“Anne, I’m drinking too much. Every day I promise myself I’ll have less, but I end up drinking more! How do I stop?!”
That I have no idea how to answer that question makes me insane.
How did I stop? Progressively, over years, I began to drink more and more wine to the point I was drinking a bottle of wine a night. What was the reason I began to look online for support group meetings? What got me in the car and drove me to a meeting one day, that day? What made me drink the rest of the wine in the house that night, about 3/4 of a bottle, but not buy more? What made me go to the meeting again the next day and not have a drink that night? And the next and the next? And now it’s 17 months of next and next without a drink. How, how did that happen?!
Nothing changed in those two days. Nothing. I had no heartfelt request from a loved one to quit, no DUI, no gastro issues from early liver disease, no reprimand from work, no directive from a counselor or physician to stop. There were absolutely no consequences that served as a catalyst.
And I have no memory of any conscious decision or resolve to quit. I had no epiphany, no moment of enlightenment, no dramatic can-do, this-is-it moment. If a film were made of me getting sober, the film would open with expressionless Anne at a laptop, then cut to expressionless Anne getting into a car. End of film. I got into my car and drove to a meeting.
Is that all I have to offer friends, family, clients who ask me for help with addiction? “Get in a car and drive to a meeting” or perhaps more helpfully, “May I drive you to a meeting?”?
Ridiculous. I have a master’s degree in counseling. I specialize in addictions. With my smarts, my training, my exhaustive research, my experience, my devotion to consciousness, with 17 months of sobriety, that I can’t identify the difference between me using my substance of choice, alcohol, and not using it, makes me insane.
Anne, your decision mirrors mine but from the other side. What made me decide I couldn’t live another day with an alcoholic husband who would not help himself? We hadn’t fought, had a discussion or even had a particularly eventful evening. I went to bed and an hour later, woke up with the overwhelming claustrophobic feeling I could not do “this” one more day, and told him to leave the next morning. That was 9 years ago and despite broken promises, a stint at rehab, meetings, a divorce, and now, losing the respect of his children, he is still drinking. I sheltered my kids from all the reasons behind the divorce because he is their father and I wanted them to have a strong relationship with him. No one person needed to be made into the “bad” guy. That in itself made me the villian in their eyes at the time, but they were younger (15, 13 & 12), and I knew it was the right thing to do. It may be his life that is being destroyed, but the collateral damage has left a wide path of destruction that I am picking up the pieces of. I do not regret my decision. I only regret it had to be made. I truly believe it is not the major “sit down, think, discuss, weigh the options” decisions that truly shape us. It’s the ones that just one day are seen and felt as the only logical option and there is no “ah-ha” moment for. It requires trust in the process, no matter how difficult the path. And deep breathing. And faith. And an inner strength that you never knew existed but is there in us all if we just look. Keep moving forward!! ❤️
I had a similar experience, Anne, in that there was no “thing” that sent me the message, “stop drinking.” It was as if I simply reached the end of it, and it wasn’t good any more. But years earlier, when I tried to stop at a loved one’s request, I went to sleep every night and woke every morning with the taste of it in my mouth. Every day was an effort.
Your posts are important and apply to other challenges besides addiction. Keep going.
Anne:
You are wise not to attempt to answer the question so many of us are often asked because there is no right answer. We get sober when it is time to get sober. I required 23 years between my first white chip and my first one-year chip. I do not begrudge one day of that, won’t regret a minute of it. The 23 years were required for me to be ready, for me to accept my disease and determine that nothing in my life was more important than arresting it.
Same with smoking. I puffed 3 1/2 packs a day for 25 years. One day in January, 21 years ago, I put my last pack of Kents in the trash can and never picked up another one. Never really was tempted. With alcohol, the same was true. When I finally put down the last beer can, I knew it would be the last one for a while. That was 20 years ago last month. There has been no time during that period when I wanted to drink. I am not cured and never will be, but I don’t drink.
And no, that doesn’t mean it was easy. I’ve worked my fat ass off over the years and each day I must be reminded who I am and what that means to me and all the lovely people I know. And yes, it is a truly wonderful life, not the boring, sedentary, minimal existance I imagined at the beginning, but one full of adventure, people, learning, activity, challenge, creativity and accomplishment. I’ll take that over an alcohol-induced haze.
Dan Smith