So I'm just over half way through Allen Carr's 'Stop Drinking Now' book and I'm kind of enjoying it and I guess not enjoying it. It's repetitive in parts, which I know is for a reason, and slightly...mysterious in others i.e. 'keep reading and you'll find out why...' Again, I can only assume this is part of the book's appeal. I just want the answers now, gimme!
But I'm continuing to read and follow Allen's advice, and one thing I am hugely grateful for is the book stamping out, in perfect English, just why drinking in moderation is not an option. Up until now I haven't really been able to put into words why I can't have 'just one or two', but this book smashes it and the analogies are spot on.
It's the question I get asked the most by friends and family. 'So this whole not drinking thing...it's not permanent is it? I mean, you'll drink again...surely?' My Step Mum said these exact words to me on Saturday when I told her I was fast approaching four months sober. And she genuinely looked worried for me. Deeply concerned that my life may never include an alcoholic beverage ever again.
She asked me this at a big family gathering I attended at the weekend. Every year my Uncle takes a large box at Ascot races and entertains corporate clients, business associates, close friends and family. It's a spectacular day that I've attended for the past six-or-so years now.
The year before last was probably the most drunk I've ever been around this side of my family (Rob's side have seen me much, much worse a few Christmas' ago). I made sure I took advantage of the free bar and didn't go home when I should have. After the races we went to the pub where I continued to drink, in the company of my much-less-pissed family, and blacked out in the taxi home with zero memory of the evening. The next time I saw my Uncle he discreetly told me I had one too many and that I embarrassed myself in front of one of his business associates. Still to this day I don't know what I did...but for my Uncle to mention it...it must have been inappropriate.
Being told I'd done something embarrassing while drunk with zero recollection of doing it. Story of my fucking life.
So last year I took note and managed to behave, but that's only because it was my friend's birthday party the same night and I didn't want to turn up wasted. So I paced myself at the races, graciously leaving in a taxi at 6.00 p.m. to journey to the local golf club. Fast forward to 11.00 p.m. and I was legless. The pressure of holding it 'together' during the day had turned me into a ticking time bomb, and depriving myself of alcohol at the races had only made me want it more that same evening. So I arrived in fifth, no actually sixth gear, and annihilated roughly three bottles of prosecco and however many cocktails. Rob didn't speak to me the next day and never told me why he was upset with me. 'I don't want to talk about it, Em. You clearly have no memory of what you said, so let's just leave it at that and not fall out again'.
I've never really understood why I can't 'moderate'. It's a word I've been struggling to get to grips with for years and only now, while reading Allen's book, am I understanding why this word isn't part of my language. It's because it's a myth.
Truth is, 'moderating' my alcohol intake - something I've tried to do many times in the past - has only lead to me feeling miserable, hard done by, punished and withdrawn. The fact that alcohol was still an option, yet I wasn't allowed it all the time, turned me into a crazy person without me even realising it. All my friends can moderate, why can't I!!
My often recycled detox would be to quit midweek and select only one night at the weekend where I was allowed to drink. As Rob and I lead such busy social lives I thought a one-night-a-week policy would be bullet proof. And of course, it wasn't.
The night I'd allow myself to drink would regularly evolve into an all day drinking session, with a hair of the dog (or 6) thrown in the next day to help me get over the previous night's events. Then, because I'd allow the booze, I'd let it seep back in to my routine slowly but surely. Like a deceitful lover I couldn't get rid of. The alcohol would be back and this time with a vengeance.
If booze remains an option I will always fail.
So as my Step Mum quizzed my sobriety I didn't offer a definite 'Yep, I'm sober, no more booze for me' response, but instead shrugged my shoulders, like I always do, and delivered an ambiguous 'not sure if I'm honest'.
Her eyes remained panicked and for a split second I thought I had grown two heads...but we soon talked about other things and quickly forgot about my sobriety.
Allen's book is essentially two fingers up to moderation and that's why I'm enjoying it so much. And the parts I'm not enjoying are only due to me being a petulant child wanting results now now now. I've always felt like I couldn't understand moderation as a 'thing', no matter how hard I tried I was just a hopeless mess addicted to booze that was never going to experience the holy grail of it.
But now I can see that it was never an option to begin with - I was simply missing the blaringly obvious choice of sobriety and now, finally, it feels like I'm starting to make the right choices.
Showing posts with label early sobriety. Show all posts
Showing posts with label early sobriety. Show all posts
Tuesday, 23 October 2018
Thursday, 27 September 2018
80 days sober - the truth
It genuinely feels surreal writing this post. I've woken up on day 81 of sobriety and I'm desperately missing alcohol. The good side of alcohol that is. The side I see everyone else enjoying like a normal, proper adult. The party side. The party I'm no longer allowed into.
I need to be upfront and honest about it as the whole point of this blog is me writing about the good, the bad and the ugly to help me get through the dark days and celebrate the good.
In short, non-drinking is a rollercoaster of emotions and this is my main learning at 80 days sober. Some days are spectacular, making you feel like your body is glowing and you're the bi-product of a unicorn having sex with a fairy.
Whereas as other days are bad and lonely and challenging, and your shoulders feel like they're carrying the weight of the world and then some. And all you want to do is dive head-first into an Olympic-sized swimming pool of mojito.
I can't shift the feeling of guilt and remorse too. I'm convinced I've screwed my husband over by trading my cool, glitzy drinking life for one of sobriety. He married a drinker, and now I'm not a drinker. All his friends are married to or dating drinkers who look fit in their 'look at my swanky food and drink' Instagram posts. Why can't he have the same? Who am I to deprive him of that fun? It's only a matter of time until he trades me in for someone who drinks so his life can be fun again.
STOP, EM.
See? The above is my train of thought right here, right now and it's ridiculous isn't it? When I write it down and see the words I want to punch myself in the head and shout GET A GRIP, WOMAN. Or seek out Blix and his evil whispers, smashing his stinking gnarly body against my bedroom walls until his bones are shattered and he bleeds to death. I feel like a trapped landlord, powerless to evict my bastard tenant who has unlawfully acquired squatters rights in my brain.
I really wanted day 80 to be a field of sunshine and pink clouds, but it's more like a damp and dark disused warehouse and I feel pretty lost here.
As I've mentioned in previous posts, sobriety cannot, and I repeat - cannot, be sugar coated. The benefits are real, don't get me wrong, but the effort is constant and tiring and exhausting. And there are situations that have nearly brought me to breaking point and I've only been saved by my surprisingly rock-solid will power.
I don't know how, but I have surpassed day 80 - and I'm unsure whether to be proud of that or...resentful? I kind of feel both. Am I really going to live the rest of my life without the booze buzz? The first sip of wine that instantly erases tension? Nose tickles from the cold bouncing fizz of a decent champagne?
So I've made myself salivate from writing that paragraph but it's true. I'm actually gutted that I'll be trading those moments for a life of sobriety, but then what follows after the fluffy fun stuff? The loss of control, the zombie eyes, the weight gain, the arguments, the bad skin, the 'sick' days off work, the life chaos, the anxiety, the depression, the darkness. I could go on and on about the cons yet it takes me no more than 10 (maybe even five?) seconds to list the pros of drinking.
I've been stuck in a desperate loop for over three years - trying to cut down by having a week off here and there and failing miserably. And actually within the past year I haven't bothered to slow down at all and my consecutive days on the booze were getting ridiculous.
But now I've got 80 days of abstinence behind me and despite mourning the loss of my old party life I'm much more realistic about my situation now. I am absolutely not someone who can moderate - I know this. If there's a pack of biscuits in front of me I can't have just one, I'll have to eat the whole pack so they're gone. If I'm enjoying a new hobby or sport I'll buy so much active wear and binge participate like a crazy person. If I'm into a series on Netflix I have to watch the whole lot in one go. Tapping out after one or two episodes will drive me insane. A little bit here and wee drop there just isn't me - I have to be all in as it's the only way I can scratch the itch. The tap just keeps on dripping if I feel my business is unfinished.
Same with booze. If a bottle is open I'll finish the lot. And if there's more than one bottle I'll keep going until they're all gone.
So I think that's actually the real reason behind today's mood. Not that I'm desperately craving the boozy good times (which lets face it don't exist any more), but that I'm coming to terms with the fact my new sober life doesn't accommodate certain behaviours.
Yes there are so so so many things I'm missing now I'm sober but the only question I can ask myself is 'what's the alternative'?
In the early days of my sobriety, say within the first 30 days, everything was new and wow. Attending a wedding sober? Piece of piss. Enjoying a hangover-free weekend? Life giving! But it was novel and a shiny and not really any different to the times where I'd 'given up' alcohol before and then slipped back into drinking as a reward for doing so well.
Day 80 is hard core for me and sobriety is no longer an experiment. It's starting to become a lifestyle and today very much feels like a blue or red pill moment. I could still choose to live in the matrix yet I know, deep down, that facing up to reality is the only way I'm going to fix this. And subsequently fix me.
I need to be upfront and honest about it as the whole point of this blog is me writing about the good, the bad and the ugly to help me get through the dark days and celebrate the good.
In short, non-drinking is a rollercoaster of emotions and this is my main learning at 80 days sober. Some days are spectacular, making you feel like your body is glowing and you're the bi-product of a unicorn having sex with a fairy.
Whereas as other days are bad and lonely and challenging, and your shoulders feel like they're carrying the weight of the world and then some. And all you want to do is dive head-first into an Olympic-sized swimming pool of mojito.
I can't shift the feeling of guilt and remorse too. I'm convinced I've screwed my husband over by trading my cool, glitzy drinking life for one of sobriety. He married a drinker, and now I'm not a drinker. All his friends are married to or dating drinkers who look fit in their 'look at my swanky food and drink' Instagram posts. Why can't he have the same? Who am I to deprive him of that fun? It's only a matter of time until he trades me in for someone who drinks so his life can be fun again.
STOP, EM.
See? The above is my train of thought right here, right now and it's ridiculous isn't it? When I write it down and see the words I want to punch myself in the head and shout GET A GRIP, WOMAN. Or seek out Blix and his evil whispers, smashing his stinking gnarly body against my bedroom walls until his bones are shattered and he bleeds to death. I feel like a trapped landlord, powerless to evict my bastard tenant who has unlawfully acquired squatters rights in my brain.
I really wanted day 80 to be a field of sunshine and pink clouds, but it's more like a damp and dark disused warehouse and I feel pretty lost here.
As I've mentioned in previous posts, sobriety cannot, and I repeat - cannot, be sugar coated. The benefits are real, don't get me wrong, but the effort is constant and tiring and exhausting. And there are situations that have nearly brought me to breaking point and I've only been saved by my surprisingly rock-solid will power.
I don't know how, but I have surpassed day 80 - and I'm unsure whether to be proud of that or...resentful? I kind of feel both. Am I really going to live the rest of my life without the booze buzz? The first sip of wine that instantly erases tension? Nose tickles from the cold bouncing fizz of a decent champagne?
