Mrs D is Going Without

by Lotta Dann

  So what are they? I’ve been spending the last few days trying to put my finger on what is different and how it is that I feel different. Well, there’s one answer right there. I’m definitely more introspective, looking inside my mind more to analyse how I’m feeling. I’ve never been a huge navel-gazer, but I am more so now. As I said to my sister-in-law the other night, you feel more when you’re not drinking.

  Clearer? I’ve heard other people say they feel so much clearer without alcohol and I think I understand what that means. But I’d also describe it as flat at times. Or empty. Just a wide open life without any mind bending. All that time I’ve spent with my brain altered by alcohol, now it’s just a big wide open brain that isn’t inebriated. Sometimes that’s a good thing. Other times, not so good. Last few days I’ve been tired and grouchy and feeling a bit low. A week or so ago I was feeling awesome and talking about pink clouds. So more highs and lows. Yeah. More highs and lows.

  Problem is I’m not so good at sitting with a ‘wide-open’ brain. I seem to need to keep myself constantly mentally stimulated. Wine stimulated me . . . or numbed me . . . or both . . . which obviously appealed to me. But now that I’m not spending many hours under wine’s influence I’ve got a lot of free brain time. I need to find more things to keep my mind occupied.

  Comment from ‘Nate’

  One of the challenges is to re-allocate that time into something productive and fulfilling. I have flat and empty periods and almost mourn the alcohol-less future.

  Try buying some new walking shoes and start walking around the neighbourhood. Works for me. Every time in the afternoon I feel I could/should/used to be drinking, I walk to the beach and that certainly clears my head.

  It’s a great idea, but sadly looking after small boys every day means I don’t have the sort of lifestyle that allows for walks to the beach when I feel like it. Don’t get me wrong, I love looking after our gorgeous sons, but it does mean I don’t have a lot of completely free hours to myself (only free thinking hours punctuated by regular interactions with the kids). It’s the housewife’s eternal quandary, crazy busy all the time but also strangely bored. Boozing worked well to solve that quandary by taking me away mentally while not taking me away physically.

  But that faux-escape is not available to me any more. So I need to find more to do with my brain now I’m sober, while also continuing to be a domestic goddess and the perfect wife and mother (ha ha).

  Reading other sober blogs is helping to fill my time. I’ve discovered quite a few of them. I’m learning that there is a small but very active online community of sober bloggers and blog readers, and I’ve been warmly welcomed into that. I figure out how to put a ‘Blog List’ down the left-hand side of my own site that links to other blogs and automatically updates when people have written new posts. It makes my own blog all the more active and alive. Fun! And I add a couple of new pages to my site with some information about me and the books that I’m reading. My online life is humming along nicely and there’s no doubt it is doing wonders to get me through the days. Writing, reading, commenting, it’s all helping to keep me away from the wine.

  Overall, right now, I feel like I’m doing okay, but not great. ‘Okay’ because I haven’t had a drink since I decided to stop, but ‘not great’ because I’m still lurching all over the show. Isn’t life’s goal to be smooth and calm all the time and not up and down? It feels to me like all of this bloody emoting is somehow a failure. It’s uncomfortable for me, I want to be smooth and calm all the time and not grumpy or sad or stressed or whatever. I have no idea what is normal anymore. What I thought was a normal way of living was clearly not, given I maintained it with the help of crap-loads of wine. So what’s normal now? I’m confused. This sober-living thing is endlessly fascinating, I’ll be honest, but it’s not comfortable by any stretch of the imagination.

  13

  There is one big positive, though; one major thing that I am definitely not struggling with anymore—and that is the lonely feeling I used to overwhelmingly have. I’m anything but lonely in my sober endeavours now thanks to my blog and the wonderful faceless online community growing up around it. Comments regularly trickle in from blog readers, and every one contains a tiny nugget of gold and gives me a little stab of joy. Some make me cry, some make me think, some teach me, some challenge me. But they all connect with me and every single one feels like a lovely cyber hug. How could I possibly feel lonely when I’m getting cyber hugged all day every day!

