Drinking Won’t Make This Go Away

I face-planted hard during the last weekend of August - in the alcohol consumption sense, not in the physical planting of my face into the ground sense. Although if I’m being honest, the latter would probably have been less painful.

I think the universe was probably trying to get my attention. As is the story with lots of people I have spoken to, or read about, or listened to, the pandemic had not been kind to my liver. I have never been a big drinker - certainly not an “every day drinker.” Wine is my drink of choice. Savvy B to be specific. Savvy B from New Zealand to be even more specific. I also like a citrusy IPA on occasion. I drank socially, and to celebrate, but had never been the type of drinker to slug back after a tough day. Until I was.

Day after day, week after week, month after month, and now year after year, the pandemic has rambled on. And day after day, week after week, month after month, and now year after year, I began running out of healthy coping skills. So I turned to alcohol. This is not to say that I was getting wasted on the regular. I was not. But most days passed by with at least one alcoholic beverage. I started to feel uncomfortable with my choices. Not uncomfortable enough to do something about it, of course, but uncomfortable nonetheless.

Enter my old friend, the universe, and her sneaky little lessons. She whispered her knowing ways into my ear, while I was belly up to a bar during date night with hubs, and suggested I get trashed. Like, “Mad Dog 20/20 in a field full of high school kids after the junior prom” trashed. And so I did. I proceeded to unleash the assholiest behavior the world has ever seen. When I woke up the next morning, another message was waiting for me. This time she whispered, “My dear girl, you have not been treating yourself kindly. Today you start doing better.” And so I began.

For 56 days, I didn’t drink a single drop of alcohol. I drank tons of water and herbal tea. I started reading more and incorporating rest into my days. I cooked and ate healthy, nourishing food. I took walks, and runs, and bike rides. I talked, at length, about my relationship with alcohol with anyone who would listen - especially to my therapist. I discovered during this time that using alcohol to numb the emotions you don’t want to feel can also numb the emotions you do want to feel. Mind blown.

When I decided I was ready to try drinking again, I did. But only after I emotionally inventoried my body to check in about how I was feeling. I was feeling relaxed. And grateful. And loving. Hubs and I had just taken Luke to a Halloween event. I was feeling proud of myself for proving that my body didn’t need alcohol to get by. But I was also starting to feel like if I kept my streak going for much longer, I was setting myself up for significant disappointment when I finally chose to imbibe. (Does that make sense to anyone else? I tend to be really, really hard on myself, and was trying to avoid some future self-loathing. Anyway, I digress. Future blog post. Keep going.) I ordered a beer and drank about 2/3 of it. Since that day, I have drunk a few more times. Nothing crazy. A drink or two. With the exception of this weekend, every drink I consumed has been while in a positive emotional place.

Here is how this weekend felt different. I wrote yesterday about rehoming my dog, Murphy. I was feeling really, really bummed out last night. The kind of bummed out where you can’t tell exactly what you’re feeling because it’s all swirling in varying wind patterns inside your brain. The kind of bummed where you can’t identify a single thing that might settle your mood. Naturally, I reverted to an old coping strategy.

I had some Savvy B in the house, left over from our anniversary dinner on Friday. I poured myself a glass, and then another, and ate dinner before heading to bed to watch Netflix. In almost no time at all, the wind in my brain increased intensity. From two glasses! My old habit of drinking to numb the pain was no longer an option. Not only was it not an option, IT MADE THINGS SO MUCH WORSE.

Here are my takeaways. One) I need to be better at listening to myself. Glennon Doyle refers to this as “the knowing.” It’s a voice from deep inside your body that tries to guide you. Sometimes the voice warns you away from making poor choices. Sometimes the voice encourages you to try something new, even though it feels scary. And sometimes the voice tells you to nap or eat something before you decide on something crazy and ruin your life. My knowing had been telling me for months upon months that it was time to examine my relationship with alcohol. When I ignored it, she had to call in the reinforcements. Two) I need to find some new coping strategies.

Whoa, right?

Do I think I have a drinking problem? No. I think I *had* a drinking habit. Why do I think that? Abstaining wasn’t difficult for me. I didn’t crave alcohol at all. I replaced my nightly wine with mugs of Lemon Zinger and that became my new ritual.

They say it takes 21 days to create a new habit. Or 30. Or some period of time I can’t recall at the moment. I think maybe it can work in the opposite direction. Maybe it takes 21, or 30, or 56, or whatever, to break a habit. And break a habit, I did.

Should I maybe stop drinking alcohol altogether? Maybe. But maybe so should everyone else, too, since it’s really not that good for us. Will I stop drinking altogether? Maybe. But I don’t need to decide today…