Mrs D is Going Without

by Lotta Dann

  21

  I’m very wound up and totally self-obsessed as family members start arriving from around the country. As far as I’m concerned this Christmas is all about me and my new sober lifestyle. I’m so locked in my own head that I’m a bit taken aback to realise my family members aren’t also focused on me. Can’t they see this first sober Christmas is a huge fucking deal for me? It would appear not; all I’m getting is the odd throwaway comment. I sneak into the bedroom when I can to secretly write a quick post.

  Mrs D Is Going Without (Day 110)

  Christmas Eve and almost all my family are here. Last night the first big evening together.

  I was called ‘amazing’ . . .

  I was called ‘virtuous’ and ‘boring’ . . .

  And I was warned ‘just don’t start lecturing anyone else’ . . .

  As always it feels good to write about what’s going on, it almost makes it feel like I become a character in a drama rather than ordinary Lotta trying to stay sober in a house filled with people drinking alcohol. Of course my wonderful blog readers let me know they have my back.

  Comment from ‘Caroline’

  Ooo. Sounds like a tough room. They’ll calm down eventually. I promise!

  Comment from ‘Sunny’

  Sounds about as good as it gets! Keep quiet and they’ll soon get used to it and stop mentioning it. :-)

  I’m trying hard to utilise my new sober-thinking techniques. I’m making myself pause and consider: what does this event offer? And then think through the answers. Okay . . . Christmas . . . it’s a time to reconnect with extended family, it’s a time to eat beautiful meals, a time to give and receive gifts, a time of great excitement for our kids, a time . . . oh goddam it, this is a hard one . . . Christmas is such a time to drink.

  I keep sneaking into the bedroom to get on the laptop and read other blogs. Mr SponsorPants has posted an awesome ‘Sober Holiday Survival Guide’. It includes great advice like, ‘Remember, you don’t have to go’ (sadly they’re all coming to me) and ‘Remember, you can leave’ (that would be weird and where would I go? The beach? Actually, that’s not a bad idea). But by far the best tip he has is, ‘Remember, other people find the holidays difficult and emotionally charged as well. You’re not the only one having a tough time of it—watch for your ego, and rather than sit in your own upset, see who and how you can help wherever you may be or whomever you may be with.’

  Yay for Mr SponsorPants. He’s so right. Of course everyone has their own shit going on. Of course it’s not all about me. This is the perfect thing for me to hear right now. I mentally slap myself out of my self-obsession and pause to take a look around. Suddenly my eyes are open to all that is going on for my family members. Someone stressed out here, someone struggling there, someone feeling emotional over there. It’s great to have my eyes opened like this. I’m not the only one with stuff going on. ‘Rather than sit in your own upset, see who and how you can help’, Mr SponsorPants said. This is such great advice.

  Mrs D Is Going Without (Day 111)

  Christmas Day. Man, we are churning through the work. Preparing meals, cleaning up, relaxing for 2 minutes then lurching into the next meal. It’s a food and drink feast. A rolling festival of food.

  Funny thing is, my non-alcohol beverages seem to be more popular than wine and beer! Everyone is drinking alcohol but they’re not really pounding it (like I would be). Maybe it’s because I’m not? Still, the main Christmas meal is tonight so perhaps they’ll get amongst it then. I’ve already thought that if that happens, I’ll take myself off to bed.

  I’m halfway through Christmas Day when I realise I’m feeling fine about not drinking. Jeepers, this is unbelievable!

  Comment from ‘Milly’

  Merry Christmas, Mrs D!

  Comment from ‘Nate’

  Merry Christmas, is nice to be fresh and sober for the first time in decades!

  Comment from ‘Lacey’

  Congratulations to 111 days of sobriety :-) And Merry Christmas, take care!

  Comment from ‘Caroline’

  Merry Christmas! You’re going to feel great tomorrow!

  And you know what, Caroline is right. Coming out the other side of Christmas Day, I do feel great. I’m almost flabbergasted by how great I feel, in fact. Only by doing Christmas completely booze-free have I realised it’s actually do-able. In fact, not only is it entirely possible, it’s (oh my goodness, am I actually going to say this?) better.

  Mrs D Is Going Without (Day 112)

  Boxing Day. It’s so totally fine to be not-drinking at Christmas. It’s so much better than fine. I’m still laughing, chatting, joking, being totally normal but without that edgy feeling like I’ve got the dial turned up to 9 or 10 (over the top) instead of sitting comfortably at a 5 or 6 (nice and normal).

  And I’m sitting at that comfortable level while hosting tonnes of people coming and going, plus around 6 extras staying including 2 babies. The dishwasher has been going 3 times a day; we’re constantly cleaning up and getting ready to prepare the next snack or 3-course meal. And all the while it’s a melting pot of humanity with all their foibles, stresses and problems and, of course, all of us think our issues are the most important. A million and one dynamics and the odd tension spot blowing like a leak in a pipe.