  Comment from ‘Bento’

  Hi! I’m also trying to stop drinking. I can relate to much of what you have posted. Hang in there.

  Comment from ‘Macy’

  I see myself over and over in your blog . . . it helps to know I’m not alone in my quitting-drinking journey . . . thank you.

  Comment from ‘Natasha’

  I love your post and the way I can relate to you . . . you and I are ‘the same kind of drinker’ . . . only after 5 p.m. most nights. Not a binger, just steady . . .

  Lots of comments are like these ones from Bento, Macy and Natasha. Little ‘I’m in the same boat’ messages.

  Comment from ‘Anonymous’

  I love reading your blog. I needed to find something that I could connect to that would help me overcome this addiction . . . I knew from the first night that I bought a bottle of wine and brought it home to drink while making dinner. I still remember that moment . . . about 12 years ago . . . when I started drinking at home. I knew that was a turning point . . . a bad one . . . in my life. It escalated fast. And now this is another turning point . . . a good one. Thank you for helping me by sharing your journey.

  And so often I get these thankyous from people. ‘Thank you for sharing’, they say. I’m not going to lie, it feels incredible that writing my own experiences is helping others. I did not expect this.

  Comment from ‘Anonymous’

  Hi Mrs D. I love your blog! I stayed up way too late last night reading the whole thing. We seem to have a lot in common. I, too, am a 40-year-old mum of boys, on my second round of sobriety after erroneously pronouncing myself cured after almost one year off the sauce. Er . . . no . . . not cured, and it’s harder to stop the second time around.

  Putting aside the kindness and warmth from this anonymous reader, this comment is bloody scary and works well to keep me on my toes. She gave up for a whole year and then returned to drinking thinking she was cured . . . but she wasn’t, and stopping for the second time was harder. Harder?! How could it possibly be harder than what I’m going through now? I’m not bloody doing this all over again. I will never consider myself cured. A great message gratefully received.

  Comment from ‘Milly’

  I, too, have ended a 20+ year (actually more like 30) affair with booze but my favourite poison was bourbon.

  It’s always interesting to hear what other people’s particular ‘poison’ is. My favourite tipple was red wine—any variety so long as it was red. For Judy it was white wine . . .

  Comment from ‘Judy’

  I relate to almost every single word you write. I am a 40-something mother-of-one with a lovely husband (who can drink just one beer or less and be happy). White wine is my poison. I want to be one of those people who can take it or leave it. There is no question that my habit impacts my life, my body, my relationships, my work performance—ugh, the dreaded weekday hangover. Why isn’t that enough of a deterrent?

  Keep sharing. You are a talented writer and I, for one, am inspired by the candid account of your thoughts on this journey. It’s time for a change.

  Yes Judy, it is time for a change! I inwardly cry when I read her comment, basking in the glow of her compliment about my writing. This is a nice comment to get not just for the praise but because there are so many similarities in our stories. Judy was never deterred by hangovers (I’m always gobsmacked when people tell me imagining the next-day hangover is enough to stop them drinking), she is also married to a ‘normal’ drink
er and would love to be that way. I think about Judy long after she’s posted her comment and ponder her desire to be someone who can ‘take or leave’ alcohol—a moderate drinker, not someone fixated with wine. I’m not sure that we can ever be those people. I think my moderation button was broken at birth.

  Comment from ‘Toni’

  I’m not sure what the statistics are for housewives or women in general but I’ll admit to secretly drinking when I stayed home with my young daughter. I joined the workforce in May and my drinking escalated.

  I love hearing from other parents who are getting sober. It makes me very happy for all of our kids. And it’s not just mothers who are reaching out to me.

  Comment from ‘Nate’

  ‘I don’t miss yelling at the boys to stop yelling because my head is pounding.’ This much is true. Sad that I was always yelling at them bloody kids cos they wanted to play with me when I was busy getting drunk.

  Glad that shit is all behind me.

  Comment from ‘FacingUpToTheFacts’

  Hi Mrs D. It sounds like I’m a male version of yourself, just starting this journey. I’ll be reading your blog from start to finish with interest!

