Mrs D is Going Without

by Lotta Dann

My blog and my new sober lifestyle are so intrinsically meshed together that I cannot imagine one existing without the other. Blogging and not-drinking began for me at the same time. It’s what I do. Tough phases come along, I write about them, comments arrive and they help, time passes and that helps too, eventually I start to feel strong again, a new post forms in my mind and away I go . . .

  Mrs D Is Going Without (Day 128)

  I choose to be sober. I choose to be sober because I was worried about the insides of my body having to do all that processing of wine.

  I choose to be sober because it is a good exercise in patience. Being a mum is about practising immediate patience: (talking to the child) ‘Sure, you can jump in all the puddles and examine the wet grass on the way to the car.’ Sobriety patience is a slower and more extended type of patience: (talking to yourself) ‘I just have to ride out this melancholy phase and it will pass in a few days.’

  I choose to be sober because all I have to do is not put any alcohol into my body and I will feel immeasurably more proud and connected to myself. A small action denied = huge beautiful consequences.

  I choose to be sober because the last time I drank I hid wine from my husband to conceal how much I’d been drinking, and if I was going to continue down that sick path I would have destroyed the wonderful honest connection we have with one another.

  I choose to be sober because my friends and family are amazed that I am doing this, I can tell that I have changed in their eyes and they are really impressed (if not a little shocked still) and I look forward to showing them that I really mean it when I say forever.

  I choose to be sober because I always said I ‘didn’t want to have any hidden shit’ and yet I had a whopping piece of hidden shit which was a nasty private drinking habit.

  I choose to be sober because I can! Because this is my life, my only life, and I am 40 now and I want to live well and happily until I am sitting on my porch in my rocking chair with Mr D by my side looking back over my life and feeling good.

  And that’s why I choose to be sober.

  Getting feisty in print fires me up. I bash at the keyboard, ‘I choose to be sober’ repeating itself in my brain as I type. I hit ‘publish’ and positively bounce away from the computer with my kick-ass sober attitude rearing to go. Invigorated by my online contemplations, I spend the next couple of days pottering around my normal housewifey life doing normal housewifey things (meal planning, toilet cleaning, tear wiping and so on), never touching alcohol, and soon enough something will happen related to being sober, or I’ll think something new about it, a fresh post starts forming in my mind and before I know it I’m back at the keyboard bashing out a new blog entry.

  Mrs D Is Going Without (Day 132)

  So I had that slightly gritty phase, nothing too dramatic really, which led to those stupid melancholy feelings about alcohol. Like that liquid was actually going to do something to help?! I mean, really?! But came out fighting in the last post to remind myself why I. Am. Sober.

  Took a bit more than just that fighting post to shake the melancholy, romantic feelings about drinking, however. Seemed like everywhere there were images and scenes of happy, cool drinking. So I’ve been having to do more mental exercise and employ some of my old tactics to rework my grey matter and remind it that I’m not missing out on anything.

  That alcohol doesn’t make any special occasion more special than it is without the booze. That bending my brain won’t help me deal with life. That the boozy me isn’t to be admired or envied, whereas the sober me is so great.

  Went to a barbecue on Friday night and did everything else all the other adults were doing: laughed, chatted, ate, played cards, lit fireworks. But did it sober and stayed more alert towards the end. Was able to comfort the Little Guy calmly as he was terrified of the loud bangs, then drove everyone home. Woke up alert and happy and made a picnic lunch to take out for the day. Oh, get me!!!

  And this is the way my first sober summer holiday plays out. Family keeps me busy and we do a few social things around the neighbourhood, I hit some emotional rough patches and get a few drinking pangs and sad woe-is-me thoughts, but I practise my sober techniques and stay on top of things. I sleep really well every night, never have a hangover, and people start telling me that I’m looking good and healthy. I’m not going to lie, I’m chuffed to bits about this. I feel good and healthy!