So I've made myself salivate from writing that paragraph but it's true. I'm actually gutted that I'll be trading those moments for a life of sobriety, but then what follows after the fluffy fun stuff? The loss of control, the zombie eyes, the weight gain, the arguments, the bad skin, the 'sick' days off work, the life chaos, the anxiety, the depression, the darkness. I could go on and on about the cons yet it takes me no more than 10 (maybe even five?) seconds to list the pros of drinking.
I've been stuck in a desperate loop for over three years - trying to cut down by having a week off here and there and failing miserably. And actually within the past year I haven't bothered to slow down at all and my consecutive days on the booze were getting ridiculous.
But now I've got 80 days of abstinence behind me and despite mourning the loss of my old party life I'm much more realistic about my situation now. I am absolutely not someone who can moderate - I know this. If there's a pack of biscuits in front of me I can't have just one, I'll have to eat the whole pack so they're gone. If I'm enjoying a new hobby or sport I'll buy so much active wear and binge participate like a crazy person. If I'm into a series on Netflix I have to watch the whole lot in one go. Tapping out after one or two episodes will drive me insane. A little bit here and wee drop there just isn't me - I have to be all in as it's the only way I can scratch the itch. The tap just keeps on dripping if I feel my business is unfinished.
Same with booze. If a bottle is open I'll finish the lot. And if there's more than one bottle I'll keep going until they're all gone.
So I think that's actually the real reason behind today's mood. Not that I'm desperately craving the boozy good times (which lets face it don't exist any more), but that I'm coming to terms with the fact my new sober life doesn't accommodate certain behaviours.
Yes there are so so so many things I'm missing now I'm sober but the only question I can ask myself is 'what's the alternative'?
In the early days of my sobriety, say within the first 30 days, everything was new and wow. Attending a wedding sober? Piece of piss. Enjoying a hangover-free weekend? Life giving! But it was novel and a shiny and not really any different to the times where I'd 'given up' alcohol before and then slipped back into drinking as a reward for doing so well.
Day 80 is hard core for me and sobriety is no longer an experiment. It's starting to become a lifestyle and today very much feels like a blue or red pill moment. I could still choose to live in the matrix yet I know, deep down, that facing up to reality is the only way I'm going to fix this. And subsequently fix me.
Sunday, 23 September 2018
Just one or two is fine...right?
It's Sunday, 23 September 2018 and I'm 77 days sober, reflecting on what has been one of the busiest working weeks of my year culminating in a very boozy dinner party last night.
I've previously talked about situations I seem to find more pressured than others - for example I'm actually pretty fine navigating weddings sober (which I thought would be the most difficult) but cosy dinner parties at home seem to be the worst.
We hosted two couples last night so there was six of us including Rob and I. As opposed to the dinner party I tackled a few weeks back (which had been planned well before I went sober) this night had been organised only a few weeks prior. Rob had asked me if I fancied hosting a get together and I said yeah, absolutely! What I should have said was I'd prefer not to babe as I'm finding dinner parties exceptionally tough at the mo and they kind of make me want to curl up and die. Hurrah!
But I don't want to be that sober person who irrationally ruins everyone else's fun (I am totally living in fear of that right now), so I suck it up and pretend another dinner party off the grog is well within my skill set.
A few hours before kick-off I received a message from one of our friends asking what my favourite wine is. I read it and thought you know what, I'm just going to drink tonight. It'll be much easier to drink and I wont have to endure the raised eyebrows and pregnant whispers. After the week I'd had juggling difficult work events and a visit to see my poorly Nan I wasn't in the mood to play hide-and-seek with my drinking.
So despite being fully determined to pack in my sobriety I decided to (out of habit) implement a little trick to add weight to my decision making. If I'd pass this test I'd be back in the drinking game.
I began to hypothetically predict the night's events should I delve into the vino - just to see what the outcome would be and the fun I'd have along the way! After all, I've nailed over 70 sober days, I can handle my booze now and I know when to stop! Yeah I'd never managed it before but it's different now, I'm different now. Now I'm in control.
Here's what would have happened:
5.30 p.m. I open a bottle of red and pour myself a glass while getting ready. Oh how I've missed thee sweet nectar.
6.30 p.m. I continue drinking through dinner prep. Red wine on the go and simmering home-made paella, how fab is this! I'm sophisticated again!
7.30 p.m. Guest arrival - I'm 3/4 of my way through my first bottle. Loose and relaxed, welcome one and all to the best dinner party of all time.
8.00 p.m. We sit down to dinner. I'm a bottle in and loving life. But everyone's drinking tonight so it's A-OK!
8.30 p.m. I'm free pouring wine to myself and my guests. We're all drinking, lets get on it. Everyone is having wine too so my personal consumption is unnoticeable. Win. I love dinner parties.
9.00 p.m. My teeth are purple and I'm drunk. Probably two bottles in by now. But it's OK, Rob's down the other end of the table and hasn't noticed any of this.
Side note: He has noticed and has been noticing all night.
9.30 p.m. I'm slurring and don't know I am, but I'm loving the fact I'm on great, drunk form and everyone's drunk too!
Side note: I'm a bottle of wine ahead of everyone else and I'm by far the most drunk at the table. I can't hold a coherent conversation and I haven't checked my make-up since our guests arrived. I look and act pissed and my sophisticated self begins to unravel, quickly.
10.00 p.m. We move to the snug to watch the boxing. Anthony Joshua is fighting so we pour more drinks, this night is going great!
Side note: My brain starts to flicker and prepares itself for black out. I have roughly half an hour left of consciousness before the night turns black.
10.30 p.m. I'm three bottles in by now and I'd like to say I'm loving the fight and looking after our guests needs. But I'm 100% sure I fall asleep on the sofa in a ball of dribbling mess. 70+ days of sobriety have lightweighted me into oblivion.
Side note: I won't remember anything past 10.00 p.m. when I wake up now.
11.30 p.m. Our guests leave. I wake up and take myself to bed. Despite my impromptu nap it's been a great night, right?
Side note: Rob has to wake his crumpled heap of a wife and drag her off the sofa to bed. I attempt to start a fight about how judgemental he is when I've only 'had a few' and probably lay into him for letting me undo all my hard, sober work. We then fight and I pass out.
03.00 a.m. Wake up dazed and gasping for water. Throbbing headache. No recollection of the night ending.
08.00 a.m. Wake up fully with a stinking hangover. 76 days of sobriety erased. Apologise to Rob - have no idea what for but he's mad and disappointed.
11.00 a.m. Dominos Pizza opens. I order my weekend calorie allowance in one sitting. I haven't had pizza in nearly three months! I deserve this!
Side note: I am so bitterly upset. I'm back to square one and I'm a fucking failure.
12.00 p.m. I'm drinking again now, so I may as well have a hair of the dog to cure my hangover?
Side note: I need alcohol. I can't do life without it. May as well get pissed again to deal with the self loathing. My name's Em and I'm addicted to booze.
And so it starts again. The dark tape on repeat. The merry-go-round of doom. A life controlled by Blix and his soul-crushing advice.
My predictions shook me and I was quickly 'back in the room'. I decided to ignore the text about the wine - and I know that sounds rude - but I simply didn't know what to say. I didn't have the power to muster a reply so I closed the screen and left it.
Fast forward to 8.30 p.m. in reality and our guests are having a great night. The paella is a huge success and I'm on my second glass of non-alcoholic red wine and no one has noticed. I didn't announce it when people walked in, I just simply poured them the real deal and looked after myself. I know my obsession with people judging my non-drinking is irrational but tonight...I'm kind of realising that my sobriety is far from the focus. We're talking, laughing, eating...no one knows my wine is fake and I'm loving it.
To get through the group dinner top-ups I make my wine last and ensure I add a little more when I nip out to the kitchen to get beers for the non-wine drinkers. So when our friends come to pour more wine at the table my glass is pretty full and I politely decline as I wouldn't want to mix reds.
We move to the snug to watch the boxing and everyone is merry and in a great mood. I'm fully present and decide to switch drinks to Becks Blue (yet to find an AF red wine that still tastes good after two glasses). I do get a few strange looks but I say I'm really trying to cut down and no one bats an eyelid. I even get a few 'good for yous!' and again, people just carry on with the night.
It gets to midnight and our friends receive a text from their cabby saying he's broken down and can't collect them. So I mention I'm fully capable of driving and we pile in the car - laughing about the last time we were all in a taxi and I ended up breaking Rob's hand by slamming it in the door (a tale for another time!) - but it's lovely. My head is clear and I'm helping my friends get home. It sounds so stupid to say...but sobriety is making me so much more capable.
I return home and it's 1.00 a.m., Rob heads straight to bed and conks out in a drunken haze but I decide to give myself a head start in the morning. I head to the kitchen and put on some jazz music as I clear the plates and load the dishwasher. The house is now so peaceful having been a buzzing ball of good energy little over an hour ago. I finish the final inch of my non-alcoholic wine, kiss the empty bottle goodnight and pop it outside to be recycled.
I feel warm and fuzzy from the exhaustion and so happy I've accomplished yet another high pressured dinner party situation (which was entirely different to the first, and in a good way).
There were two big-time sliding door moments on Saturday night and I am so glad I stayed strong and remembered the outcome of scenario one which was drenched in booze. No matter how many times I try and convince myself I can handle just one or two I know, deep down, this is not the case any more.
This is why I've tried so hard, on so many occasions, to kick the habit but have never managed to escape the tightening grip of alcohol. I simply can't dip in and out, so now it has to be out. All out.
I love you Sunday, 23 September. You are my 77th day of winning and I am so, so happy to have you.
I've previously talked about situations I seem to find more pressured than others - for example I'm actually pretty fine navigating weddings sober (which I thought would be the most difficult) but cosy dinner parties at home seem to be the worst.
We hosted two couples last night so there was six of us including Rob and I. As opposed to the dinner party I tackled a few weeks back (which had been planned well before I went sober) this night had been organised only a few weeks prior. Rob had asked me if I fancied hosting a get together and I said yeah, absolutely! What I should have said was I'd prefer not to babe as I'm finding dinner parties exceptionally tough at the mo and they kind of make me want to curl up and die. Hurrah!
But I don't want to be that sober person who irrationally ruins everyone else's fun (I am totally living in fear of that right now), so I suck it up and pretend another dinner party off the grog is well within my skill set.
A few hours before kick-off I received a message from one of our friends asking what my favourite wine is. I read it and thought you know what, I'm just going to drink tonight. It'll be much easier to drink and I wont have to endure the raised eyebrows and pregnant whispers. After the week I'd had juggling difficult work events and a visit to see my poorly Nan I wasn't in the mood to play hide-and-seek with my drinking.
So despite being fully determined to pack in my sobriety I decided to (out of habit) implement a little trick to add weight to my decision making. If I'd pass this test I'd be back in the drinking game.
I began to hypothetically predict the night's events should I delve into the vino - just to see what the outcome would be and the fun I'd have along the way! After all, I've nailed over 70 sober days, I can handle my booze now and I know when to stop! Yeah I'd never managed it before but it's different now, I'm different now. Now I'm in control.