  Sometimes readers offer me different ways of looking at sobriety . . .

  Comment from ‘Anonymous’

  Mrs D I enjoy reading your blog and your honesty. Keep up the good work. I look at drinking now as a breakup—aka a relationship gone bad. It’s not always easy to break up but in the long run we know it’s the best thing to do for our sanity! ;-)

  Sometimes they offer me alternative drink options . . .

  Comment from ‘Miriam’

  In my first year sober, I made homemade ginger beer, not very sweet, and also a drink with soda and fresh lime juice with a crushed stalk of lemongrass in it to infuse flavour. It was fun and assuaged the need I felt then for comforting drinks because I couldn’t imagine going anywhere without a drink in my hand.

  Sometimes they reveal they haven’t yet summoned the courage to quit . . .

  Comment from ‘Janet’

  Hi! I love your blog so far! I can completely relate . . . except I’m still drinking and trying to stop. I even made a ‘promise’ to have a drink-free November, but that lasted about 2 hours. So I’ve started re-reading all the addiction blogs and am going to try this on my own. Thanks so much for sharing!

  And sometimes they reveal themselves as a fellow sober blogger.

  Comment from ‘AMothersJourney’

  Just came across your blog. Congrats on making the big step! Looking forward to reading up some more about how you have been doing. I hope you find blogging helpful. It’s helped me a lot in the past 2 years of my sobriety.

  I have to keep updating my Blog List to feature new sober bloggers as I discover them, so that visitors to my site can see all the sober bloggers’ new posts as they are written. It’s great being able to offer readers of my blog access not just to my experiences, but the experiences of other former boozers as well. It’s astounding to me how many people seem to be floating around the internet looking for help with drinking, and because visitors to my blog are so kind and nice I love offering them as much as I can.

  Comment from ‘TheGirlIUsedToBe’

  I think you are so, so brave. You can do this, you owe it to yourself to be happy. And you will be :-)

  Comment from ‘Anonymous’

  Mrs D keep posting. I look forward to reading your blog daily. Your words are helping more people than you know . . . including me!

  Comment from ‘Sunny’

  Dear Mrs D, Love your blog. You could be me.

  Putting down the drink is almost the easy bit.

  Living sober is the hard bit.

  Yes Sunny, as I am about to discover, living sober can be extremely hard.

  14

  Suddenly my pink cloud dissipates completely and dumps me in a steaming pile of emotional shit that I am ill-equipped to deal with.

  First I learn that I have hurt a friend’s feelings by doing something thoughtless involving a kid’s party. When I hear (through a mutual friend) that she is offended, I’m utterly mortified so I rush over to her house and blurt out a teary apology on her doorstep: ‘(sob sob) I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to hurt you (sob sob) you’re so lovely I don’t want you to be upset (sob sob) I can’t believe I didn’t properly think it through (sob sob) how you would react (sniff sniff) sorry I’m crying I’m just really emotional right now (sniff sniff) it’s the not-drinking (sniff sniff) but I’m just so sorry I hurt you (sniff).’

  Honestly, who the fuck is this thoughtless, emotional, dramatic woman masquerading as me?

  My friend does seem a little taken aback by my outpouring of emotion but also thankful for the apology. As I drive home I feel okay about it, actually . . . if nothing else, she can’t accuse me of being unfeeling!

  Then Corin heads out one evening to attend another big glitzy event but this time without me—it’s the New Zealand Music Awards. He is reluctant to go but ends up having a great night because his brother and some mates are there and they all get a bit tipsy and rock’n’roll on it. Back at home I, on the other hand, find myself getting slowly more and more wound up to the point where I am a seething mass of grumpiness. Normally when Corin goes out without me I throw myself a little party all on my own. (Logic = so I don’t miss out! See me having fun in my living room drinking bubbles all alone! Glug, glug, glug.) Well, not anymore.