  I finish transcribing my Master’s interviews and start mentally preparing for the big job I have ahead of me, which is analysing the data and writing a 40,000-word thesis. Every couple of days I pop out a new blog post, and I make sure I keep reading and commenting on other people’s sober blogs (knowing how much I love receiving comments, I always return the favour). The days tick by just fine. Slowly but surely I start to see how my life without alcohol in it isn’t going to be the complete boring-ass disaster that I worried it might be.

  I also begin to get a better, wider perspective on the picture of me and alcohol. I start viewing everything in much more simple terms; I used to drink a lot and now I don’t. Sometimes it’s hard and I feel sorry for myself that I can’t drink alcohol to escape/avoid/enhance feelings, but overall I don’t mind too much. Sometimes I get tired and irritable and it’s Tuesday and I would normally drink a bottle (or more) of wine but now I don’t and . . . it’s fine. I know that I’m just tired and irritable and alcohol isn’t going to do anything constructive about that. I have to let myself feel emotions much more, even the tough ones which make me want to run a mile. I don’t run a mile. I stay with them, grit and grind my way through them and eventually they pass.

  Overall I feel much calmer and more grounded. I feel very comfortable with myself now that I have removed alcohol from my life. Every day I wake up feeling fresh and so, so happy and so, so proud.

  I just used to drink a lot, and now I don’t anymore. I am living sober, have been for nearly five months now, and it’s fine.

  23

  I’m sorry but I have to interrupt your book here to tell you that you are full of shit.

  I beg your pardon?

  You’re full of shit! You’re spinning, mate, spinning the truth to try and make yourself feel better.

  Who the hell are you?

  I’m you. I’m Lotta from four years ago and I’m butting in here to let you know that I’m on to you.

  Me from four years ago! Wow. Hello back there, how are you feeling?

  I’m a little hungover actually but not too bad, nothing a few painkillers won’t fix.

  Now you mention it, I can’t remember the last time I bought painkillers.

  Whatever. Anyway, I don’t believe you. I don’t believe you are actually fine with not-drinking.

  I am!

  Bullshit. Come on! Level with me here . . .

  It’s the truth. The other night we had some friends over and I was chatting and laughing and I didn’t care that I wasn’t drinking wine.

  Were the others drinking?

  Yep.

  And you didn’t care?

  That’s their choice. That’s fine. Look, I know you can’t believe that I’m honestly having fun without the wine but I’m telling you, I am. It’s only because I had to take it away that I’ve discovered wine isn’t necessary to have fun.

  Yes it is. Everyone loves having a few wines and getting merry and loose.

  But what you’re going to discover is that you can get merry and loose without the alcohol. Trust me on this. It’s being with people that makes you happy, and a bunch of other things you’re going to discover.

  What like? Marathon running?

  Sadly, no, though that would do wonders for the thighs. But you wait, there are some really cool things coming your way.

  I bet they’re all square and lame.

  And that’s why I’m not telling you what they are! Because I know you’ll just think they’re boring and lame because your life is so full up with boozing. But they’re not. They’re really great and
they make you feel happy. You just wait. Oh, and I look better, too, that’s for sure. I’ve lost weight, my skin is healthier, I’m less puffy, and I’m making more effort with my clothes and grooming.

  Shit. Really? I thought I was a lost cause in that department.

  Well, I’m still Lotta so I’m not uber-groomed or fashionable but things have definitely improved in that area of my life. I’m just better all round. So stop calling me a liar. This is the honest deep-down-in-my-bones truth. I do feel better. I feel happier and clearer and healthier and better and I’m happy to be a non-drinker.

  Oh come on! Puh-lease . . . Everyone knows that’s just not true. How can you possibly be happier if you can’t drink alcohol ever? You’re just saying that because you want us to believe that it’s okay not-drinking. I think you’re clinging to what those blokes Carr and Vale told you because you’ve got no choice, but in fact you feel dull and boring and sad and glum.

  Well, I’m not going to lie and say I never feel any of those things.

  Told you so!

  But those feelings come and then they go. I deal with them, they don’t last long and then I get back to feeling calm and content.

  What about at social celebrations, parties and weddings? Aren’t they just hell now?

