30 days sober, y’all. Can you believe it? Dry February was a raging success. HIGH FIVES ALL AROUND!
You’re probably saying to yourself “um, it’s February 26th. There are still 2 more days left in this month.” And you’d be correct. Technically speaking, I didn’t abstain from alcohol for the entire month of February, but there’s a good reason. I had a pre-planned trip back to the motherland of Austin and I arrived on National Margarita Day, so I actually started this sober challenge on January 22nd to make sure I still hit 30 days of my #onelessthing. It’s the thought that counts, right?
Also, technically speaking, I didn’t abstain from alcohol for the entire month, but I’ll get to that. Let’s break it down:
Challenge: Abstain from alcohol for 30 days.
Rules: Pretty obvious. No booze.
Why I cut it out: Let’s have a very real conversation about alcohol, ok? Specifically, my toxic relationship with it. In preparation for writing this blog, I thought about the first time I drank. It was hard to recall because it seems like alcohol has always been a part of my life in one way or another. My dad would drink a Manhattan at the end of the night and would let me eat the bourbon infused cherry. On New Year’s Eve, we were allowed to have a sip or two of champagne once we were old enough to stay up to watch the ball drop. The summer going into the 8th grade, my sister and I did a student exchange program in Spain and our host parents let us drink pretty regularly. We even went to bars and clubs and no one batted an eye (Europeans, #amiright?) So, it’s hard to remember my first experience with alcohol but I do remember the first time I abused it.
It must have been the summer going into high school or maybe even after Freshman year, but we were at a sleepover. There were three of us there and once the girl’s parents went to sleep, we raided their alcohol cabinet. I don’t remember exactly what kind of alcohol we ended up with but we poured it into giant plastic cups and buried it in coke. We played a card game where it seemed like the only rule was to chug this drink after any significant action. Then I blacked out. When I woke up in the morning, I had a feeling that would be all too familiar as an adult: the worst hangover of my entire life. I still felt like the room was spinning and my head was pounding. I ran to the bathroom and I threw up. I was terrified. What are her parents going to think if they know I’m hungover? What are MY parents going to think?? My saving grace was that it was summertime and a workday so all the adults were already gone by the time we woke up. I had the entire day to throw up, which I did, and try to find ways to feel better. Looking back on that day, I truly remember feeling ashamed of myself.
This is a terrible way to be. I can’t believe I let myself get that out of hand.
It was far from the last time I would have that thought.
For the most part, I didn’t really drink that much in high school and drank as much as your average joe when I was at my private Catholic college. (#whiteguilt). I still managed to do some damage, though. I spent many weekend days completely couch or bed-stricken. I had countless embarrassing moments told back to me that I never remembered doing. Sophomore year, our apartment was caught having a party and we were written up by the university. Part of the punishment was to take an online course on alcohol abuse. It asked how frequently I engaged in binge drinking and defined it as consuming “4 or more alcoholic beverages in 2 hours”. This made ZERO sense to me. “Doesn’t that make ALL drinking binge drinking? How does someone drink all night and NOT have more than 2 drinks an hour? Why would you have less than that?” That was honestly my thought process because I truly thought the only point of drinking was to get drunk. How could you get drunk on any less than that?
After college, I lived by myself for the first time and celebrated moving day by drinking an entire bottle of wine by myself. I had never drank alone before but I remember thinking “I can do whatever I want. No one is here to judge me!” I stumbled through my living room, around half-unpacked boxes in my underwear with the bottle of Yellow Tail in my hand. A real adult.
When I moved to Austin, I worked at a bar to support myself and this bar became the foundation for most of my friendships there. The first time I hung out with the girls that would become my BEST friends, I was grabbing a drink after my shift. I sat on the barstools by the patio bar and as servers and bartenders ended their shift, they joined me. Round after round, I met and talked to more people, got to know some regulars, and drank, as it turned out, a shit-ton of beer. I looked up at one point to see one of the cooks standing next to me, drinking.
“Uh, shouldn’t you be on the line right now Russel?” I asked
“Uh, my shift ended an hour ago. It’s 11pm.”
6 hours had passed and I didn’t even realize it. This would be far from the last time that would happen.
