Week One Reflection

Reflecting on week one has been uplifting, but there’s also a precarious feeling of uncertainty looming, serving as almost a background fodder to my newfound confidence. I’m proud to say that I had two social gatherings over the weekend (Friday and Sunday) where I brought my own mocktails and felt completely comfortable without feeling tempted to just give in and have a glass of wine. I also took a Monday off ahead of time, where in the past a Monday off would have been me calling in sick (or taking a “personal day”) because Sunday Funday got me again. Looking back at the first sober weekend, I had so much FUN laughing and playing cards and socializing completely sober. Realizing this is what it can be like every single time I venture out was such an eye-opening experience for me. The uncertainty, I think, is my mind’s assumption that some friends don’t/won’t want to hang out with me if I’m not going to drink with them. It's easy to assume I’ll just jump right back in come November 1, but (and I know I keep saying this) it feels different this time. Those same friends may be in for a bit of a surprise when they come to find out this isn’t just Sober October this time around. I’m looking forward to making this a more regular thing, where drinking (if I choose to) would be the rare occasion…quite the opposite, historically speaking. If or when that does happen, that will be something for them to reconcile. I won’t let that be my burden to bear. I’m no longer willing to bend my boundaries for the comfort of other people.

I was talking to a close friend about the time and money spent on drinking and it was a little disturbing. Last year when I took this 30-day break from le booze, I went through and tallied up all the Uber, bar/restaurant and liquor store charges for that year from January through September. It really upset me to see how much money I could have SAVED, or that I could’ve purchased a new car a year ago, or this or that, but instead spent it on a bunch of days/nights out, making poor choices, literally risking my life…and more than half of it that I can’t even remember. I hadn’t had the courage to do that yet this year, but I couldn’t imagine it was far off from 2021. (Update: I did it and it was slightly worse than last year…a flash of regret passed through, but this is about moving forward, right? Onward.)

The other element in the way of spending was time spent. When I was drinking several nights a week, I consistently felt like I had zero downtime. That downtime has become something that is precious (and necessary) to me, in order to protect my mental health. Now that I’m heavily leaning toward becoming a non-drinker, and Sober October is in full swing, I feel like I have my evenings back and my weekends actually feel like full weekends, rather than wasted time spent hungover. The idea of not getting home until 10pm on a Tuesday is far less appealing than before, and I feel better about being more selective with my social outings. I’m not doing it just to get out of the house or because I’m bored, I’m doing it because I value those friendships and want to know how my people are doing and what’s going on in their lives. I think rationing out that time helps keep the social anxiety at bay, for the most part, but also makes time spent more special to me.

I am only one week in this time around, and I feel much more calm and at peace than before. Not to mention, my sleep has improved, which means the luggage under my eyes is a hell of a lot less noticeable and I don’t feel so jumpy and irritable at work. More and more, I want to protect that peace and sense of calm, whether that means saying no to fun things during the week or just saying no more often in general. I’m beginning to learn the difference between what serves me and old habits that have served others, in a people-pleasing, put myself last sort of way. I much prefer to do what serves me and will have to just sit in the uncomfortable moments of saying no until that becomes the norm for me.

 Heading into the start of week two, I feel pretty at ease with not drinking, but what I’ve noticed more is that my big feelings aren’t as scary or overwhelming as they were before. Mentally, I have more room to feel those highs and lows without that extreme swing of the pendulum, so to speak. I’m able to feel frustrated in a moment and let it go, rather than let it dictate how my morning will go. If I’m on the verge of tears, it’s because I’m feeling vulnerable enough to tell a friend how much I love them and am able to receive love from friends in kind…not because everything feels so heavy all the time. I don’t want to say it’s sad that this is so new to me, but a part of me wishes the old me had this budding spiritual freedom…so it also feels like a bit of mourning for that old version of me. One day soon, I hope I can look in the mirror and not even see that person anymore, so I can tell her that we made it through.

Here We Go…

Unsure of how to really define what ‘sober curious’ meant to me, I wanted to learn a little about what it’s meant to other people who have gone through the same evolution. A few months ago, I started listening to books on Audible from women who have gotten sober, whether by way of desire to live differently…or sheer necessity. I also started following social media accounts of those that were sober and/or working through their sobriety while healing other parts of themselves. I needed to know it was possible to heal without being pulled back to the escape of alcohol that I’d come to rely on. I wanted to see what a sober life could look like and, even though I know social media is a highlight reel, those highlights were helping me feel more and more comfortable with the idea of becoming a non-drinker.

I saw a comment on a TikTok that said something along the lines of “It can take 3 or 5 or 55 tries, but once you are able to look back on it, it’s incredible to see that you are actually doing it.” My comment on that video was about navigating an upcoming wedding without drinking. For me, those two things have always gone hand in hand. Someone said I could just pretend and order something that looked like a fruity cocktail. While true, it made me a little sad that people have such a hard time accepting that someone wouldn’t want to drink (I am no exception, even though I’m now the one that’s curious). It felt hypocritical to talk about being sober curious while I was sitting there having a glass of wine (or three), but I’m going to give myself grace, knowing that this is not a linear journey. I have a long, dusty ass history of drinking and it’s not an easy thing to move on from. Some days, it’s just too easy to fall back into that comfort zone of meeting a friend for a drink after work. Other days, it’s frustrating when you get that happy hour invite and then no response after you decline. I have gone through myriad emotions in the past few months in trying to dig into why I want this and how I’m going to go through with it. At this point, there’s only one way to find out.