  Well, no, actually. And if you let me continue with my book I was about to go on and describe in great detail all the fun times I have over the next couple of months . . .

  Can’t you cut to the chase and summarise?

  Sure! Went to a wedding, had a lovely chatty time and ended up in a mass sing-along with the guitars out under fairylights in the courtyard.

  That does sound fun.

  Had a lovely dinner out with a bunch of girlfriends, drove everyone to the restaurant and back, chatted and laughed all evening while eating delicious Japanese cuisine.

  Mmmm.

  Went to a hens’ party! Wore a purple feather boa all night as per the bride-to-be’s instructions. Had such fun chatting and hanging out with all the other women. Went to a nightclub and danced!!!

  Really? Had fun dancing at a nightclub? And didn’t touch a drop?

  Yes! The music just made me feel so good and it was really fun having a boogie in a dark and crowded room. And I tell you, the feeling I had walking away from the nightclub and getting in the car to drive home was FANTASTIC!

  Okay, calm down, you don’t have to shout.

  And the feeling I had waking up in the morning was EVEN BETTER!!!

  You’re a freak.

  So are you. Anyway, then I went to another wedding and ended the night with a huge boogie—so fun! Then I flew away for a child-free weekend in Sydney with a girlfriend and had a blast. Loads of shopping, eating, sightseeing and no alcohol involved! Can you believe it?! Then I went to a gig of one of our favourite bands, Elbow.

  Elbow come to New Zealand? Awesome!

  OMG, I am telling you it was brilliant. I sang along to all their songs and felt teary with emotion, I was sooooo happy. And I didn’t have to think about going to the bar and getting drinks or falling over randomly like I did at the Jarvis Cocker concert.

  Jarvis Cocker also comes to New Zealand? So much to look forward to!

  Um . . . you’re actually going to completely ruin that concert by getting shitfaced and not remembering the music at all.

  Oh.

  Don’t worry, you’ll fix yourself in time for Elbow. Anyway . . . back to my list of fun times . . .

  Nah, I’ve had enough. I get the point. How do you manage it? What’s your secret?

  Every time I’m faced with a night out I think very clearly about what the event has to offer, what is likely to be good and fun about it. Is it about catching up with old friends? Is it about meeting new people? Is the food or music likely to be amazing? The venue? What does the event actually offer aside from what you probably think every event offers, which is an opportunity to drink more than usual?

  Is that what I do? I suppose . . . maybe . . . look, I don’t want to be thinking about this right now.

  Of course you don’t.

  And anyway, you can’t tell me that aside from these supposedly great nights out, you were all the time feeling fine.

  Well, mostly, yeah. I mean, there are some times that I feel a bit glum but I examine what’s going on now rather than just reach for a wine. Besides, nothing ever lasts that long anyway.

  So life is peachy?

  Pretty peachy, yeah. Things are trucking along nicely. I’m seven months sober, I’ve got my lovely blog, my lovely Auckland life, lovely neighbours, great friends, kids are happy in school, I’ve started writing my thesis and generally I’m just feeling good. It would take something pretty major to upset me now . . .

  24

  It’s Monday lunchtime and I’m busy vacuuming the living room. The extender arm on the vacuum is broken so I’m bent over double, pushing a short arm around, trying to clean up all the dust. I’ve got the music turned up loud and I’m singing along, thinking (as I often do nowadays) how contented I feel.

  Corin walks in the door from work, he’s a little later than normal because he was called upstairs to meet with the boss of the news department at TVNZ. We spent last night speculating about what they might want to talk to him about. A new co-host maybe? A new format for Break fast? I turn the vacuum off and straighten up to face him and hear the news. Immediately I see in his face that something dramatic has gone down.

  ‘What happened?’ I ask.

  He sighs heavily and pauses.

  ‘What?!’ I prompt. ‘Let it out man!’

  He takes his time, but eventually he speaks. Just two words, but that is all that is required.

  ‘Political editor’ is what comes out of his mouth.