Once I started a “real job”, it was a “work hard/play hard” environment and BOY did we play hard. Every small win was cause for celebration and that celebration always included alcohol. When we weren’t celebrating with friends, I was usually unwinding with a few glasses of wine at home. Before I got pregnant, the only days where I didn’t have at least one drink were the days that I was so hungover, all I did was throw up. I’m sure you think I’m exaggerating. I’m not. I average 7-12 vomits per hangover. This act, along with the complete inability to move, earned me the nickname Pukey Debbie. She’s my hangover alter-ego. While this kind of behavior is funny in college, it becomes completely embarrassing as an adult.
Now, I’m 35 years old and I have been drinking for 20 years. Dear God. I’ve tried to give it up before. Every January starts with the intent of starting the year with sobriety. I usually make it 9-10 days. Once I tried to do Sober October for rhyming purposes, but with football tailgates and work happy hours, I only made it 5 days. Even when I was pregnant, I would still sip on a half glass of wine here and there (NO JUDGEMENTS!). Then, I did the Whole 30. For those of you who don’t know, it’s a cleansing diet where you cut grains, sugar, legumes, dairy, and alcohol for 30 days. We made it the whole month and then celebrated my birthday at a brewery. I learned nothing.
I have certainly toned it down over the past few years, but alcohol is still a mainstay in our household. As I examine the things that I do to distract myself from this anxiety and depression, alcohol is on the top of that list. I was having a candid conversation with a friend’s sister where I was explaining to her why I didn’t want to go on antidepressants.
“I just really don’t like the idea of being medicated,” I said.
“You already are medicating,” she replied. “You drink every night. That’s self-medication. And it’s a lot unhealthier than pills”.
She was right. As I examined aspects of my life that needed to change, I knew it was finally time that I address this pseudo dependency.
The Results: Let me start by saying that it’s not about how many times you fall off the horse, it’s about how many times you get back on. Or in this case, the wagon. I started off the month strong and wasn’t even missing alcohol at all. I even went to two work events that included drinks and didn’t partake. I breezed through the weekend, dodging wine at dinner and beer at a party. I was feeling good!
Fast forward 5 days later and I was having a cocktail at a happy hour. What happened? I didn’t even really miss drinking that much. I just had a moment of weakness where I became overwhelmed and didn’t want to deal with the way I was feeling all of a sudden. There was an opening to get drinks and I took it. This was like Sober January all over again, except for this time it wasn’t. Old me would have said “well, I broke that resolution. I guess I’m back to drinking again!” But this is not about perfection. This is about progress. So I started anew the next day and got back on the wagon. I forgave myself and moved on.
Then I went to a Led Zepplin Tribute Band concert and drank that night too, but I figured that since February is technically 28 days and not 30, I had two freebees, right? I DON’T HAVE A PROBLEM!
What did we learn?: It’s no surprise that not consuming alcohol every day has positive effects on your health and wellness. It’s a heck of a lot easier to wake up at 4:50am to get to the gym when you haven’t had a few glasses of wine just hours before. You also get much better sleep when you’re not falling asleep drunk or tipsy. In fact, I remembered that when I drink more than 2 glasses of wine, I usually wake-up in the middle of the night and can’t fall back asleep. Being sober, I just need to rely on my kids to wake me up at all hours of the night.
There were other side effects I didn’t take into account, though. I had an insane sweet tooth throughout the month. At the end of the night, I just wanted ice cream or chocolate in a bad way. I was hoping this challenge would get me to lose weight, not make me want to go hard on a tub of Cool-Whip, but here we are.
Finally, I learned that drinking doesn’t actually serve my anxiety in any positive way. It’s a sandbag, but worse than that. It’s like if the sandbag becomes water after the storm, further contributing to the flood. It made me feel even more anxious the next day and even more disappointed in myself. Being without booze made those feelings come fewer and farther between.
The Take-Away: All I can say is that I’m working on it. I just came back from Austin and the wine was on a steady drip. I’ve since come back and mitigated the Monday Scaries with a cocktail at home. Am I a lost cause? Might be. Maybe just a work in progress. But I’m working every day and trying to keep focused on the goal: health for my mind and body. Above all else, I want to be present for this ride, not self-medicating my way through it.
WOW, THAT WAS HEAVY! I need a drink. KIDDING ! ?
Next up: GRAINS!
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