Here's what would have happened:
5.30 p.m. I open a bottle of red and pour myself a glass while getting ready. Oh how I've missed thee sweet nectar.
6.30 p.m. I continue drinking through dinner prep. Red wine on the go and simmering home-made paella, how fab is this! I'm sophisticated again!
7.30 p.m. Guest arrival - I'm 3/4 of my way through my first bottle. Loose and relaxed, welcome one and all to the best dinner party of all time.
8.00 p.m. We sit down to dinner. I'm a bottle in and loving life. But everyone's drinking tonight so it's A-OK!
8.30 p.m. I'm free pouring wine to myself and my guests. We're all drinking, lets get on it. Everyone is having wine too so my personal consumption is unnoticeable. Win. I love dinner parties.
9.00 p.m. My teeth are purple and I'm drunk. Probably two bottles in by now. But it's OK, Rob's down the other end of the table and hasn't noticed any of this.
Side note: He has noticed and has been noticing all night.
9.30 p.m. I'm slurring and don't know I am, but I'm loving the fact I'm on great, drunk form and everyone's drunk too!
Side note: I'm a bottle of wine ahead of everyone else and I'm by far the most drunk at the table. I can't hold a coherent conversation and I haven't checked my make-up since our guests arrived. I look and act pissed and my sophisticated self begins to unravel, quickly.
10.00 p.m. We move to the snug to watch the boxing. Anthony Joshua is fighting so we pour more drinks, this night is going great!
Side note: My brain starts to flicker and prepares itself for black out. I have roughly half an hour left of consciousness before the night turns black.
10.30 p.m. I'm three bottles in by now and I'd like to say I'm loving the fight and looking after our guests needs. But I'm 100% sure I fall asleep on the sofa in a ball of dribbling mess. 70+ days of sobriety have lightweighted me into oblivion.
Side note: I won't remember anything past 10.00 p.m. when I wake up now.
11.30 p.m. Our guests leave. I wake up and take myself to bed. Despite my impromptu nap it's been a great night, right?
Side note: Rob has to wake his crumpled heap of a wife and drag her off the sofa to bed. I attempt to start a fight about how judgemental he is when I've only 'had a few' and probably lay into him for letting me undo all my hard, sober work. We then fight and I pass out.
03.00 a.m. Wake up dazed and gasping for water. Throbbing headache. No recollection of the night ending.
08.00 a.m. Wake up fully with a stinking hangover. 76 days of sobriety erased. Apologise to Rob - have no idea what for but he's mad and disappointed.
11.00 a.m. Dominos Pizza opens. I order my weekend calorie allowance in one sitting. I haven't had pizza in nearly three months! I deserve this!
Side note: I am so bitterly upset. I'm back to square one and I'm a fucking failure.
12.00 p.m. I'm drinking again now, so I may as well have a hair of the dog to cure my hangover?
Side note: I need alcohol. I can't do life without it. May as well get pissed again to deal with the self loathing. My name's Em and I'm addicted to booze.
And so it starts again. The dark tape on repeat. The merry-go-round of doom. A life controlled by Blix and his soul-crushing advice.
My predictions shook me and I was quickly 'back in the room'. I decided to ignore the text about the wine - and I know that sounds rude - but I simply didn't know what to say. I didn't have the power to muster a reply so I closed the screen and left it.
Fast forward to 8.30 p.m. in reality and our guests are having a great night. The paella is a huge success and I'm on my second glass of non-alcoholic red wine and no one has noticed. I didn't announce it when people walked in, I just simply poured them the real deal and looked after myself. I know my obsession with people judging my non-drinking is irrational but tonight...I'm kind of realising that my sobriety is far from the focus. We're talking, laughing, eating...no one knows my wine is fake and I'm loving it.
To get through the group dinner top-ups I make my wine last and ensure I add a little more when I nip out to the kitchen to get beers for the non-wine drinkers. So when our friends come to pour more wine at the table my glass is pretty full and I politely decline as I wouldn't want to mix reds.
We move to the snug to watch the boxing and everyone is merry and in a great mood. I'm fully present and decide to switch drinks to Becks Blue (yet to find an AF red wine that still tastes good after two glasses). I do get a few strange looks but I say I'm really trying to cut down and no one bats an eyelid. I even get a few 'good for yous!' and again, people just carry on with the night.
It gets to midnight and our friends receive a text from their cabby saying he's broken down and can't collect them. So I mention I'm fully capable of driving and we pile in the car - laughing about the last time we were all in a taxi and I ended up breaking Rob's hand by slamming it in the door (a tale for another time!) - but it's lovely. My head is clear and I'm helping my friends get home. It sounds so stupid to say...but sobriety is making me so much more capable.
I return home and it's 1.00 a.m., Rob heads straight to bed and conks out in a drunken haze but I decide to give myself a head start in the morning. I head to the kitchen and put on some jazz music as I clear the plates and load the dishwasher. The house is now so peaceful having been a buzzing ball of good energy little over an hour ago. I finish the final inch of my non-alcoholic wine, kiss the empty bottle goodnight and pop it outside to be recycled.
I feel warm and fuzzy from the exhaustion and so happy I've accomplished yet another high pressured dinner party situation (which was entirely different to the first, and in a good way).
There were two big-time sliding door moments on Saturday night and I am so glad I stayed strong and remembered the outcome of scenario one which was drenched in booze. No matter how many times I try and convince myself I can handle just one or two I know, deep down, this is not the case any more.
This is why I've tried so hard, on so many occasions, to kick the habit but have never managed to escape the tightening grip of alcohol. I simply can't dip in and out, so now it has to be out. All out.
I love you Sunday, 23 September. You are my 77th day of winning and I am so, so happy to have you.
Friday, 7 September 2018
Weird dreams and fangovers.
So I'm 61 days sober! Yay! And feel like shit! Boo! That's only because I had an off the scale dream last night and woke up with a raging hangover this morning. Well, fake hangover. Fangover? What is WITH them?
I've nearly finished Clare Pooley's book, The Sober Diaries, and I absolutely bloody love it. Despite Clare being a little older than me I can relate to her on so many levels. Except she has kids, is solvent, and hit the top of her career ladder aged 30. I'm 31 and launched my own business 2.5 years ago - so I'm still absolutely skint and remain embarrassingly tucked under the tax threshold (for now - PMA and all that). There are so many 'Ah me too!' moments in her book though and I love her for that reason.
So since returning from holiday a few weeks back I've made a pact with myself. Instead of scrolling through social media for hours on end (literally) gawping at nonsense before dropping off to sleep, I will read. Proper, papery, reeking of intellect books that will enrich my life and give me purpose. And the whole cosy-cup-of-tea-in-bed-with-a-book thing makes me feel infinitely more intelligent than my husband who prefers to play football manager in his pants.
I haven't been able to put Clare's book down since I bought it a week ago. And without giving too much away, the pages document her journey of sobriety from day one through to 365 (I think, I'm currently on day 270 something). It's Christmas day and Clare is at church with her daughter. She's debating taking the communion wine and that's all I'll say as I don't want to be sued for copyright or anything! But if you're new to sobriety or simply enjoy reading other people's accounts of it (I can't get enough) then buy Clare's book and check out her blog Mummy was a Secret Drinker. Both sources have really helped me through some dark days.
Anyway, deciding to put the book down after reading about communion wine turned me into a crazy person last night. And I had two, very vivid dreams. The first was about cheese. My mum and I were eating blocks of it in my kitchen and it was laced with black pepper. It was some new peppery cheddar hybrid and she told me to tell me brother as he loves peppery cheese (?!) Is peppery cheddar even a thing? If not maybe it should be, it tasted really good in my dream! My kitchen cupboards were made out of the same cheese and my mum was also dressed as a mouse. Okurrrrrrrr.......
And the second dream felt like it was happening on an entirely different day. Rob and I were in our kitchen (no cheese this time) and I was perched on the work surface drinking a huge glass of red wine like I used to. He was asking me why I'd given in as I was doing so well, and I told him that it was communion wine and that it's OK as Clare 'drank it'. He then asked how I got it and I confessed I'd stolen it from our local church (the same one we got married in), so he called Father Richard and said I'd broken in and the next thing I knew I was being carted off by the fuzz in the back of a police car! Rob was shaking his head in disappointment as the sirens took me away.
All very odd, and not the first time I've dreamt about booze, but this morning I felt absolutely rotten, like I'd had a bottle of the stuff. I woke up at 6.00 a.m. with a hot foggy head and was gasping for water.
I've been doing some reading today and apparently there are a variety of reasons why addicts will experience drunk dreams even though they're ecstatic about their recovery success. So it seems my necking red wine was inspired by events that had happened to me that day. Yup. A trigger.
But instead of feeling like 'Oooooh, that tasted good. You enjoyed that didn't you? Why not have a drink tonight, it's Friday after all' I felt very uncomfortable and panicky - like I'd let myself down and I'd been stripped of my purpose.
My biggest fear at the moment is actually drinking accidentally. Halfway through our holiday I left Rob at the hotel bar to order a nightcap while I nipped to the ladies. When I came back he handed me my sparkling water and I went to take a sip. It occurred to me that the glass was half full and very flat. So I sniffed it and went wide-eyed - like...terrified Ainsley Harriet wide-eyed - when I realised it was alcohol. By complete accident Rob had poured his mixer into the empty glass reserved for my sparkling water and gave me his double Bacardi. The fool was drunk and got his glassware confused. We laughed it off but my gut was doing somersaults. What if I had necked it? After all I was super thirsty - it would have been a large gulp! Would I have stopped there? As I'm yet to disclose my full dependency to Rob I couldn't point out just how big a deal that could have been for me. So when my water actually arrived I smelt it, hard, finished it very quickly and ran away to bed to be away from the temptation.
So, constant fear of accidentally tasting booze and slipping back into my old ways is very much part of my day-to-days now. And of course, reading about wine and tales of drunk behaviour before bed is pretty much gold dust for Blix, worming his way into my dreams and playing with my insecurities like a master puppeteer. Hopefully, and in the not too distant future, Blix will be too weak play. Clare writes about her voice, the wine witch, becoming frail and comatose over time. I'm too excited for that day to land and will try my bloody best to get there.
And as I haven't been able to stop thinking about peppery cheese since waking up I am absolutely going on a cheese hunt today and may even treat myself to shopping at the Windsor Farm Shop on my way home from work. Posh cheese sounds like a very fair reward which I will enjoy with some alcohol-free red wine left over from last week's dinner party :) Dine out on that, Blix, you whopping creep.
I've nearly finished Clare Pooley's book, The Sober Diaries, and I absolutely bloody love it. Despite Clare being a little older than me I can relate to her on so many levels. Except she has kids, is solvent, and hit the top of her career ladder aged 30. I'm 31 and launched my own business 2.5 years ago - so I'm still absolutely skint and remain embarrassingly tucked under the tax threshold (for now - PMA and all that). There are so many 'Ah me too!' moments in her book though and I love her for that reason.
