So my previous post talked about my mum a bit, and how my decision to drive to a family hen party left me feeling exposed and judged for not drinking. Sounds crazy doesn't it?
Long story short, I offered my mum a space in the car on Saturday (nice and helpful, Em), and opposed to her being grateful for the ride she poked fun at my sobriety and made a few condescending remarks. The conversation irritated me and I came off the phone particularly frustrated.
She didn't make an attempt to understand my reasons for going sober, but instead decided to judge my mid-week drinking (which was one of the reasons I quit) and announce herself as someone who 'only drinks at the weekend as a treat - a 'normal' drinker.' It kind of felt like she was saying 'Woah, Em, you were drinking in the week? No wonder you're on the wagon. Serious problem drinker alert.'
The funny thing was I knew her words were 100% crap and she was unrealistically defending her levels of alcohol intake (the woman drinks midweek, guys). I don't know if it's just me, but the longer I stay sober I'm finding that some people get quite nervous and defensive when they're the only 'drinker' in the conversation. And especially in a one-on-one situation.
I've had a few chats now where people act as if they're under an interrogation lamp being quizzed by the alcohol police, and that irrational justification of their drinking is the only thing they can do to survive the conversation. They get all...tetchy!
I know, I get it. They're worried that your coming to terms with booze dependence will expose their addiction too - which they're either too frightened to admit or they're simply just oblivious to it. I genuinely don't care how much my peers drink as little over four months ago I was exactly the same. I used to think people like the new me SUCKED!
The reason I'm recapping on my weekend is because the hen party couldn't have gone better, from my point of view, and I had the best time celebrating with family and friends without the fear of losing control. I enjoyed a few alcohol free beers before switching to cucumber water (which was delicious enough to stay on for the duration of the night) and made sure I joined in the beer pong and drinking games without getting an urge to drink any of the bad stuff.
As I approach four months sober (tomorrow!) my desire to drink feels at its lowest point. Right now I'm feeling pretty unshakable!
But at roughly 8.00 p.m. after a solid six hours of partying I started to notice my mum's behaviour change. She was turning into old me - so in a word she was absolutely shit faced! The woman who 'only drinks at weekends' losing the ability to move her legs and speak without slurring. And please know I am not writing about this to expose my lovely mum. I'm writing about this because it's a whopping dose of irony!
So as a non-drinker (and someone who used to drink mid-week) I was being judged, by my mum, only a few days ago for shunning alcohol. Instead of choosing to understand my reasons she decided to dig at my past habits and it made me feel ashamed. Only now, as we're on the drive home having left the party early due to her state of inebriation, she's projectile vomiting all over the front seat, floor, seatbelt and dashboard of my freshly valeted BMW.
Yep. My mum who boasted about her controlled approach to drinking is now throwing up cognac all over herself and my car. And despite being utterly stressed by the whole thing I couldn't help but feel smug. Really bloody smug. Roll on the Sunday morning apology phone call!
Aside from feeling like the biggest 'I told you so' on the planet, it was upsetting seeing my poor mum like that. I wanted to do was hug her, and obviously whisper I told you so, and then hug her again.
But I didn't. I cleaned the poor girl up and drove her home with the widows down - returning her to her shell shocked boyfriend before driving home for a second valet of the day. After the car was fumigated and her coat and hat were in the washing machine I enjoyed a hot shower, popped on a facemask and curled up on the sofa with a peppermint tea.
Sobriety, I bloody love you.
And as strange as it sounds, the volcano of vomit made me appreciate the night so much more, together with the hugely apologetic phone call I received the next day in which my mum announced she was going to start taking a leaf out of my book. I'm pretty sure that's what you call...karma? :)
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