  I stand there stunned for a minute, not saying anything. They want him for political editor? This is huge. Corin has a look on his face which is hard to read. Political editor is a big job, a really important job, and to do it you have to be based smack-bang in the middle of parliament.

  Parliament is not in Auckland. Parliament is in Wellington.

  My mind is racing. If Corin were to become TVNZ’s political editor, we’d have to relocate the family. We’d have to leave our lovely Auckland life and move back to Wellington. Not only would this take a massive effort but this could also seriously threaten my delicate sober equilibrium. I’m in a lovely calm, controlled, sober bubble. I need things to remain calm, as much as they can, given I’ve got to write a bloody Master’s thesis! The university, my supervisor, all the academic support networks are here in Auckland. And what about the kids? They’re super-content and settled now. We’re happy. We can’t move.

  Then I look at Corin again and register the look on his face. It’s nervous and it’s hopeful, and in his eyes I can even see a hint of pleading. It breaks my heart. And in that instant my world shifts and I burst into tears. There really is no question. We have to go.

  Political editor of TVNZ is without a doubt, hands down, the most perfect job ever invented in the history of jobs for Corin. He has worked his ass off to get to this point. Now is his time, he is more than ready to step up and take the role. I can see it in his eyes, he’s itching for it. He loves politics. He lives and breathes politics.

  And we’re on each other’s team. I know that this job is the chance of a lifetime. This is the big dream, the ultimate goal, right here in front of him. I know this, and this is why I cry. This is why I have to put my delicate sober equilibrium to the test, pop the bubble and (ohmyfuckinggod) up sticks and move cities. Again.

  Mrs D Is Going Without (Day 220)

  A few years ago we packed up our lives completely and moved cities because of a big new job that Mr D landed. It was an immense effort on my behalf, liaising with a million different people, supporting the kids through the move, supporting Mr D in the transition to a new job. I was the go-to person for the entire move logistically and dealt with the movers, the bank, real estate agents
, letting agents, utilities providers, schools, insurance companies etc. etc.

  I got through the whole mission with a clipboard full of pages of contact numbers and notes and lists and lists and lists.

  I got through with very little sleep (insomnia kicked in majorly because of stress, emotions and general brain noise).

  And I got through with a lot of my beloved wine. I drank to help relieve the stress. I drank to cope with the strong emotions (sadness, excitement, nerves, grumps). I drank because that’s what I did and during tough times, well, you drink more, don’t you? Wine was my constant companion through the move, as it had been for most of my adult life.

  Since we’ve been in the new city we’ve had another baby and have built up a fabulous new community of people around us—neighbours, school teachers, kindy teachers, new mummy friends, previously distant family members, sports team buddies, academic contacts, gym friends, workmates. We love our life here. We are happy in our house and we are happy in our community, which has become rich with people we love. Oh, and I’ve gone and gotten myself sober and am in the middle of writing my Master’s thesis through the local university. Life is good.

  So what’s this all about? Well, it’s happening again. And fast. We’re selling up, packing and heading away within a matter of weeks. I feel tired and emotional just thinking about what’s ahead. In the long run it will be great, but in the short term, hard work and tiring. And emotional.

  And this time, my coping mechanism has gone. This time I’m going to do it all sober. This will be a test. Wish me luck.

  Of course I receive a lot of very lovely, morale-boosting comments on my blog, but despite this online support, over the next week or so I become unbelievably raw and emotional. Any kind of stripped-back sober feeling that I might have been experiencing before is amplified a million times now that we are facing a big upheaval. The sadness I feel at leaving our Auckland community is like an actual physical pain in my gut. I cry and I cry and I cry.

  I cry writing emails to people telling them the news. I cry telling school teachers. I cry telling neighbours. I cry on the phone to my mum. ‘I’m just so sad, Mum. It’s sadness!’ I wail. I even cry watching people being evicted off American Idol. I’m a big, teary, emotional, stressed, sober mess. I manage to see through my misery enough to reassure Corin that the tears don’t mean we shouldn’t move. ‘I know we need to do this,’ I say. ‘I’m just so very, very sad and I can’t pretend I’m not. I just can’t squash it down.’