So since returning from holiday a few weeks back I've made a pact with myself. Instead of scrolling through social media for hours on end (literally) gawping at nonsense before dropping off to sleep, I will read. Proper, papery, reeking of intellect books that will enrich my life and give me purpose. And the whole cosy-cup-of-tea-in-bed-with-a-book thing makes me feel infinitely more intelligent than my husband who prefers to play football manager in his pants.
I haven't been able to put Clare's book down since I bought it a week ago. And without giving too much away, the pages document her journey of sobriety from day one through to 365 (I think, I'm currently on day 270 something). It's Christmas day and Clare is at church with her daughter. She's debating taking the communion wine and that's all I'll say as I don't want to be sued for copyright or anything! But if you're new to sobriety or simply enjoy reading other people's accounts of it (I can't get enough) then buy Clare's book and check out her blog Mummy was a Secret Drinker. Both sources have really helped me through some dark days.
Anyway, deciding to put the book down after reading about communion wine turned me into a crazy person last night. And I had two, very vivid dreams. The first was about cheese. My mum and I were eating blocks of it in my kitchen and it was laced with black pepper. It was some new peppery cheddar hybrid and she told me to tell me brother as he loves peppery cheese (?!) Is peppery cheddar even a thing? If not maybe it should be, it tasted really good in my dream! My kitchen cupboards were made out of the same cheese and my mum was also dressed as a mouse. Okurrrrrrrr.......
And the second dream felt like it was happening on an entirely different day. Rob and I were in our kitchen (no cheese this time) and I was perched on the work surface drinking a huge glass of red wine like I used to. He was asking me why I'd given in as I was doing so well, and I told him that it was communion wine and that it's OK as Clare 'drank it'. He then asked how I got it and I confessed I'd stolen it from our local church (the same one we got married in), so he called Father Richard and said I'd broken in and the next thing I knew I was being carted off by the fuzz in the back of a police car! Rob was shaking his head in disappointment as the sirens took me away.
All very odd, and not the first time I've dreamt about booze, but this morning I felt absolutely rotten, like I'd had a bottle of the stuff. I woke up at 6.00 a.m. with a hot foggy head and was gasping for water.
I've been doing some reading today and apparently there are a variety of reasons why addicts will experience drunk dreams even though they're ecstatic about their recovery success. So it seems my necking red wine was inspired by events that had happened to me that day. Yup. A trigger.
But instead of feeling like 'Oooooh, that tasted good. You enjoyed that didn't you? Why not have a drink tonight, it's Friday after all' I felt very uncomfortable and panicky - like I'd let myself down and I'd been stripped of my purpose.
My biggest fear at the moment is actually drinking accidentally. Halfway through our holiday I left Rob at the hotel bar to order a nightcap while I nipped to the ladies. When I came back he handed me my sparkling water and I went to take a sip. It occurred to me that the glass was half full and very flat. So I sniffed it and went wide-eyed - like...terrified Ainsley Harriet wide-eyed - when I realised it was alcohol. By complete accident Rob had poured his mixer into the empty glass reserved for my sparkling water and gave me his double Bacardi. The fool was drunk and got his glassware confused. We laughed it off but my gut was doing somersaults. What if I had necked it? After all I was super thirsty - it would have been a large gulp! Would I have stopped there? As I'm yet to disclose my full dependency to Rob I couldn't point out just how big a deal that could have been for me. So when my water actually arrived I smelt it, hard, finished it very quickly and ran away to bed to be away from the temptation.
So, constant fear of accidentally tasting booze and slipping back into my old ways is very much part of my day-to-days now. And of course, reading about wine and tales of drunk behaviour before bed is pretty much gold dust for Blix, worming his way into my dreams and playing with my insecurities like a master puppeteer. Hopefully, and in the not too distant future, Blix will be too weak play. Clare writes about her voice, the wine witch, becoming frail and comatose over time. I'm too excited for that day to land and will try my bloody best to get there.
And as I haven't been able to stop thinking about peppery cheese since waking up I am absolutely going on a cheese hunt today and may even treat myself to shopping at the Windsor Farm Shop on my way home from work. Posh cheese sounds like a very fair reward which I will enjoy with some alcohol-free red wine left over from last week's dinner party :) Dine out on that, Blix, you whopping creep.
Tuesday, 4 September 2018
Day 58: Thank God for DIY.
I never thought I'd say this but I am so, so grateful to live in a shit hole at the moment. Let me explain why.
In September 2017 my husband and I bought a house which essentially needed bulldozing. The sizeable bungalow used to be a property filled with bedsits for lodgers and having failed to sell at auction (even property developers didn't want to touch the thing) we snapped it up as our 'forever home' project. Potential/location blah blah blah.
Having gutted half the house over Christmas and New Year we're now living in a sort of semi-finished shell with beautifully decorated rooms together with random stud walls and the unfortunate remains of the original squatters den. My dad calls the hallway toilet the 'Trainspotting bog', and yes it really is that vile. I assume he calls it that from its appearance in the movie however I imagine he's attempted to climb down it while wasted at some stage. Both my parents are heavy drinkers but my dad is a different breed entirely. The man drinks like a fish yet has never had a hangover in his life. A medical miracle defying the odds of science. A human cat with never ending lives. A total liability yet devastatingly lovable. A man who buys a limited edition Jaguar for his 60th yet doesn't have a pension.
So yes, the house is going to keep us occupied for a number of years as we don't have the money to do it all in one go but as of late we've had a burst of progress and I *finally* have a new room to decorate, hurrah!
This one is special too as it's going to be my very own space of serenity. For the first time in my life I will have a proper grown up office and I'm insanely excited about it.
The reason why I'm thankful for living in a tip is that it gives me something to do. Despite juggling a busy work and social life I am finding it incredibly hard to spend time at home and not drink. For so many years my home has been my refuge, my base camp, my hidey hole. A place for me to stash booze and guzzle as much of it as I liked - with no one watching and casting a judging eye.
Even when Rob and I would stay in and drink 'together' I was still able to put away more than he ever realised. In my final months of fuckwitery I had resorted to only buying white wine in green or brown bottles so that I could leave them half full in the fridge door...of water, not wine. Thing is I'd neck all the wine in one sitting - likely starting on a Tuesday - and top up the finished bottle so it would only look like I'd had two glasses. I'd then pour a little bit down the sink every other night until the weekend so I looked like a sensible, respectable and controlled drinker.
Rob only drinks beer and has always hated wine (he doesn't even like smelling it), so he never cottoned onto my brazen stunt which disguised the fact I was swigging from warm bottles I'd hid at the back of a disused cupboard Wednesday to Friday. He once queried where a jar of Moonshine (a novelty purchase from the States) had gone and I told him I was having a burn up of old wood in the garden and needed it for lighter fuel (OK Bear Grylls). In real life I had buried the bottle in the bin a few weeks prior as I found the 60% proof substance mixed very well with slimline tonic and got me sloshed very quickly.
I digress. But yeah, my home has always had my back when it comes to drinking. "Look, Em, a dark and disused cupboard that would be perfect for stashing a few bottles. Rob will never know!". If Blix, my inner booze demon, didn't live in my head he'd definitely be at home in the trainspotting loo.
So now the option to slump on the sofa with a larger than large glass of Sauvignon Blanc is no longer available I'm desperately trying to fill my time with distractions.
As I settle deeper into sobriety at 58 days sober I'm realising that my hands need to stay busy. Be it blogging, cleaning, eating (eeeesh, so much eating), I can't possibly let my hand rest on the fridge and reach for one of Rob's beers (they still occupy the entire lower chiller compartment and I'm considering asking him to banish them to the garage fridge as I find myself staring at them. A lot).
But now we have a new room to decorate and I'm buzzing. In February when I last decorated I hated every minute of it. The dust from sanding would get in my wine glass, the paint would clog up my nails which would look gross on a night out - gripped around my wine glass - and evenings spent doing DIY would inevitably chip in to pub time. Now it's a different story.
I can take my time over the sanding, ensuring the base coat is perfectly smooth and really drag out the fiddly yet therapeutic process - knowing every minute I spend focusing on improving my home is another side-step away from drunk old Em on the sofa.
Yes the house has a bloody long way to go but I'm so grateful it's giving me things to do as opposed to being perfect and clean and tempting to drink in. Don't get me wrong, I'd love for the bastard to be finished (!) but instead of viewing the renovations as an inconvenience I'm going to embrace them as a very welcome distraction from the wine witch.
And I can't think of anything better than squirrelling away in my cosy new nook - documenting my sobriety within freshly painted walls (I've always loved the smell) and googling countless stories about recovery and self-help (yes I am absolutely obsessed with other people's journeys and reading at the moment)!
Before we started to turn the room into an office it was an ex-lodgers manky wet room, covered in mould, damp and other horrific remnants that I'd rather not think about. Ewwww. The tiles would squish down into rotten floorboards as you stepped on them and the toilet was practically falling off the wall. If old drunk Em was a room in our house she would have been this wet room. Ruined by years of neglect and cracking under the slightest bit of pressure. State of her!
Now the space is being transformed into a haven of productivity and good energy at exactly the same time as I decide to go sober. Coincidence, non?! I think so :)
A song for my sobriety.
I've been battling a headache for the past three days now and I finally woke up this morning with a clear-ish head. Yet as I approach day 60 of sobriety I'm actually feeling worse than ever. Since day 50 I've been plagued with headaches and I swear I've woken up on a few occasions feeling hungover. Why is that?
My mood hasn't been great as of late but something cheered me up this morning and I feel compelled to share it with you.
I was driving to work stuck in traffic on the M4 and a song came on the radio which really spoke to me. I'm not sure why, but I started listening to this song from the first word (usually I just drive in autopilot and can't recall anything played on Radio 1 for the whole journey) and the lyrics couldn't have been more appropriate for my mood, and how I desperately want to be set free from my dependence on alcohol.
The song is called Send Them Off by Bastille, and here are the words:
My mood hasn't been great as of late but something cheered me up this morning and I feel compelled to share it with you.
I was driving to work stuck in traffic on the M4 and a song came on the radio which really spoke to me. I'm not sure why, but I started listening to this song from the first word (usually I just drive in autopilot and can't recall anything played on Radio 1 for the whole journey) and the lyrics couldn't have been more appropriate for my mood, and how I desperately want to be set free from my dependence on alcohol.
The song is called Send Them Off by Bastille, and here are the words:
I've got demons running round in my head
And they feed on insecurities I have
Won't you lay your healing hands on my chest?
Let your ritual clean
Soak the ropes with your holy water
Tie me down as you read out the words
Set me free from my jealousy
Won't you exorcise my mind?
Won't you exorcise my mind?
I want to be free as I'll ever be
Exorcise my mind
Help me exorcise my mind
Desdemona, won't you liberate me?
When I'm haunted by your ancient history
Close these green eyes and watch over as I sleep
Through my darkest of dreams
Be the power to compel me
Hold me closer than anyone before
Set me free from my jealousy
Won't you exorcise my mind?
Won't you exorcise my mind?
