I’ve written this book to tell the story of how I transformed myself from a miserable, boozy housewife into a self-respecting sober lady. What I’ve done is lay out in minute detail what I went through in the months leading up to my big decision to quit booze, and what transpired in the months following. I’ve provided an intimate look at what was going on in my mind; exactly how twisted my thinking was, how trapped and desperate I felt, how low I sank, how I made the decision to quit and, most importantly, what happened from that moment on. The personal revelations, the online community, all of it was unexpected and utterly fascinating.
I was one of those heavy drinkers where from the outside I didn’t appear to be suffering. There were no clichéd signs that my drinking was a problem. This story doesn’t contain wild drunken exploits or shock-horror tales of crazy debauchery. The police don’t feature at all, there’s no falling over in public, no waking up in jail cells or hospital beds. There are no crashed cars, broken glass, blacking out, pants wetting, fist fighting or drunken sex. The most I offer in terms of outward drinking drama is a few instances of vomiting, some embarrassing slurring and a bit of inappropriate loudness. I think most of my friends and family would admit that the biggest drama they experienced from me was when I announced I had a drinking problem and was giving up. And even to this day I’m sure there are a few people around me who are a little bemused that I’ve stopped drinking.
I can’t blame them for that. I was the classic high-functioning boozer. Outwardly running a successful life but in truth managing a very dysfunctional, heavy, steady wine-drinking habit. For all intents and purposes I was an ordinary, hardworking housewife and mother, yet I was completely addicted to wine and on most nights was habitually filling myself up with far too much of the stuff. But make no mistake: while things might not have appeared outrageous from the outside, on the inside it was drama central.
My story is one of inner turmoil, a sick, twisted obsession, lonely angst, utter powerlessness and guilt—terrible guilt that gripped me, tormented me, and ultimately saved me.
What I went through in the lead-up to September 6, 2011, and what has transpired since that day, from my perspective, has been about as monumentally, earth-shatteringly intense as you can get. Drinking wine steadily and heavily for most of my adult life had slowly stripped me of my self-respect and trapped me in a deep, desperate misery.
This is what my story is about—my inner shit-storm as I came to grips with an alcohol addiction and then worked to turn my life around.
I had no idea what I was about to put myself through when I decided to stop drinking. I know now from having read numerous other stories through the blogging world that what I’ve been through since getting sober is entirely typical, but I had no clue at the outset. Getting sober took me through an entirely unexpected sequence of events, endless astounding revelations, surprising feelings and fascinating insights. I won’t gild the lily—at times, especially early on, it was bloody tricky and rough, but there have also been truly wonderful and amazing phases. And now from my solidly sober position I can see that, inch by inch, through grit and tears, as I learned to live without wine I was lifting myself up.
From where I sit now (and I can hardly believe I’m going to say this considering where I’ve come from) I can tell you it’s not the end of the world to live alcohol-free. It’s honestly not. I don’t touch alcohol ever anymore and it’s totally and utterly fine. That’s the simple truth. Of course, why and how I stopped drinking is incredibly complex, as it is for all of us ex-boozers, and it’s taken hard work for me to get to this point, but that simple truth is what I sit with today: I don’t have any alcohol in my life and it’s totally fine.
It’s better than fine, actually, it’s fantastic.
Since I took the alcohol away on the 6th of September 2011, slowly but surely every aspect of my life has gotten better. This really is super-cool, especially given that things didn’t appear particularly bad from the outside when I was boozing. Only after I put down the wineglass did I start to realise what a big impact my habitual drinking was having on all corners of my life. What emerged for me after I got sober was totally unexpected.
It’s a fact: taking alcohol away has improved me. Now, almost three years after my last drink, I’m aware of so many improvements to my life. I sleep better, I eat better, I look better, I perform daily tasks better, my personal relationships are deeper and more authentic, including (probably most importantly) my relationship with myself. I respect myself now and trust myself. I’m not saying everything in my life is perfect all the time; that would be stupid, and of course it’s not. But the majority of the time I feel calm, comfortable and in control. This is in such marked contrast with the sloppy behaviour, inner turmoil and angst I used to live with when I was boozing, not to mention the guilt and regret. In many ways I have simplified my life immensely by deciding to live without alcohol and even though that decision has taken me on a crazy rollercoaster ride, it’s been so worth it.