In regards to that wedding, I did drink that weekend, but surprisingly not to the level I’d grown accustomed to back at home. Perhaps it was that I was in a city I’d never been to and staying in a hotel room alone (ladies, you understand). Perhaps it was the memory, or lack thereof, from the bridal shower two months prior where I fell into a rose bush and then had to be hoisted into the car at the end of the night because I could no longer function. Ugh, the shame and embarrassment. I was absolutely certain I did not want to be a mess at any point during this wedding weekend. If anyone was going to be “let’s do shots” level drunk, I’d rather it be the bride and groom. We danced, we laughed, we tried our best to not cry at the excitement of the love we were celebrating…all in all, it was a beautiful weekend and I left feeling grateful to have made it through without any holes in my memory or owed apologies nagging at me. It was definitely a first for me.

When I got home, I decided I was going to do Sober October again this year, since it felt great to have completed it last year. Couple that with buying a new car, and I was feeling the most confident I had in as long as I could remember. I promised myself that this new month, and new car, were going to serve as my fresh start…no more self-sabotage, no more self-doubt, only an abundance of vulnerability and grace and a budding sense of self-worth. The Sober October group I joined online started Monday, October 3rd <insert Mean Girls reference here> so I had one last typical gal’s night on the 1st, which was dinner, two glasses of wine, endless laughter and a 9pm bedtime. It felt good to wake up Sunday morning not cloaked in shame and regret, questioning everything and hating myself. I felt really good…proud even. Here I am, one week in and feeling like this might be easier than last year. More to come…

It Was All a Pregame…

The first time I tasted alcohol I was twelve years old. What is that, sixth grade? I remember being at a friend’s house and after I had fallen asleep on the living room floor, she poured Wild Turkey in my open mouth. I jolted awake to her giggling at my bewildered face. We proceeded to “just try it.” That was the first time I’d ever gotten drunk. It’s also likely the last time I slept with my mouth open, save for being sick (or on an airplane…IYKYK). I thought it was just a typical rebellious kid thing then, when in 7th grade my friend and I snuck her parents’ bottle of Amaretto and felt it burn all the way down the hatch.

I wasn’t entirely surprised that by the time I was a teenager, drinking was a typical high school party activity. Most could handle themselves, while I would be on the sidewalk at 10pm with a few girlfriends flashing the cars passing by. Random makeouts, mouthing off to people I didn’t know, and avoiding getting caught quickly became the norm. The summer after senior year, though, something scary happened. I went to a pool party with a big group of friends from high school and it was a blast talking about what everyone was going to do next. The next thing I remember is a guy friend driving me home and putting me to bed. He slept on my couch and told me the next morning that I’d been roofied by one of the older alums that was at the party. One would think that was scary enough to wake me up. Alas, there were way too many 21st birthday celebrations and countless trips to Vegas or Rocky Point, Mexico that only amount to a blurry blip in the memory bank.

My twenties were no different. I had two long-term relationships that covered about half of this formative period of life, one involved heavy drinking on the regular, the other I was completely sober…until I wasn’t. The ending of that relationship in my late twenties seemed to revive the party-girl in me. Newly single, I met my now-bestie through a mutual friend and was introduced to this enormous group of party friends. And damn did we party. Happy hours, nights out and subsequent hangovers became the norm and I essentially lived off of vodka and quesadillas. But it wasn’t just drunk…it was can’t-remember-how-I-got-home drunk…it was kicking-out-a-random-guy-the-next-morning drunk. Mondays rolled around and it was back to work as if I hadn’t tossed my dignity right out the window with my last bit of money till payday. Sounds kinda bad when you really spell it out like that. Ahh well, onward. No lessons were learned and I continued to convince myself it was normal and that everyone partied like that into their thirties.

I thought I would be better as I inched closer to 40…you know, your friends get married, start families, move away and move on from the party scene, so you should follow suit. Get your life together and all that. Instead, my thirties were a dirty duality of trying to do and be better and active self-sabotage in the way of making bad decisions. After a brief bumble relationship that ended on New Year’s Day 2020, everyone’s favorite panorama began. At a distance, I would’ve thought this would be more of a deterrent from heavy drinking, since nobody could really go anywhere, but not a chance. The early days of quarantine were interesting…zoom calls with friends that lived just a few miles away or across the country, but always with a drink in hand. In true Bri fashion, I decided to write a book about my childhood traumas that year…you know, since I had so much time at home. The writing came fairly easy to me, as those memories still seem so vivid in my mind…all that time passed and no healing had begun. That Christmas I drank four bottles of champagne because I was home alone. Four. Bottles. I’m surprised I didn’t need my stomach pumped after that, but good ole hangxiety sure did rear her ugly head the next day.