I want to be free as I'll ever be
Exorcise my mind
Help me exorcise my mind
I should be thinking 'bout nothing else when I'm with you ooh
With you ooh, oh oh oh
I should be thinking 'bout nothing else when I'm with you ooh
With you ooh, oh oh oh
Your mind exists somewhere altogether different
It lives in a world where feelings simply cannot be defined by words
Oh set me free from my jealousy
Won't you exorcise my mind?
Won't you exorcise my mind?
I want to be free as I'll ever be
Exorcise my mind
Help me exorcise my mind
Help me exorcise my mind
Won't you exorcise my mind?
And they feed on insecurities I have
Won't you lay your healing hands on my chest?
Let your ritual clean
Soak the ropes with your holy water
Tie me down as you read out the words
Set me free from my jealousy
Won't you exorcise my mind?
Won't you exorcise my mind?
I want to be free as I'll ever be
Exorcise my mind
Help me exorcise my mind
Desdemona, won't you liberate me?
When I'm haunted by your ancient history
Close these green eyes and watch over as I sleep
Through my darkest of dreams
Be the power to compel me
Hold me closer than anyone before
Set me free from my jealousy
Won't you exorcise my mind?
Won't you exorcise my mind?
I want to be free as I'll ever be
Exorcise my mind
Help me exorcise my mind
I should be thinking 'bout nothing else when I'm with you ooh
With you ooh, oh oh oh
I should be thinking 'bout nothing else when I'm with you ooh
With you ooh, oh oh oh
Your mind exists somewhere altogether different
It lives in a world where feelings simply cannot be defined by words
Oh set me free from my jealousy
Won't you exorcise my mind?
Won't you exorcise my mind?
I want to be free as I'll ever be
Exorcise my mind
Help me exorcise my mind
Help me exorcise my mind
Won't you exorcise my mind?
Aside from being an absolute banger I couldn't help but relate to the words, as if I'm singing to be released from my drink demons and desperately trying remain focussed on sobriety. And it's true. As a sober person I should be thinking about nothing else except being new and shiny and sober but it's not that easy, and my thoughts keep bringing me back to just one drink or a little beer wont hurt, drink it!
Towards the end of the song I end up getting a little teary. I have no idea why but it's not the first time I've randomly burst into tears since becoming sober (and I've always been a crier in truth). I once balled my eyes out to an old Bodyform advert which showed women off rock climbing and being all active and inspirational. I was on my period at the time and the big woah Bodyform scream set me right off.
So I attribute the wobbly chin to feeling a little overwhelmed (in a good way), and also decide the lead singer of Bastille secretly loves me and has released a song in my honour.
So I attribute the wobbly chin to feeling a little overwhelmed (in a good way), and also decide the lead singer of Bastille secretly loves me and has released a song in my honour.
As I pull into the office the next song to play is Hysteria by Muse, so now I'm half expecting Greg James to announce today's playlist is dedicated to early sobriety! Pop on Wait and Bleed by Slipknot Greggy then you'll really be onto something.
Monday, 3 September 2018
Booze, I want a divorce.
So I've already posted a few early blogs but I'd like to say thanks for stopping by, chance or by choice. My name is Em but I'm blogging as 'Sober Symposium' for now. As I'm new to sobriety I'm taking every day as it comes and doing what feels comfortable (and remaining totally anonymous for now certainly does)!
I'm on insta too @sobersymposium which is a prettier version of this blog no doubt!
I'm on the path of (to?) sobriety at the overdue age of 31. Having endured too many hangovers, blackouts and face-melting embarrassing moments, I've decided to bin the gin and take a permanent break from booze. Today I'm on day 57.
I live just outside of London with my wonderful husband of three years, and don't get me wrong they have been the happiest years of my life...but the darkest and most disappointing too. As my dependence on alcohol has grown my behaviour and personality is changing for the worse, and I'm worried that unless I separate myself from booze I may be facing an actual divorce in the not-too-distant future.
I know this journey isn't going to be easy as I've been solidly drinking since I was 14, when getting hammered on four WKD Blues in the park on a Friday night was living. But now, as I write this sat at my dining room table with a raging headache and staring at a 2L bottle of sparkling water I know it needs to happen.
As the days go on I'll update on my milestones, conquests and of course pitfalls - there will no doubt be many as I bimble my way through my new (and currently secret) marriage to sobriety. Yep, my nearest and dearest are yet to find out my real reasons for abstaining, however most just assume I'm pregnant which I was prepared for. Three years married, no kids and taking a 'break' from booze immediately equals raised eyebrows and 'bun-in-oven' whispers. I do want kids but I'm not quite ready for them yet. At the moment all that matters is making my new business a success which is a joke really as nothing has taken priority over wine since I can remember.
I'll also be talking about previous experiences and my behaviour when drinking. I've never done this before but feel a comparison between then and now will help me to put my progress into perspective. Also I'm just going to talk about stuff as and when I feel like it. No agenda, just me.
I'll also be talking about previous experiences and my behaviour when drinking. I've never done this before but feel a comparison between then and now will help me to put my progress into perspective. Also I'm just going to talk about stuff as and when I feel like it. No agenda, just me.
So here I go. Talking to you, the digital universe about my divorce from alcohol. Thank you in advance for being my therapy, and if anyone is in the same or similar situation I hope we can obliterate the booze demons together, and for good.
Wednesday, 29 August 2018
Part 2 of 2: My first sober holiday: Regaining control.
On day four of our gorgeous week-long holiday in Majorca I am absolutely fucked off and hating everything - mainly how I look and how sober I feel.
In Catherine's book she writes about the importance of alone time so I decide to take some. And it seems thrashing it out on a treadmill for half an hour in a grubby non-air conditioned Spanish gym actually works. Just having some space away from Rob and his poolside beers reminds me that I can simply choose another path. And me wanting to be away from people/Rob has absolutely nothing to do with me hating on them in any way - I just simply love being alone and feel it's so important to distance yourself from things that are bothering you as and when you can. I needed to faze my miserable holiday funk out and a hot run in the hotel's dungeon gym was helping.
Just this tiny window of alone time helped me to shake off the negs and reboot 'relaxed and chilled holiday Em'. She's new. Drinking holiday Em would be having a wine-fuelled siesta by now and awake in a pool of her own drool.
After a sweaty two-hour morning hike, many swims and a sunset coffee on the balcony I was finally feeling better. Day five had me remembering the importance of staying strong and I could feel the sober glow trickling back into my veins. The storm clouds had passed and I was well and truly back in the sunshine. I actually took a selfie to capture the moment...maybe one day when I'm brave enough, I'll share it.
Everyday of sobriety is different but it's so vital to remember the darkness will eventually pass. I couldn't get Blix out of my head for the first three days of my holiday, chipping away at my vulnerability and desperately urging me to throw in the towel. I felt suffocated, trapped and completely out of my comfort zone. Holiday drinking was the ultimate package, the dream, the familiar reward after a year of solid working! And I knew my first sober trip would be hard, but I genuinely underestimated just how fucking hard it would be.
In Catherine's book she writes about the importance of alone time so I decide to take some. And it seems thrashing it out on a treadmill for half an hour in a grubby non-air conditioned Spanish gym actually works. Just having some space away from Rob and his poolside beers reminds me that I can simply choose another path. And me wanting to be away from people/Rob has absolutely nothing to do with me hating on them in any way - I just simply love being alone and feel it's so important to distance yourself from things that are bothering you as and when you can. I needed to faze my miserable holiday funk out and a hot run in the hotel's dungeon gym was helping.
Just this tiny window of alone time helped me to shake off the negs and reboot 'relaxed and chilled holiday Em'. She's new. Drinking holiday Em would be having a wine-fuelled siesta by now and awake in a pool of her own drool.
After my run I showered and wandered back to the pool and suggested to Rob we find somewhere chill for dinner and hit the hay early to go on a morning hike. I was still very stressed and tense about dining in a hip cool restaurant with gin menus and cocktails so I decided to plant the seed before he stumbled across anything mildy swanky on Trip Adviser. I thought he'd swat my suggestion away as when I said it out loud in the 33 degree heat it couldn't have sounded less fun and appealing.
'Sounds great, totally up for a cheap dinner and being active babe.' Relief! Exactly what I wanted (and desperately needed) to hear. That night we ate pizza, wondered back to the hotel with a kilo of churros and watched the new Avengers movie in bed before calling it a night at 11.30 p.m....it was actual heaven.
After a sweaty two-hour morning hike, many swims and a sunset coffee on the balcony I was finally feeling better. Day five had me remembering the importance of staying strong and I could feel the sober glow trickling back into my veins. The storm clouds had passed and I was well and truly back in the sunshine. I actually took a selfie to capture the moment...maybe one day when I'm brave enough, I'll share it.
Everyday of sobriety is different but it's so vital to remember the darkness will eventually pass. I couldn't get Blix out of my head for the first three days of my holiday, chipping away at my vulnerability and desperately urging me to throw in the towel. I felt suffocated, trapped and completely out of my comfort zone. Holiday drinking was the ultimate package, the dream, the familiar reward after a year of solid working! And I knew my first sober trip would be hard, but I genuinely underestimated just how fucking hard it would be.
I was constantly terrified that I'd ruin Rob's trip as a result of my non-drinking. Constantly comparing myself to other people and their seemingly amazing holiday chat and beers. But when we returned home his report of me, sober holiday Em, was quite glowing. Apparently Rob loved the early nights, active mornings and lazy afternoons. He was even chuffed that as a result of my sobriety he only suffered one hangover throughout the entire trip. Did I hear that right...? Am I starting to become a good influence?
There were moments I genuinely wanted to crawl under a rock and cry/die - mainly when I clocked other couples laughing and playing with the stems of their wine glasses. Meh, dicks. I was so wrapped up in my own warped world - a world where Rob would shout at me for not drinking and tell all his friends that he's married a dud.
Maybe there will come a time where he gets fed up with my sobriety, I'm not sure, but a week in Majorca certainly wasn't a deal breaker (as much as I thought it would be).
There were moments I genuinely wanted to crawl under a rock and cry/die - mainly when I clocked other couples laughing and playing with the stems of their wine glasses. Meh, dicks. I was so wrapped up in my own warped world - a world where Rob would shout at me for not drinking and tell all his friends that he's married a dud.
Maybe there will come a time where he gets fed up with my sobriety, I'm not sure, but a week in Majorca certainly wasn't a deal breaker (as much as I thought it would be).
Tuesday, 28 August 2018
Part 1 of 2. My first sober holiday: The death of drunk holiday Em and subsequent mourning.
So it's Tuesday, 28th August 2018 and I'm 51 days sober. And I've just completed my first holiday sans booze since I was roughly...15.
Before I went away I drafted the (since modified) title of this blog post which is a little trick I do to help me stay on the straight and narrow. If I have a major trip, event or occasion approaching I tend to find that noting my desired outcome before it's even happened is a really powerful tool - it keeps me focused and determined. Writing down your goals (and ultimately achieving them) is an age-old tactic, but when it comes to sobriety I feel it's a seriously smart move.