I’m not unique in experiencing this sober transformation. Again, through following numerous other sobriety stories through the blogging world, I can see that feeling much better about yourself after getting sober is typical. I regularly witness as others dig deep, remove alcohol, get sober and experience uplifting transformations. It’s really fun to watch and cheer on from the sidelines. And it always happens: if we stick at it and don’t touch alcohol, the positive transformation comes. It always does. It takes grit and determination but eventually we reach solid sober ground and, trust me, it’s a mighty fine place to be.
I don’t regret all the boozing, lushing-out and overindulging that I’ve done throughout the years. To sit and regret strikes me as a huge waste of time (and I’ve been fortunate that my drinking never led to devastating consequences). If I hadn’t done all the boozing that I have, I wouldn’t have been able to experience the amazing uplift that being sober has given me. In a twisted way, I’m thankful for the boozing because it has given me the rich gift of sobriety.
It’s also led me to this place in my life where I get to write and communicate daily with a wonderful, wise community of like-minded people. This is such an unexpected joy in my life. I had no idea that starting a blog would lead me into a place of such warmth and support. As I spell out in this book, I thought when I decided to start blogging as a way to keep myself honest that I was writing a private diary that would be tucked away in a corner of the internet, never seen by anyone. That people started reading and responding to me was so cool! The connections made through comments or emails feel real and strong and true, because they are real and strong and true. They might be dotted around the world, tucked away behind their computers, but the people who participate in the online sober community are real people. And the ones I hear from are unfailingly lovely; never judgemental, always supportive, always kind. They are also brave, determined and honest. It is truly amazing what goes on in the sober blogosphere.
I think finding support with not-drinking through the internet is the newest, most modern form of recovery, and it’s growing daily. New blogs and websites dedicated to sobriety are popping up every day. Internet recovery is all the rage, and what’s not to love about it? It’s safe, it’s kind, it’s wise, it’s warm, it’s real. From the safety of your own home, you can reach out and connect openly and honestly with others in a similar position—worrying about and facing up to alcohol problems. Anyone can join in. You can read other blogs and comment, you can start your own blog and share your journey, you can use your real name or a fake one, or you can just lurk (read privately and never comment). It doesn’t matter how you choose to participate in online recovery, so long as you know you are welcome.
I set out to get sober alone, and perhaps that was foolish—I’ll never know, because I didn’t stay alone for long. Support came to me through my blog fairly early in the process. Boy, was that exciting! I grasped that support with both hands, lapped it up, and fed it back at every opportunity. I took and I gave. People propped me up, I propped other people up. It may be (mostly) faceless and virtual but it is real. It is tangible and real and powerful and good and it has got me to this place of solid sobriety.
That’s where I am now, firmly grounded in my new sober lifestyle. I don’t live in fear and misery. I don’t walk around worrying that in a weak moment I might decide to have ‘just one’ and suddenly find myself falling back down into a boozy hell-hole. I know I can never have ‘just one’ and, frankly, I don’t want ‘just one’ anyway. Even if I were told today that I could suddenly, magically, be a moderate drinker again, I wouldn’t pick up alcohol. If I were told today I have an incurable illness and only six months to live, I wouldn’t pick up alcohol. Why would I bother bringing alcohol into the picture again after having done all this hard work in order to experience complete freedom from it? I don’t want alcohol in my life; don’t want it, don’t need it, don’t miss it. I don’t think it has anything to offer me that I don’t already have. I have fun, I have laughter, I have sadness, I have joy. I have real, authentic actions and reactions and that . . . that is bloody awesome. I am truly free from my alcohol addiction.
One of the best things for me in getting sober has been realising I can hold on to the parts of my personality I thought drinking was vital for—my sociability and my desire to be upbeat and have fun. Not drinking alcohol doesn’t make me a geek. It doesn’t make me boring. It doesn’t mean I’m a loser. Not drinking alcohol doesn’t mean I can’t go to parties and dance all night or partake of long, lush lunches. It doesn’t mean I can’t talk crap with friends into the wee small hours or dance around my kitchen to cheesy pop tunes. It doesn’t mean anything other than I don’t drink alcohol.