2020 was a doozy, to say the least. I can’t count how many times I planned my suicide that year. There was something soothing about making a plan, envisioning the least impactful way to carry it out, careful to make sure no one I knew would be the one to find me…convinced everyone would be better off without me. There were a few times in the next year or so that I proceeded to drink to excess, drive myself home with one eye closed and convince myself that hey, I made it home and put my jammies on, so I couldn’t have been that bad. Only to cringe when I heard the next day how mean or obnoxious I was, as told to me by the offended friend or annoyed neighbor. I still had the “dark thoughts” quite often, replaying the previous plans I’d schemed up and feeling a sense of relief at the idea of executing one of them someday. At least for me, in my mind it served as the final way I could take care of myself. To finally give myself the peace I’ve been digging in the dirt to find for most of my life.

This brings us to the tilt-a-whirl that is 2022. I’m sure it’s been obvious to others for years (decades, even), but I can openly admit I am a problematic binge drinker. Pushing friendships to the brink, drunk-dialing my parents to tell them how fucked up I am because of my childhood, turning into a mean and unforgiving person I didn’t even recognize. That next day hangxiety is no joke and I never want to feel that way again, questioning whose feelings I hurt or which bar I stumbled out of…or how I got home. From the outside, perhaps it didn’t seem so bad. I have no DUIs, I haven’t lost a job or romantic relationship as a result of my drinking, but there have been, on several occasions, that I’ve come pretty damn close. Over the years, I’ve definitely had my fair share of “wake up calls” – I air quote them because if nothing changed, does it even qualify? It doesn’t. I’m still lucky enough to have a solid group of friends that I feel most myself around, a few girlfriends I trust with my deepest, darkest secrets and a job I love working with people I actually like.

I don’t yet know if “getting it under control” or “just having one or two” is an option for me. I’ve tried that before and it hasn’t worked, so I think we can see where this is going. It’s long overdue, but I am ready to make a big change. I don’t know what sobriety will look like for me, but I also know that I don’t want to live like this anymore. I am afraid that it will change some friendships, but my hope is that it will be for the better. If there are some that fall away because I’m no longer drinking or available to join them in that type of camaraderie, then perhaps that’s not a friendship I can hold onto. Ultimately, I’m doing this for myself, so anyone else’s opinions or emotions on this are not my responsibility. For the first time, I am actively working on becoming the best version of myself. I feel almost stuck between wanting to get to know who I am without this dark and vicious crutch…and being terrified to face my life without it…

The Journey Begins…

I never thought I’d be writing about the absolute mental and emotional rollercoaster I’ve been on since I first became sober curious. There have been countless times throughout my adult life I’d conceded that perhaps I just shouldn’t be a drinker…only to continue my binge drinking on the next outing. I questioned whether I had a serious problem during the pandemic, but when the destructive behavior progressively worsened, I also started to feel like I was losing my mind. The shame, guilt and overwhelming anxiety I felt the morning after every single bender was too much to bear. Hurting friends I’d had for decades or getting politely asked to not come back to a local bar would definitely sting, but only for a minute, relatively speaking. Well-intended promises it would “never happen again” were questionable even on a surface level. Truth be told, I had no idea if or when it would happen again because I had no self-control. If I were to have been honest with them as well as with myself, I’d have just accepted the L. Deep down I just wanted to push everyone away, so I’d have no one left if I decided to finally follow through with unaliving myself.

I wrote a manifesto, for lack of a better name, about my history with alcohol and it was beyond jarring. Being honest about who you are (or at least, who you’ve been) is incredibly troubling, hurtful and just sad. It’s painful to write blips about different time periods and realize you’ve always been the common denominator. You’ve always had the biggest hand in your downfall. Not your childhood traumas, not the terrible things that happened to you, not the people you blamed along the way. Just you and you alone. Having been in and out of therapy since I was a child, I still have a lot of healing to do. Don’t get me wrong – working through your trauma is slow and painful and absolutely critical, but I’m only learning this now, at 41. Was I doing it wrong all this time? I may never know. What I do know is that drinking was always the easiest way to numb the pain of a dark and twisty past. All it’s really done is make everything darker and muddied the idea of what a “normal” amount of social drinking is. Society is so wrapped up in alcohol being a social lubricant that it’s pretty deeply engrained in almost every relationship I have ever had. It’s present in most situations and is sometimes even missed when it’s not. The truth is, I don’t know what life looks like without it. Sure, I’ve dabbled in 30-day stints like “dry January” and “sober October,” but it only made me want to count down until I was free to drink again.

Facing yourself is no easy feat. It’s ugly and depressing and incredibly lonely. However, even in the lonely, there’s a little bit of light. I’m holding onto a tiny shred of hope that I can actually do this. Become a non-drinker. An appellation I’d have never associated myself with even a year ago. As scared as I am that it will change some relationships, I know that I cannot continue down this path without completely destroying my entire life…and having to live to see the wreckage. I am acutely aware of how necessary this step is for me to be able to move forward and I can only hope that those that (by some miracle) still love me will support me through this, even if they don’t understand it.

Stay tuned, if you dare, as I wade through the weeds of my self-destruction to a lighter side of life.