I didn't really know what to expect from sobriety abroad. As I've previously mentioned, I feel like I'm somewhat in limbo at the moment and I don't feel as if I've earned my teetotal stars. So for now, I'm simply an adult taking a break from the hangovers.
In truth, I'm not ready to tell people the truth. That my drinking has/had spiralled out of control, that I had started to hide my increasing consumption from my husband, that my hangover anxiety was rapidly suffocating almost every day of my working week. And they're just the headline sirens.
Cue lengthy blog post...
The day before we flew (Aug 17, 2018) we were at Rob's friends' wedding, which I confidently did sober and had no problems doing so. "So well done for not drinking Em but you're obviously going to drink on holiday, right?" was a question I heard countless times - and one I totally anticipated. My previous abroad instastories have been undoubtedly sponsored by late night shots, cocktails and hangover pool days, and deep down I was (seriously) nervous about being sober with my husband on holiday. Since we've been together it's never, ever happened.
And the more I thought about it the more anxious and alone I felt. For the first time in my life I wasn't looking forward to going on holiday and I'd started to work myself up - a lot. Inner booze voice enter stage right:
"Rob is going to think you're SO dull!"
"What are you going to do or even talk about? Drinking on hols is your bonding time!"
"How fucking boring and selfish are you? Leaving Rob to drink alone!"
"You're so ungrateful, Rob's paid for this holiday and you're not even going to enjoy it!"
"Happy knitting, Grandma!"
"Rob is going to run off with someone who drinks that is way more fun than you!"
*Inserts sad tear face and pile of shit emoji*
Two great sober champions - Catherine Grey and Clare Pooley (among others) - have written about their inner booze voice as an evil and unwelcome being, constantly scratching at the sober door and attempting to devour ones very best intentions. Until my holiday I hadn't been bothered by this voice, but as I sat poolside on day one of our sunshine-drenched trip the darkness came knocking, hard. Catherine calls hers Voldemort and Clare relates to the Wine Witch. Everyone, please be introduced to my horrific by-product-of-booze brain demon: Blix.
Named after the most black-hearted and ruthless goblin from the 80's fantasy epic, Legend, Blix's main goal in the movie was to kill the unicorns for the Lord of Darkness - so a complete prick as you can imagine. And he's hideous. There is no doubt my voice is Blix.
At 11.00 a.m. aka beer o'clock Rob asks me if I fancy a drink and I reply 'maybe, perhaps just a diet coke for now"? WHY CAN'T I JUST BE HONEST AND SAY 'NO, ACTUALLY DARLING I THINK I'M ADDICTED TO ALCOHOL AND NEED TO STOP THE BOOZE BEFORE IT STOPS ME, US, AND EVERYTHING ELSE GOOD IN MY LIFE.'
So what I thought was going to be a spectacularly blissful glittery retreat of health and tanning and activeness and glow and joy was quickly evolving into a very unpleasant experience. I felt like an ant being fried under a magnifying glass.
Having avoided alcohol on day one, Rob broached the subject of my non-drinking at dinner on our second evening. We had reservations at a beautiful restaurant called Nautilus which is nestled in the cliffs of Soller, Majorca. Once our drinks order was placed he asked me again about my sobriety and queried my count of non-drinking days. I shared my Nomo app with him and said I was using it as a useful tracking tool. At this point my shoulders felt slightly lighter...I'd just shared my sober tracking app with Rob (day 44. whoop) and he didn't freak out and call me a crazy alcoholic. Until this point I'd kept my little tracker a secret - and now he seemed pretty interested.
I was hoping a moment would present itself to talk openly and honestly about my break from booze and this was it. As I started to hint at my increasing hatred towards alcohol I became distracted by the waiter behind me - he was recommending the very best and most expensive red wine to an elderly couple who seemed to be enjoying letting the whole restaurant know how rich they were. The guy was literally shout-talking about how pleased he was to not have to 'view the yacht tomorrow.' Barf/so jel/kill me.
Becoming panicked by the thought of baldric and blue rinse being a shite tonne more fun than me, I found myself being all ambiguous and irritating again. 'So yeah, I'm just still digging this whole sobriety thing! I know I'm being really boring but I promise I'm still fun! I'll probably end up drinking tomorrow, lol!" In truth I just wanted to jump off the cliff we were perched on and land in the sun. I had never eaten at a more beautiful restaurant but I simply wanted to die. I was consumed with jealousy over other diners, their drinks orders, their conversations, their flirting, their better life. I swiftly started to resent my soft drink and was seriously contemplating wine. If they can enjoy booze, why can't I?
Until, that is, Rob delivered a few home truths. After I seemingly side stepped the perfect opportunity to be honest about my downward drinking spiral I found my husband offloading a number of concerns centred on out-of-control Em. 'Do you know babe, the worst thing about you drinking is when you lose your eyes. You get an absent glaze which I can't stand as you literally look like you're on another planet. I can't talk to you when you're like that.'
Hmmm...
I bit the bullet and responded with a question which required some serious courage. 'What else about me don't you like when I'm drunk'? Up until now I would literally do anything to avoid Rob recalling tales of me pissed and embarrassing, yet for some reason I felt now was the time to ask.
'You get to this stage where you just don't listen. Like if we have some friends round you get stupid and turn the music up full blast with zero respect for the neighbours. I ask you to turn it down and you do, but 10 seconds later you crank the volume up again and think it's funny. You just get really...annoying.'
OK, not too bad.... 'Anything else...'?
'Look Em, I don't want tonight to go down this route as you always get upset and angry at me, so let's just enjoy the view and have a great night'.
Rob was completely right. In the past when he's tried to broach my behaviour I've either lashed out or...lashed out. Sometimes I remember, sometimes I don't, but the long and short of it has always been me making excuses for my behaviour and shifting the blame. A favourite? 'Well you're my husband why the hell did you let me drink that much?!' Enter full blown heated couples row, stage left. Day ruined.
They don't call sobriety a journey for nothing. Since dropping tools in early July 2018 I have learnt so much about myself and have had to face some pretty horrendous flash backs. Strangely my recall has been sharper than ever since ditching the grog and I'm remembering bits of my life that I assumed were long buried/dead in my limbic system. Like the time I shared a joint with a homeless man in a doorway after clubbing in Reading. How sanitary. Or the time found myself on the phone to my dad, begging for a lift home after a wild night out, again in Reading. The latter doesn't sound too bad eh?...except I was 22 and hadn't called my dad for a lift since I was 16. It was 1.30 a.m. and I had experienced a severe blackout - I couldn't piece the night together pre-10.00 p.m. and came-to on the phone under the bright lights of Chicken Cottage, alone, without any of my friends.
My dad called me the next morning sick with worry to check I was alive. Apparently I was so drunk I couldn't communicate my whereabouts to him, told him he was useless and hung up. He couldn't call my mum to check I'd made it home as they haven't shared contact details since the divorce, so he essentially spent the night in a ball of worry and only got a few hours sleep.
When I finally answered his seventh call of the morning I told him to leave me alone as I was so hungover. To this day I have no idea how I made the 15 mile journey back to my mums (where I was living at the time) and still feel guilty about the way I treated him. And it's flashbacks like this that terrify me.
But I've banked Rob's concerns he shared with me at Nautilus and I know that my increasingly sharper brain will remember to discuss them as and when we're both ready to. In honesty I'm not ready to tell him I'm sober yet - even though I'm obviously not drinking which equates to being sober - but I'm not ready ready to announce my never drinking again to him. This is very much the start of something permanent for me but I need to treat it carefully. At the moment I feel like I'm prodding sobriety with a stick, like a curious child who has stumbled across a dead squirrel in the woods.
After Rob shared some of his pet hates attached to my shitty drunk behaviour it took the edge off slightly. After all, I'd much rather be present and in the moment here, right now, instead of being a bottle of wine in and forgetting what I ate. However my mind kept drifting to the rest of the room and I started to really struggle, so-much-so I took myself off to the toilet and had five minutes to myself (and sat on the loo and cried).
Despite my foul mood we had a lovely evening and the food was out of this world, but it's in situations like this - where the setting is perfect, the sun is shining and you're sat with the one you love most in the world - where hysterical self-analysis kicks in and a wave of depression hits you. I think I was starting to mourn my previous drunk life despite being well aware of the negatives. Being out with Rob on holiday and not drinking just felt...shit.
The next morning I went straight to the pool and dived back into my holiday read, The unexpected joy of being sober by Catherine Gray, which undoubtedly has changed my life.
Before I went away I drafted the (since modified) title of this blog post which is a little trick I do to help me stay on the straight and narrow. If I have a major trip, event or occasion approaching I tend to find that noting my desired outcome before it's even happened is a really powerful tool - it keeps me focused and determined. Writing down your goals (and ultimately achieving them) is an age-old tactic, but when it comes to sobriety I feel it's a seriously smart move.
I didn't really know what to expect from sobriety abroad. As I've previously mentioned, I feel like I'm somewhat in limbo at the moment and I don't feel as if I've earned my teetotal stars. So for now, I'm simply an adult taking a break from the hangovers.
In truth, I'm not ready to tell people the truth. That my drinking has/had spiralled out of control, that I had started to hide my increasing consumption from my husband, that my hangover anxiety was rapidly suffocating almost every day of my working week. And they're just the headline sirens.
Cue lengthy blog post...
The day before we flew (Aug 17, 2018) we were at Rob's friends' wedding, which I confidently did sober and had no problems doing so. "So well done for not drinking Em but you're obviously going to drink on holiday, right?" was a question I heard countless times - and one I totally anticipated. My previous abroad instastories have been undoubtedly sponsored by late night shots, cocktails and hangover pool days, and deep down I was (seriously) nervous about being sober with my husband on holiday. Since we've been together it's never, ever happened.
And the more I thought about it the more anxious and alone I felt. For the first time in my life I wasn't looking forward to going on holiday and I'd started to work myself up - a lot. Inner booze voice enter stage right:
"Rob is going to think you're SO dull!"
"What are you going to do or even talk about? Drinking on hols is your bonding time!"
"How fucking boring and selfish are you? Leaving Rob to drink alone!"
"You're so ungrateful, Rob's paid for this holiday and you're not even going to enjoy it!"
"Happy knitting, Grandma!"
"Rob is going to run off with someone who drinks that is way more fun than you!"
*Inserts sad tear face and pile of shit emoji*
Two great sober champions - Catherine Grey and Clare Pooley (among others) - have written about their inner booze voice as an evil and unwelcome being, constantly scratching at the sober door and attempting to devour ones very best intentions. Until my holiday I hadn't been bothered by this voice, but as I sat poolside on day one of our sunshine-drenched trip the darkness came knocking, hard. Catherine calls hers Voldemort and Clare relates to the Wine Witch. Everyone, please be introduced to my horrific by-product-of-booze brain demon: Blix.
Named after the most black-hearted and ruthless goblin from the 80's fantasy epic, Legend, Blix's main goal in the movie was to kill the unicorns for the Lord of Darkness - so a complete prick as you can imagine. And he's hideous. There is no doubt my voice is Blix.