  But sober Mrs D is able to keep herself reasonably level-headed. Not too stressed, not too territorial, generous enough with my house and space, busy but not feeling too under-appreciated, washing, cleaning, answering questions constantly. (Where are your tablecloths? Is the local dairy open today? How can I set your washing machine to low? Is there a container I can put this in? Shall we cook the rosti like this or like that? Have you another cushion for the outside chairs? Where’s the hose fitting so I can fill the paddling pool?)

  I’ve had three people cry over me in private (we’re an emotional female-based family, okay?), one or two snap testily at me, a couple of them treat me like I’m the most bossy person in the world (well, you told me to ask for help), and the sleep throughout has been brief and broken.

  But not once have I been even slightly tempted to drink alcohol despite everyone else doing it (except pregnant sister). Not even remotely interested. Just do not want to. Don’t need it. Don’t want it.

  I reckon if I had been experiencing all of the above while pouring copious amounts of alcohol in my system, I’d not only feel a shit-load more tired and sickly in my guts with a pounding headache most of the time, but I’d be feeling far more watery emotionally myself. I’d have a nervy feeling in my tummy probably because I’d not been able to think and feel and process all the dynamics and interactions clearly. Happy Merry Glorious Sober Christmas to you all!!!!!

  My first sober Christmas! What an achievement! I’m so happy to have got through with no booze passing my lips, and proud of myself that I managed to shift my thinking outside of just my own circumstances. Others in the blogosphere are sharing in my elation, which is super-cool.

  Comment from ‘Manu’

  Awesome work chick!! :-) So proud of you! And far out if you can keep sober under all those circumstances, then you really need to pat yourself on the back! Wonderful!

  Comment from ‘Sunny’

  Congratulations Mrs D, fabulous. I’m so pleased for you.

  Comment from ‘Milly’

  Now that sounds like a perfect Christmas! You did it, chica!

  Comment from ‘Caroline’

  Way to handle yourself with such grace. You are one cool sober woman.

  Comment from ‘VitalRehabs’

  Congratulations on making it through the holidays in such a successful way! We applaud you dealing with your alcohol addiction while juggling so much going on and still being a very important part of your family!

  Comment from ‘Charlie’

  I’ve been reading your blog now since about your third entry and cheer for you each time. You are doing a brilliant job!

  Commen
t from ‘Annabel’

  I thought I had a draining Christmas, but I feel sheepish after reading about yours! You had your hands full and then some. Really happy to hear you didn’t feel tempted to drink. Doesn’t it feel great to know you got through the holiday and held strong? I’m certain you’re right in that drinking would have only made the stress worse.

  But there’s to be no rest for the wickedly sober. We’re heading straight away on a camping holiday with friends now. Our guests depart, we tidy the house, wrap up the leftovers, gather sleeping bags and airbeds and buckets and spades and pack the car to the gunnels. I write on my blog that we are going away camping for a week and nervously leave the laptop hidden in the bedroom cupboard. There will be no safe blogging outlet for me for a while.

  We hit the road with two other families and head far up north. This holiday is about being with friends, I tell myself. It is about being away from the city, not working, the kids having fun and the sun shining on us all week.

  Two days later, sadly, not all of my predictions are proving true. The rain has been falling constantly since we arrived. There are tents leaking and suitcases getting wet and airbeds with holes in them and kids bickering and insects biting and tummies getting bugs. But there’s also laughter and camaraderie and card-playing and yummy food and ocean swimming and sand-boarding and fireworks and fun. I get through it all without drinking and amazingly with no big pangs. There’s just too much going on around me to spend a lot of time being self-indulgent. Even New Year’s Eve isn’t that big a deal. We play cards until midnight and then watch the fireworks display taking place in a nearby park. Our youngest son is woken by the loud banging and cries out from his portacot in the tent, so as one year ticks over to another I’m actually standing away from Corin and our friends quietly holding and soothing our son in my arms. Fireworks are exploding in the sky and I have a lovely quiet contemplative moment. It feels very precious. I feel very calm and happy.

  The next day we all pile into cars to head away from our campsite on a day trip. An hour after we depart, in a rare silent spell in the car, something amazing occurs for me. Without knowing it was coming, without planning or preparation, I am slammed with a powerful realisation. It is, without a doubt, one of the most amazing moments of realisation I have ever experienced in my life.

  Mrs D Is Going Without (Day 119)

  It’s funny how this sobriety journey of mine is playing out. I’m sure it must read in pretty typical fashion, these words of mine on a screen. The early days of fear and fight, the highly emotional phases, the pink clouds, the introspection, the revelations coming one after another.

  All so clichéd I’m sure. But what is really hard to convey in letters and words and the odd bit of punctuation and syntax is the real gut-wrenching emotions that accompany each stage and step along the way. But all this blog can offer me is words on a screen so I’ll type them down and hopefully reading it back I’ll forever be reminded about the pure release that this particular revelatory moment gave me.

  We were on our camping holiday heading up to the tip-top point of New Zealand to look out to where the Tasman Sea meets the Pacific Ocean. Mr D was driving, the boys were all slumbering in the back and I was staring out the window at the beautiful countryside rolling by (green grass, sheep and cows, light rain).