I choose to not let the fact that I don’t drink alcohol change the way I move and interact in the world. By and large I do everything the same as I did before, except I do it without drinking a brain-bending liquid. Okay—sometimes I might leave a party earlier than I would have before, or not go at all if it’s an event I’m not particularly attached to. But for the most part I move and interact in the world much the same as I did before September 6th, 2011, except for the glorious little secret I have tucked away of how fundamentally improved I feel. It really is a big turnaround for me to be at this place after having been tightly locked in a habitual drinking habit.
I don’t think my high-functioning boozing story is uncommon. I believe there are many thousands of people like me who are doing well in their outward life but in truth are regularly sinking far too much piss and always feeling guilty about it. Constantly through my online interactions and in my own circle of life, I hear from people who secretly worry about their own drinking. No doubt I’m hearing this because I’m openly sober and honest about why (‘I don’t drink because I can’t control it’ is my oft-repeated line), but my anecdotal evidence is matching up with the official line being touted. A new report called Women and Alcohol in Aotearoa/New Zealand confirms we’re experiencing a significant shift towards heavier alcohol use among women and a rise in alcohol’s harmful effects. The list of harmful effects isn’t pretty: ‘Alcohol-related harms for women include financial vulnerability, diminished physical and mental health, an increase in the severity and prevalence of violence directed at them, unplanned pregnancies and compromised parenting, family breakdown and erosion of cultural values and wellbeing.’
That’s a short list but, holy shitballs, look at it again and read it slowly. It’s actually a ginormous fireball of harmful effects. And so much of it I can relate to. Financial vulnerability? Can’t believe what I used to spend on wine each week. Diminished physical health? Yep, and it only would have gotten worse if I’d kept guzzling. Compromised parenting? I’m sure there must have been a lot of that—hard to give your best at 7 p.m. when you’re blurry with wine, or at 7 a.m. when your head is throbbing. Erosion of wellbeing? Oh yeah, I had that in spades. That term actually makes me feel like crying. That’s the clincher right there. Towards the end of my boozing, when I was at my lowest ebb, my state of mind was shit. My wellbeing was well and truly eroded. That’s what was killing me.
My steady, heavy boozing over years and years had slowly chipped away at my sense of wellbeing. One drink at a time I was shafting myself. I had no idea that’s what I was doing. I thought drinking was cool and fun! I couldn’t see what a negative impact it was having on me. It happened so gradually it was impossible to step back from the situation and see it for what it was. Only now that I’ve taken the alcohol away and experienced the incredible improvement to my life can I clearly see.
Today my sense of wellbeing is sky high. It’s like the little fire inside me that I’ve been dulling for years with wine is finally being allowed to burn bright.
So why are we boozing so crazily? Why do so many of us rely on ‘mum’s juice’ to get us through the days, itching for ‘wine o’clock’ to roll around so we can reach for our beloved liquid cope-all? The Women and Alcohol report offers a possible explanation: ‘Women today balance the stresses of multiple roles, including family and childcare responsibilities, paid employment, and community and voluntary activities.’ The pressures on men are just as great. But is this why I drank? Was I the classic example of the stressed-out, multitasking, high-achieving woman running herself ragged to try and do it all?
Here’s another possible explanation for me from the report: ‘Some young women perceive drinking as a sign and result of gender equality, as well as a way of restricting traditional constructions of femininity.’ Was this part of the motivation for me when I started drinking at fifteen? Did I want to feel strong and equal? I always did like to prove my independence. Was drinking a way for me to feel powerful? If so, then how deluded I was.
Alcohol doesn’t make you powerful. It diminishes your power. Particularly in situations where every inch of power a woman has, she needs. Consider these devastating lines from the report: ‘Women who are sexually assaulted while affected by alcohol tend to blame themselves more, drink more and have more alcohol-related problems after the assault’ and ‘If the woman was drinking at the time of the assault, it can lead to guilt or self-blame, inhibit access to justice and increase her potential for alcohol abuse.’ Diminished power indeed.