At 11.00 a.m. aka beer o'clock Rob asks me if I fancy a drink and I reply 'maybe, perhaps just a diet coke for now"? WHY CAN'T I JUST BE HONEST AND SAY 'NO, ACTUALLY DARLING I THINK I'M ADDICTED TO ALCOHOL AND NEED TO STOP THE BOOZE BEFORE IT STOPS ME, US, AND EVERYTHING ELSE GOOD IN MY LIFE.'
So what I thought was going to be a spectacularly blissful glittery retreat of health and tanning and activeness and glow and joy was quickly evolving into a very unpleasant experience. I felt like an ant being fried under a magnifying glass.
Having avoided alcohol on day one, Rob broached the subject of my non-drinking at dinner on our second evening. We had reservations at a beautiful restaurant called Nautilus which is nestled in the cliffs of Soller, Majorca. Once our drinks order was placed he asked me again about my sobriety and queried my count of non-drinking days. I shared my Nomo app with him and said I was using it as a useful tracking tool. At this point my shoulders felt slightly lighter...I'd just shared my sober tracking app with Rob (day 44. whoop) and he didn't freak out and call me a crazy alcoholic. Until this point I'd kept my little tracker a secret - and now he seemed pretty interested.
I was hoping a moment would present itself to talk openly and honestly about my break from booze and this was it. As I started to hint at my increasing hatred towards alcohol I became distracted by the waiter behind me - he was recommending the very best and most expensive red wine to an elderly couple who seemed to be enjoying letting the whole restaurant know how rich they were. The guy was literally shout-talking about how pleased he was to not have to 'view the yacht tomorrow.' Barf/so jel/kill me.
Becoming panicked by the thought of baldric and blue rinse being a shite tonne more fun than me, I found myself being all ambiguous and irritating again. 'So yeah, I'm just still digging this whole sobriety thing! I know I'm being really boring but I promise I'm still fun! I'll probably end up drinking tomorrow, lol!" In truth I just wanted to jump off the cliff we were perched on and land in the sun. I had never eaten at a more beautiful restaurant but I simply wanted to die. I was consumed with jealousy over other diners, their drinks orders, their conversations, their flirting, their better life. I swiftly started to resent my soft drink and was seriously contemplating wine. If they can enjoy booze, why can't I?
Until, that is, Rob delivered a few home truths. After I seemingly side stepped the perfect opportunity to be honest about my downward drinking spiral I found my husband offloading a number of concerns centred on out-of-control Em. 'Do you know babe, the worst thing about you drinking is when you lose your eyes. You get an absent glaze which I can't stand as you literally look like you're on another planet. I can't talk to you when you're like that.'
Hmmm...
I bit the bullet and responded with a question which required some serious courage. 'What else about me don't you like when I'm drunk'? Up until now I would literally do anything to avoid Rob recalling tales of me pissed and embarrassing, yet for some reason I felt now was the time to ask.
'You get to this stage where you just don't listen. Like if we have some friends round you get stupid and turn the music up full blast with zero respect for the neighbours. I ask you to turn it down and you do, but 10 seconds later you crank the volume up again and think it's funny. You just get really...annoying.'
OK, not too bad.... 'Anything else...'?
'Look Em, I don't want tonight to go down this route as you always get upset and angry at me, so let's just enjoy the view and have a great night'.
Rob was completely right. In the past when he's tried to broach my behaviour I've either lashed out or...lashed out. Sometimes I remember, sometimes I don't, but the long and short of it has always been me making excuses for my behaviour and shifting the blame. A favourite? 'Well you're my husband why the hell did you let me drink that much?!' Enter full blown heated couples row, stage left. Day ruined.
They don't call sobriety a journey for nothing. Since dropping tools in early July 2018 I have learnt so much about myself and have had to face some pretty horrendous flash backs. Strangely my recall has been sharper than ever since ditching the grog and I'm remembering bits of my life that I assumed were long buried/dead in my limbic system. Like the time I shared a joint with a homeless man in a doorway after clubbing in Reading. How sanitary. Or the time found myself on the phone to my dad, begging for a lift home after a wild night out, again in Reading. The latter doesn't sound too bad eh?...except I was 22 and hadn't called my dad for a lift since I was 16. It was 1.30 a.m. and I had experienced a severe blackout - I couldn't piece the night together pre-10.00 p.m. and came-to on the phone under the bright lights of Chicken Cottage, alone, without any of my friends.
My dad called me the next morning sick with worry to check I was alive. Apparently I was so drunk I couldn't communicate my whereabouts to him, told him he was useless and hung up. He couldn't call my mum to check I'd made it home as they haven't shared contact details since the divorce, so he essentially spent the night in a ball of worry and only got a few hours sleep.
When I finally answered his seventh call of the morning I told him to leave me alone as I was so hungover. To this day I have no idea how I made the 15 mile journey back to my mums (where I was living at the time) and still feel guilty about the way I treated him. And it's flashbacks like this that terrify me.
But I've banked Rob's concerns he shared with me at Nautilus and I know that my increasingly sharper brain will remember to discuss them as and when we're both ready to. In honesty I'm not ready to tell him I'm sober yet - even though I'm obviously not drinking which equates to being sober - but I'm not ready ready to announce my never drinking again to him. This is very much the start of something permanent for me but I need to treat it carefully. At the moment I feel like I'm prodding sobriety with a stick, like a curious child who has stumbled across a dead squirrel in the woods.
After Rob shared some of his pet hates attached to my shitty drunk behaviour it took the edge off slightly. After all, I'd much rather be present and in the moment here, right now, instead of being a bottle of wine in and forgetting what I ate. However my mind kept drifting to the rest of the room and I started to really struggle, so-much-so I took myself off to the toilet and had five minutes to myself (and sat on the loo and cried).
Despite my foul mood we had a lovely evening and the food was out of this world, but it's in situations like this - where the setting is perfect, the sun is shining and you're sat with the one you love most in the world - where hysterical self-analysis kicks in and a wave of depression hits you. I think I was starting to mourn my previous drunk life despite being well aware of the negatives. Being out with Rob on holiday and not drinking just felt...shit.
The next morning I went straight to the pool and dived back into my holiday read, The unexpected joy of being sober by Catherine Gray, which undoubtedly has changed my life.
The more I read the better and stronger I feel for not giving in to a glass/bottle of red over dinner. I'd made it another day and I knew, had I let Blix convince me that one was 'OK, it would make me fun again', I'd be nursing a stinking hangover and would be sick-to-my-stomach from guilt. The holiday would have been ruined, however the day was new and I was still sober. From this point I decided to focus my energy on feeling better. The first three days of the trip I had been pining for old me and forgetting the disaster that is me and booze. Come on, Em, no more.
Btw - the original title I gave this post (drafted pre-holiday) was 'Seven days in Soller, my sensational sober holiday'. Wishful thinking, Dorothy.
Part 2 of 2 here.
Btw - the original title I gave this post (drafted pre-holiday) was 'Seven days in Soller, my sensational sober holiday'. Wishful thinking, Dorothy.
Part 2 of 2 here.
Monday, 13 August 2018
My first sober wedding.
It's been one month and five days since I had my last drink, and it's the morning after one of my best friend's weddings. Thank, effing, god.
I'm going to try and keep this post as brief as possible as I know it could turn into horrifically long waffle. But the more thought I give toward the events that unfolded this weekend the more accomplished I feel sharing my first sober wedding with you. I DID IT. I've essentially survived one of the most likely weekends to derail my efforts and I'm unbelievably chuffed that I've made it to day 35.
I'm going to try and keep this post as brief as possible as I know it could turn into horrifically long waffle. But the more thought I give toward the events that unfolded this weekend the more accomplished I feel sharing my first sober wedding with you. I DID IT. I've essentially survived one of the most likely weekends to derail my efforts and I'm unbelievably chuffed that I've made it to day 35.
My husband (Rob) and I have just spent the weekend in the New Forest for a beautiful wedding with a handful of some of my best and most brilliant friends. The last time I saw these girls was at the Brighton Hen Do (aka coffin/nail moment)...so I'm actually quite apprehensive about making it through the weekend alive.
We arrive on the Friday as I need to be on site early Saturday morning to help decorate the venue. I'm an event planner by trade so I lend my organisational skills to friends and family in times of celebratory need. I thought it would be easy dodging the booze on Friday eve but as soon as Rob and I arrived at the bar my friend encourages us to tack on to his order. Rob asks for a pint and I scrunch my face up and pretend to be 'gasping for something soft'. I actually couldn't be further away from being thirsty. So I order a sparkling water much to my friends disdain. 'If you're thirsty order a proper drink Ems, what's up with you?'.
And so it begins....
As I flit between water, coffee and some fancy Fever Tree tonic the comments on my sobriety begin to slow down, yet my Brighton hen do army seem entirely perplexed by my decision to not drink - and as a result I do feel somewhat 'outa the gang'.
Half my pals are convinced I'm pregnant, obviously, while the other half are pretending to be intrigued by my motives but are also thinking she's blates pregs. They all, however, enjoy me recapping on the events that led to me being off the grog (as if I'm trying to remind them that I'm still drunk fun Em...). There are big lols at the embarrassing memories and my friend bellows, 'Well at least we'll have Em back to normal tomorrow'... Eeep.
As I blame my sobriety (yes, as if it's a terrible thing) on wanting to stay sharp for wedding day prep I quickly realise everyone is counting on me to get drunk (and embarrassing) tomorrow....
The wedding speeches came to a close and Rob started to realise that I was tackling the wedding sober (even he thought I'd be back on it by now). And in his defence I haven't exactly shared my sober intentions with him as I'm even not sure myself that my sobriety is going to last. I don't want to be that person who announces their sobriety then three days later bam I'm drunk again. For me this is personal and I'm taking each day as it comes.
I lost count of the times my non-drinking was queried, to which I politely replied 'I'm not drinking yet, don't really fancy it' and quickly began to chat about something else.
The wedding made me realise that it is completely 'the norm' to drink - which is something I already knew - but I didn't understand just how much people calculate your worth on how many drinks into the day you are. As I watched with sober eyes the crowd began to change. I have always told myself I am never going to be a judgemental sober person but wow...alcohol really does turn people stupid.
At 11.00 p.m. I feel like I've completed almost every level of this new and exciting sober wedding game. I tried every canape and went back for the best ones (tempura prawn), finished all my wedding breakfast and savoured every delicious course, listened intently to the speeches and learnt amazing things about the happy couple's past, danced respectfully without falling over (and out of my dress), discovered a beautiful new first dance song and made a note of the artist, signed the guest book, sampled the incredible evening food and put away two slices of the most delicious Victoria Sponge cake I have ever tried.