  So, with Corin out and me deprived of the opportunity to party alone, I slowly get more tense and angry as the evening progresses. About exactly what I’m not sure. There is a good reason floating around my brain somewhere. It probably doesn’t help that I’m watching the broadcast of the awards on TV and following along on Twitter so I’m really aware of the fun party that is going on without me and how goddamn sober I am. I can’t bear the thought that this is my reality forevermore.

  By the time poor Corin rolls in around 1 a.m. I’ve worked myself into a complete state. He comes into the bedroom, tired and wobbly, telling me about his night. ‘At the start there was a VIP entrance with fans and media and stuff and because I’m on tele I got pushed towards it even though I just wanted to slip in quietly. It was so weird, like an actual red carpet.’ He’s giggling now as he tells me the story. ‘I really didn’t feel comfortable acting like a star, talking to fans and being interviewed and stuff so I ran down it instead! I just up and ran!’ This is actually quite funny but in my state of grumpy woe-is-me-itis I am in no mood to laugh and instead I explode.

  I throw a complete hissy-fit about everything that is wrong with this picture and the part he’s playing in it. I’m emoting like a crazy harridan who has been in a coma for twenty years. All of this anger comes out my mouth and tears are pouring from my eyes and I rip back the bedcovers and storm across the room in a rage. Poor Corin, I don’t think he quite knows what’s going on. I pause briefly to tear my dressing gown off the back of the door but do it so violently that the metal hook holding the gown snaps in half. This kind of ruins the moment because I have to stop and pick up the broken bit. I’m gutted the hook is broken but I don’t want to ruin my dramatic exit so I continue to storm out of the bedroom and into the living room where—fuming—I lie on the couch as if I’m going to sleep there.

  Who the fuck am I?

  So now I’m kind of huddled on the sofa in my dressing gown with a broken hook in my hand and it’s cold and dark in the living room (I didn’t think to get a blanket) and I’m a bit stuck on what to do next. And I’m a bit confused as to what’s actually going on. I’m mad as all hell, but what at? Is it something Corin’s done? Or is it at myself for making this stupid goddamn decision not to drink and now having to live with the difficult consequences of that decision? Consequences like sitting at home alone with no wine to fill the space. Why can’t I cope with empty space?

  Luckily for me a tired and bemused Corin appears in the living room after a short while
and says simply, ‘Sweetie, come to bed,’ and because I’m cold I do and eventually we fall asleep.

  Mrs D Is Going Without (Day 60)

  I am a different woman. I seriously am. I cry all the time. My self-image has been rocked to its core. I feel shaky. Before giving up the sauce I thought I was fine, but lately I’ve been feeling like a boring loser, stuck at home with a wobbly tummy and no value.

  Is all this drama the new normal? Is this how I’m always going to live from now on? I didn’t sign up to this.

  Comment from ‘Anonymous’

  Dear Mrs D, don’t worry, this is normal (for an alcoholic :-) ) It will pass as long as you don’t drink. Think of it as a healing crisis.

  This is the stuff the alcohol was suppressing. Alcoholism is not just a physical addiction, it is a mental, emotional and spiritual illness. The drink is just a symptom. Stay strong!

  Comment from ‘Anonymous’

  The commenter above is right! This IS normal and you will eventually feel better. You’ve been drowning your emotions for a while and you need time for them to even out.

  The last thing you need is to stifle them again. I like the comment ‘Think of it as a healing crisis’. How true!!

  Comment from ‘Anonymous’

  Oh, Mrs D you sound like you’re right on track! Sorry, don’t mean to make light of your difficult time. Hey, go easy on yourself. You are experiencing a massive shift in how you live your life—there’s bound to be some bumps and drama involved.

  Comment from ‘Miriam’

  Sympathy to you—while I was drinking I had no idea why I drank, had many theories but no definite idea. Then I sobered up and began finding out how I really felt and how much I had relied on drinking as a buffer and pick-me-up and crude anaesthetic. I drank to find out how I was feeling, I drank to escape feeling, I drank to shift the feelings. Sober I discovered that years of alcohol abuse had flattened all my emotions like a thick layer of concrete—they came back like a rollercoaster before settling down.