I doubt I’ll ever know exactly why I became a hopeless boozer. There were so many contributing factors: my personality, my desire to keep things fun, wanting to appear ‘cool’ and strong, my dislike of negative emotions, my physical constitution, my fondness for inebriation, my inability to moderate, life events, environmental factors, this, that, the other. Whatever the reason (or reasons), it actually doesn’t matter. The fact is, I am a hopeless boozer, and what matters is that I take full personal responsibility for that. It had to come from me.
If someone had tried to talk to me about my drinking being a problem before I’d owned up to it myself, I would have told them to go jump in the lake. No one could have forced me to stop; I had to dig deep and be brutally honest with myself in order to drive change.
I drove that change by taking 100 per cent personal responsibility for my drinking problem. I didn’t look to blame anyone else, I didn’t look to change anyone else. It was all about me. And because I took full responsibility and owned my truth, I was able to own the decision to remove alcohol from my life. Just as I take 100 per cent responsibility for my drinking problem, I take 100 per cent responsibility for my sobriety.
Here’s the brutal truth: I am an alcoholic. I’m one of the many millions of people around the world who cannot control the drug of alcohol. It’s a bit of an unfair fact about life but there you have it, some people can control alcohol and some people can’t. I can’t, and so I don’t touch it. That’s just the way it is. For those of us who cannot control it, there is no option but to just take it away. Just stop drinking alcohol and accept that you can never drink it again.
Well . . . I suppose there are other options. Us hopeless boozers could keep the alcohol in our lives and spend years angsting about why we can’t drink normally, feeling guilty about hardly ever being able to rein ourselves in, trying a variety of techniques to control booze (limiting drinks per session, abstaining for periods, fixed days off, etc.), worrying, feeling like shit, not respecting ourselves and just thinking, thinking, thinking about alcohol all the time.
Or another option could be that we decide to just live as boozers and booze, booze, booze until the day we die. That choice is also available.
But for those of us who are sick of the boozing, and sick of the angsting and the guilt, we just have to be honest, take the drink away and learn to live without it. I did it, and thousands of others have, too.
I used to look at sober people and want to ask: ‘What’s it like? What’s it like not drinking alcohol ever?’ And now I can see how that is such a difficult question to answer. On the one hand, removing booze is monumental, a hugely life-changing, revelatory move to make. On the other hand it’s just another decision made, change implemented, choice taken. I’m oversimplifying sobriety massively here but, at its most basic level, this is the truth.
I think if we make a decision to do something like remove alcohol from our lives, if we work really hard to follow through with that decision, gritting our teeth through the excruciating challenges, slogging away sluggishly through the lows, then adjusting and coping and managing to do it, over time we start to realise we have the power to direct our own lives (and that we’ve been lied to all these years and alcohol is not a necessary ingredient for a fun, full life).
And as long as we keep up with the not-drinking, slowly but surely we will experience an uplift. It is guaranteed.
Whatever your level of addiction, or the extent of your dependence, or your chosen path in attempting to live sober, know this—we can live without it. Regardless of what the liquor industry wants us to believe, we can live without alcohol—it is not a vital part of life, it is not the golden ticket to fun, it is not your friend. If you are sick of the boozing and sick of the guilt, know that it is entirely possible to take alcohol away and learn to live without it. If I can do it—me being completely convinced that booze was a necessary part of life—anyone can. Get whatever help you need. Find your community. Do whatever you need to do, but get rid of it. We can live without it.
I’m not ashamed of my drinking problem. Alcohol is addictive, everyone knows that. I’m not weak or a bad person because I got addicted to something that is addictive. I’m not going to hide my addiction and, more importantly, I’m not going to hide my recovery. If I can show what it was like for me learning how to live without alcohol, hopefully more people will see what the road is like: rocky at first, but beautifully smooth after a while. If one person stuck in a boozy nightmare instigates their own amazing transformation because of what I’m sharing, I’ll be a very happy camper.
So here it is, here’s my story. Here’s what I went through as my drinking escalated to the point where I had to stop, and the amazing ride I’ve been on since that point of change. Step inside my mind, strap in and prepare for a bumpy ride, because it did get very bumpy . . .