In a parallel drunk universe this was me on the same day: Missed all the canapes because: prosecco, picked around my lunch as food cals came second to wine cals, pretended to absorb the speeches but was too pissed to be genuinely interested (grabbing extra wine at this stage over and above our table allocation), danced and fell over, spilt my drink(s) on someone important, skipped all evening food and cake, snuck away from my husband countless times to play the secret smoking game (which was fucking tiring - and I'd be that scrounger who would bum all my friends cigarettes) and then continue to navigate the rest of the night through black, blur and slur until my husband carried me to bed. Oh and not to mention spending horrendous amounts of money on buying drinks for myself and every other person (to try and make them as drunk as me). And 'Oh' again, Rob and I would then typically end the night on a blazing row which would be all my fault as I'm an irrational drunk and I'd wake up with zero recollection and want to die.
About two years ago I was at a wedding with a free bar. I drank so much I fell over one of the low walls sectioning off the dance floor and crashed into a table knocking smashed glass and alcohol into the laps of OAP family members. That's the last thing I remember. Good.
This time around, my sober self spent the day and night completely immersed in all that was important and it was frigging amazing.
One of the most significant parts of the evening for me was going to the bar at midnight after the band had played their last (bloody brilliant) song, and ordering some drinks with Rob (who is always a great composed drunk person). The bar lady let us know that drinks were only being provided to people with room tabs, which we had, but at this point in time the night genuinely stood still for me. Drunk Em would have kicked up a fuss for no reason, ordered another bottle of £40 fizz and charged it to the Monopoly money room bill. Sober Em looked at her husband, said one softy for the road then sensibly called it a night. What a win!
It was a strange feeling waking up on Sunday as in truth I didn't feel fresh. I was half expecting to spring out of bed, cleanse my glowing un-tired skin and skip down to brekkie feeling half a stone lighter. However I felt exhausted, headachey and actually quite slow moving. Maybe my body was programmed to expect a hangover and malfunctioned as a result.
It had been a hugely important day for me for many reasons. Wedding prep aside (which went superbly well) I was really feeling the pressure from booze. I thought I'd be strong heading into the weekend - which I absolutely was - yet I think my sobriety meant more to me than I ever thought it could/would. So much so that on Friday night I actually dreamt that I threw in the towel and cracked on with the Champagne - I could actually taste the bubbles. I woke up in a wild panic on Saturday morning and soon realised it was all a horrible dream, legit like in the movies. The nightmare was so damn vivid I could still taste the bloody booze the next morning, and it terrified me.
Failure anxiety aside, here are some of my learnings:
1) Answering honestly (or not honestly) about why you're not drinking is absolutely OK. People are either accepting (and if they're not, you don't have to talk to them about it again ever), not bothered enough to ask or too drunk to care - which is a win win win really.
2) Eliminating booze makes you appreciate so many amazing aspects of the day. I held intelligent conversations with new people and remembered every single best bit. I also dodged situations which were turning hairy. There was a very drunk woman who smashed a glass by my friend's kid's foot, didn't make an effort to clear away the glass and proceeded to light a cigarette by the buggy and blow smoke all over said child. Not a good look and she was loud and shouty. Triple annoyer (and could have easily been me if I was drinking).
3) It's not easy, I can't sugar coat that, but it does get easier. I feel like my sobriety is perhaps too much in it's infancy for me to say to people 'I don't drink' or 'I'm tee total' (as if I haven't earned my stripes yet - which I'm cool with) but letting people know I wasn't drinking did get easier as the day went on. My answers stopped becoming so long and waffly and I started to realise that my responses were completely acceptable. Although everyone still thinks I'm pregnant.
4) Some people will think you're judging them and make a huge deal out of your sobriety. Perhaps because your not drinking acts as a magnifying glass for their own issues (I'm not saying this is the same for everyone but I really felt this was the case for some people at this wedding). If you're anything like me you'll just want to carry on with the night and not be the talking point - but unfortunately you will get the odd individual that makes it their night's mission to out you as a sober person and think it's a worthwhile discussion point (to your face and behind it). But who gives a shit.
5) You may struggle to find a drink you actually like. This sounds like an odd thing to say but I've come to realise that drinking for me is a 'doing' thing. I like to have something in my hand that I can sip to make me look busy and give me something to do. However on Saturday I did struggle to find a happy balance. I imagine this will become easier over time, but the tonic waters and fizzy softies did become unbelievably boring after a while. I was hoping one of the bar staff may make an effort to snazz up my sparkling water with some freshly squeezed lime but in truth I ended up desperately missing alcohol post 8.00 p.m.
Roll on the next wedding which hits me in approximately six days time. Wedding season is completely bloody exhausting...
And so it begins....
As I flit between water, coffee and some fancy Fever Tree tonic the comments on my sobriety begin to slow down, yet my Brighton hen do army seem entirely perplexed by my decision to not drink - and as a result I do feel somewhat 'outa the gang'.
Half my pals are convinced I'm pregnant, obviously, while the other half are pretending to be intrigued by my motives but are also thinking she's blates pregs. They all, however, enjoy me recapping on the events that led to me being off the grog (as if I'm trying to remind them that I'm still drunk fun Em...). There are big lols at the embarrassing memories and my friend bellows, 'Well at least we'll have Em back to normal tomorrow'... Eeep.
As I blame my sobriety (yes, as if it's a terrible thing) on wanting to stay sharp for wedding day prep I quickly realise everyone is counting on me to get drunk (and embarrassing) tomorrow....
The wedding speeches came to a close and Rob started to realise that I was tackling the wedding sober (even he thought I'd be back on it by now). And in his defence I haven't exactly shared my sober intentions with him as I'm even not sure myself that my sobriety is going to last. I don't want to be that person who announces their sobriety then three days later bam I'm drunk again. For me this is personal and I'm taking each day as it comes.
I lost count of the times my non-drinking was queried, to which I politely replied 'I'm not drinking yet, don't really fancy it' and quickly began to chat about something else.
The wedding made me realise that it is completely 'the norm' to drink - which is something I already knew - but I didn't understand just how much people calculate your worth on how many drinks into the day you are. As I watched with sober eyes the crowd began to change. I have always told myself I am never going to be a judgemental sober person but wow...alcohol really does turn people stupid.
At 11.00 p.m. I feel like I've completed almost every level of this new and exciting sober wedding game. I tried every canape and went back for the best ones (tempura prawn), finished all my wedding breakfast and savoured every delicious course, listened intently to the speeches and learnt amazing things about the happy couple's past, danced respectfully without falling over (and out of my dress), discovered a beautiful new first dance song and made a note of the artist, signed the guest book, sampled the incredible evening food and put away two slices of the most delicious Victoria Sponge cake I have ever tried.
In a parallel drunk universe this was me on the same day: Missed all the canapes because: prosecco, picked around my lunch as food cals came second to wine cals, pretended to absorb the speeches but was too pissed to be genuinely interested (grabbing extra wine at this stage over and above our table allocation), danced and fell over, spilt my drink(s) on someone important, skipped all evening food and cake, snuck away from my husband countless times to play the secret smoking game (which was fucking tiring - and I'd be that scrounger who would bum all my friends cigarettes) and then continue to navigate the rest of the night through black, blur and slur until my husband carried me to bed. Oh and not to mention spending horrendous amounts of money on buying drinks for myself and every other person (to try and make them as drunk as me). And 'Oh' again, Rob and I would then typically end the night on a blazing row which would be all my fault as I'm an irrational drunk and I'd wake up with zero recollection and want to die.
About two years ago I was at a wedding with a free bar. I drank so much I fell over one of the low walls sectioning off the dance floor and crashed into a table knocking smashed glass and alcohol into the laps of OAP family members. That's the last thing I remember. Good.
This time around, my sober self spent the day and night completely immersed in all that was important and it was frigging amazing.
One of the most significant parts of the evening for me was going to the bar at midnight after the band had played their last (bloody brilliant) song, and ordering some drinks with Rob (who is always a great composed drunk person). The bar lady let us know that drinks were only being provided to people with room tabs, which we had, but at this point in time the night genuinely stood still for me. Drunk Em would have kicked up a fuss for no reason, ordered another bottle of £40 fizz and charged it to the Monopoly money room bill. Sober Em looked at her husband, said one softy for the road then sensibly called it a night. What a win!
It was a strange feeling waking up on Sunday as in truth I didn't feel fresh. I was half expecting to spring out of bed, cleanse my glowing un-tired skin and skip down to brekkie feeling half a stone lighter. However I felt exhausted, headachey and actually quite slow moving. Maybe my body was programmed to expect a hangover and malfunctioned as a result.
It had been a hugely important day for me for many reasons. Wedding prep aside (which went superbly well) I was really feeling the pressure from booze. I thought I'd be strong heading into the weekend - which I absolutely was - yet I think my sobriety meant more to me than I ever thought it could/would. So much so that on Friday night I actually dreamt that I threw in the towel and cracked on with the Champagne - I could actually taste the bubbles. I woke up in a wild panic on Saturday morning and soon realised it was all a horrible dream, legit like in the movies. The nightmare was so damn vivid I could still taste the bloody booze the next morning, and it terrified me.
Failure anxiety aside, here are some of my learnings:
1) Answering honestly (or not honestly) about why you're not drinking is absolutely OK. People are either accepting (and if they're not, you don't have to talk to them about it again ever), not bothered enough to ask or too drunk to care - which is a win win win really.
2) Eliminating booze makes you appreciate so many amazing aspects of the day. I held intelligent conversations with new people and remembered every single best bit. I also dodged situations which were turning hairy. There was a very drunk woman who smashed a glass by my friend's kid's foot, didn't make an effort to clear away the glass and proceeded to light a cigarette by the buggy and blow smoke all over said child. Not a good look and she was loud and shouty. Triple annoyer (and could have easily been me if I was drinking).
3) It's not easy, I can't sugar coat that, but it does get easier. I feel like my sobriety is perhaps too much in it's infancy for me to say to people 'I don't drink' or 'I'm tee total' (as if I haven't earned my stripes yet - which I'm cool with) but letting people know I wasn't drinking did get easier as the day went on. My answers stopped becoming so long and waffly and I started to realise that my responses were completely acceptable. Although everyone still thinks I'm pregnant.
4) Some people will think you're judging them and make a huge deal out of your sobriety. Perhaps because your not drinking acts as a magnifying glass for their own issues (I'm not saying this is the same for everyone but I really felt this was the case for some people at this wedding). If you're anything like me you'll just want to carry on with the night and not be the talking point - but unfortunately you will get the odd individual that makes it their night's mission to out you as a sober person and think it's a worthwhile discussion point (to your face and behind it). But who gives a shit.
5) You may struggle to find a drink you actually like. This sounds like an odd thing to say but I've come to realise that drinking for me is a 'doing' thing. I like to have something in my hand that I can sip to make me look busy and give me something to do. However on Saturday I did struggle to find a happy balance. I imagine this will become easier over time, but the tonic waters and fizzy softies did become unbelievably boring after a while. I was hoping one of the bar staff may make an effort to snazz up my sparkling water with some freshly squeezed lime but in truth I ended up desperately missing alcohol post 8.00 p.m.
Roll on the next wedding which hits me in approximately six days time. Wedding season is completely bloody exhausting...
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