  I was thinking about not-drinking, I was thinking about my past, I was thinking about my future, and suddenly it felt like a door opened inside me and some sort of light or a rush of endorphins or a turning of my stomach or something happened and the thought came to me. I am an alcoholic.

  It was amazing. This is annoying to write because the words don’t do justice to the feeling but believe me, it was amazing. I am an alcoholic. I am an alcoholic. I am an alcoholic. There were tears rolling down my cheeks. It was quite remarkable, actually. A real release. A total freedom.

  My name is Mrs D and I am an alcoholic.

  22

  Deciding that I am an alcoholic is unbelievably freeing. It’s not about outing myself to society as being a certain type of person or bravely accepting a label despite it carrying a stigma. It’s not about admitting that I have a physical or psychological disease or that I am a weak or bad person. It’s not about the word or the label or what other people think at all. It’s deeply personal. It’s just about me and my relationship with myself. It’s about me understanding me, me accepting and embracing myself as I am.

  Reaching this conclusion feels not only monumental but immensely powerful. It feels like a total surrender. I feel completely open wide, yet also hugely protected. It’s calming and it’s grounding and it’s lovely.

  Of course I share this personal moment on my blog. I feel more than happy doing that. My enigmatic ‘Mrs D’ persona offers me security, but regardless of the anonymity, I feel very comfortable sharing with my online community. It’s amazing that my blog, which is freely available online to anyone in the world who wants to go there, feels so warm and intimate to me. Yet it’s not such a surprise considering the world that has responded to Mrs D Is Going Without has never been anything other than kind, supportive and encouraging. And so I share these intimate moments, knowing my readers want to hear how I’m going. I’m not surprised that after I write about my amazing revelatory moment I get lots of lovely feedback.

  Comment from ‘Caroline’

  This is such a moving post. Just beautiful. It is really such a release. Thank you for sharing!

  Comment from ‘Sober With Faith’

  We know when we know, my friend. And when we know things can change. Awareness, Acceptance, Action. Beautiful post.

  Comment from ‘Tammy’

  Wow, what an awesome post. Thanks for sharing.

  Comment from ‘Miriam’

  The moments of painful illumination—your post brings them back so clearly.

  Comment from ‘Sunny’

  Wonderful Mrs D.

  It is a wonderful way to be heading into the new year. For the first time in my whole life, a new year really does feel like a new beginning. Our camping holiday ends and we return home to finish the rest of the summer holidays just as a family. It’s so nice for Corin to be away from the breakfast TV grind, no 3.45 a.m. alarm going off every morning—woohoo! We spend the next few weeks around home, enjoying the boys, rejoicing in the tropical Auckland climate, exploring new beaches, trying new recipes, watching movies, reading books and just chilling out.

  And during this lovely holiday period I start to think I might actually be getting a little better at living without alcohol. I move through my days knowing that 5 p.m. will arrive and with it some pangs, but I use my techniques (visualising a sober bedtime and telling the voice in my head to shut up) and mostly it’s not too bad. Okay, there are some days that are harder than others, but when the bad feelings hit I’ve always got my blogging outlet to turn to and vent.

  Mrs D Is Going Without (Day 125)

  So I’ve got a couple of gritty thought processes going around in my brain today and (surprise surprise) I’m feeling mournful that I can’t have a drink. I suppose the truth is, I really feel like a drink. I’m having to do some mental work to remind myself why I don’t really (gritted teeth) want a drink . . . ‘Think big picture, Mrs D. Do you want a “quick fix” release from these thoughts and then head back to that loser miserable lush lifestyle, or stay the fabulous sober reliable solid person that you enjoy being so much more?’ (Talking to myself, first sign of madness.)

  I feel so fortunate to be discovering that using written language is a really effective way for me to deal with tough emotions. Finding my voice, choosing words, forming sentences, adopting an attitude (cheeky or feisty or irreverent) is totally fun, incredibly satisfying, and really helps me to deal with all this big stuff. When I write something down it seems less overwhelming, more manageable somehow. I can control my swirling thoughts by committing them to type. It’s not hard and never feels like a chore. A couple of days after the last one,
a new post will naturally start forming itself in my head, usually when I’m lying in bed in the morning or standing in the shower. I can sense how the words will flow and the direction I want the post to take, so I jump quickly online as soon as I can to type it out. Each post only takes about fifteen minutes to write (I type fast!). I’m realising that I thoroughly enjoy being a blogger and it definitely empowers me, particularly during tough times.

  I’m still slightly in awe that anyone reads what I write, let alone responds, but in the days following each new published post, comments regularly trickle in. There are some regular commenters who have been there from the start, but others drop off with no explanation and new people pop up all the time. The whole ‘community vibe’ is very fluid and constantly changing; however, what never changes is the wisdom and kindness the comments convey.

  Comment from ‘Anonymous’

  Continue to remind yourself to stay the fabulous sober reliable solid person that you enjoy being so much more, and it will pass. Best of luck!

  Comment from ‘Caroline’

  Just wanted to say to hang in there. I think all of the emotions and desires to drink are normal. It took me until my 2 year mark to finally move past the mourning loss of alcohol as well as the desires for it. It really does get easier, I promise.