. We had a lifestyle into which regular, but not heavy, alcohol consumption was well integrated. Every dinner was a family get together, a moment to talk and to share. I never drank alcohol searching for oblivion. I set parameters for my drinking and generally stayed within them. The sweet spot for me was the pre-dinner drink – half a bottle of wine or a couple of gin and tonics – just that little bit fuzzy round the edges. Speed drink the first glass, luxuriate in the second, all safe in the knowledge that the imminent arrival of dinner would bring a return to sobriety. In fairness, I believe this pattern of behaviour is reflected in the homes of hundreds of ordinary women who do not think they are alcoholics. What changed over time was how my relationship with alcohol manifested itself when I was NOT drinking.
The best way to explain what I mean is to set out a typical 24 hours. Let’s start at noon – it’s lunchtime and I am thinking what tasks must be completed in the afternoon for me to be ready for G&T O’clock at 5pm. Crack on with the tasks. All the while indulging in fantasies about sitting down with my drink and how fabulous it is going be. Check the fridge, make sure there is ice and tonic. Do we have limes? Do I need to go to the shops for supplies? 5pm arrives, G&T arrives. This is my prize, my reward for getting from one end of the day to the other. This is how my value is celebrated and how my family shows their love and appreciation of me. Special time, we are all together in the sitting room, we chat, we watch a quiz. It does not escape my now-sober gaze that at this moment of great intimacy with the people I love, I was seeking NOT to feel fully present. 6pm and dinner is served and my capacities are largely restored. 7pm and the resentment starts to kick in. I just want to sit on the sofa and watch the TV and I get away with it for an hour perhaps. But there are chores to be done and at 8pm steeped in bitterness I drag myself back to duties. What needs to be prepared for tomorrow? Do I need to do a load of laundry? I do not do these things with good grace even as I know that it is a fair distribution of labour within our family dynamic. 9pm, kids and father are dispatched to bed and this is special couple time but I’m not feeling very special stewing in my soup of self-pity and post-booze come down. 10pm and off to bed, we could have sex – that would be nice – but oh the effort and quite frankly I’m not feeling so great, bit of a headache, mouth like something dead – not the sort of mouth I’d want to be kissing – certainly summoning up the energy for anything exotic … it’s just not happening. 11pm fall into the sleep of the dead. This isn’t a restorative sort of sleep. This is a sleep where the whole focus of the body is on eliminating toxins. With a depressing inevitability elimination of toxins means pissing them out and the bladder alarms a 2am wake up call. 2am to 4am are the long hours of self-flagellation, resolutions and bargaining. I won’t have a drink tomorrow, I’ll only have one glass tomorrow, I’ll alternate water with wine tomorrow. 4am brings a surrender and at last the body and mind can get a bit of peace. Wake up at 9am feeling a bit pants all round - sluggish, hungry and smelly. Try and achieve a few things without much enthusiasm, perhaps exercise a bit of self-care – maybe a shower, maybe something to eat. Get ready for the kids coming home for lunch. REPEAT. REPEAT.
What I really want to communicate here is that although my volumes of alcohol were not significantly increasing, the amount of time, energy and headspace being taken up by alcohol was becoming overwhelming. And I have not even mentioned the mental struggle and resentments that would come up if there was a day when I was prevented from my evening drink for any reason. There were high days and holidays too when more booze was consumed and over a longer period. Alcohol was not controlling me but it was dominating me.
I had an underlying feeling that it was not OK and something was going to have to change. But the prospect of the sort of change necessary was not very palatable and I was pushing those thoughts away. Then, when I was 48 years of age, my father had a minor stroke which had quite a lot of practical ramifications. Whilst I was trying to deal with the stress of this family drama, I made a sudden decision to quit drinking entirely. At an inappropriate moment when I was absolutely exhausted my father offered me a drink and something just snapped. At that moment, a voice as clear as a bell rang out in my head and said, “NO I do NOT want a FUCKING glass of wine and I am NEVER going to drink again.” There was not room in my brain to deal with my responsibilities and continue the endless mental dialogue I was having with alcohol. The voice was so clear there was absolutely no doubt that a fundamental truth had been spoken. If we were in a traditional meeting, this is the time when people might leap to their feet and say PRAISE BE for the Higher Power. But it was not a higher power. It was just that my brain was sufficiently quiet for my inner voice of good sense and self-preservation to make itself clearly heard. So often it is ignored or muffled by the other bullshit that rattles around in there. I have not touched a drop of alcohol since nor has there been any signification temptation. The time since that day has not been easy. My father’s condition needed to be stabilised and then a global pandemic came and knocked our lifestyle sideways. The only alcohol related thought that has passed through my mind is … “just imagine how much worse this would be if I was still drinking.” I am so utterly relieved at not having to live with the mental torment of trying to control my drinking. I have one simple rule – I never drink – and for me one simple rule is much easier to stick to than a whole bunch of moderation tactics.
So, I am sober. I have been dry for more than two years and it has not been a struggle. Why have I come to AA now? There is a painful realisation that practical sobriety, whilst a wonderful thing, is vastly different from emotional sobriety and true recovery. I have been living a period of what can only be described as smug sobriety. I have been sitting in my superiority pitying my friends who are still drinking. I have been feeling physically revitalised but I have not put that energy to purposeful use. I have still been miserable, controlling, and self-indulgent. I have been living in fantasies about the future and failing to appreciate what I have in the moment. I have been neglecting my current needs and those of the people I love in favour of the grass is greener jealousies. I have frittered away money buying lottery tickets and imagining how altruistically I will distribute the winnings. I have wasted time browsing million-pound properties that I imagine will give me the perfect life. I have been wishing my children’s lives on fast forward so that the day I am free of responsibilities will come sooner. I am so far from recovered it is shameful. I have a wonderful life but I have been squandering my blessings in a way that is breath-taking.
18 months into sobriety, my world came crashing down when I discovered that my husband had been acting out on his own old addictions. I thought I could depend upon the honesty in my relationship. It was a very harsh wakeup call and I was extremely distressed. The wonder of the internet brought me to a traditional Anon fellowship, UK based but with meetings on zoom. I have nothing negative to say about the welcome and support I received in that fellowship. It was absolutely necessary at that moment. I needed the specialist experience, strength and hope that was available to me there. What I learnt during the three months I went to those meetings was that my husband’s behaviour was not at the core of the problem, it was my own negative behaviour patterns that needed work. My reaction to discovery had been extreme and programmed by previous experiences, rather than being a reasonable response to what had actually happened. I decided that I wanted to heal and I was readying myself to find a sponsor and work the steps. But I realised it would be impossible for me to participate with any authenticity where there was such a heavy emphasis on God. I asked the internet the question “can you do 12 steps without God?” and it brought me to a huge spreadsheet of non-believer meetings. So here I am, two years sober and barely started, but brimming with optimism that a truly sober life is possible with the love and support of a likeminded fellowship.
Rose H