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When I heard someone comment “I just need a break from alcohol and I’ll be able to start again in a better place,” I was ready to hop on my soapbox. Sometimes I forget that not everyone is standing where I’m standing. Sometimes I gloss over the years of agony it took me to even start my Day 1, and a good year to completely take alcohol off the “maybe someday” table.
Sometimes I forget that some people still find value in drinking, and me spouting facts and data at them is frivolous if someone’s not emotionally or mentally available to hear it. They still listen to the Hotel California song by the Eagles and only hear the “such a lovely place” melody sweetly echo in their ears. They don’t hear the words and get goosebumps of recognition in the darker lyrics of this classic song with heavy themes around addiction.
Sometimes I forget that people are coming at this journey from every experience imaginable. That we are all so uniquely different. That my experience will not be yours, or theirs. This could be heaven or this could be hell.
And yet I’m a firm believer that sharing our experiences empowers others. That my mistakes can be maps of wisdom to help others avoid the same potholes and dead ends. How do I empower someone to see what I now see so clearly: That alcohol is a deadly chase down an empty corridor? A chamber that takes everything and leaves us with nothing. What a nice surprise; bring your alibis.
I watched my dad’s demons chase him deeper down that passage. I get messages from loved ones who see their spouses, children, or siblings going that direction. From a distance, the direction seems treacherous and terrible.
But the view look so different in first person, doesn’t it? It doesn’t feel treacherous, it feels comfortable, safe even. Pink champagne on ice. It’s a path we’ve been on for years; the slope downwards isn’t even noticeable. The darkness feels soft but intense, like “sweet summer sweat.” And our eyes adjust to the increasing darkness, so it feels like we can see just fine.
Little moments of pleasure followed by heavy feelings of pain and struggle is just the norm. Our egos are so beat up from the years of fist-fights with our own best intentions that pain feels like price of admission for any pleasure at all. Some dance to remember; some dance to forget. We forget what chemical-free joy feels like and wonder if we ever knew it at all.
We see children play and smile and giggle and they look so far away. What on earth could make anyone feel that way? A slide, a sandbox, a dino toy? And a pang echoes in our heart with a faint memory of feeling that way once. Such a lovely face. But that’s over now; children find bliss through the ignorance of the real world right? Show me how a kid feels after dealing with a messy divorce or calls from debt collectors.
We are angry. We feel like we got the short straw in life. Our thoughts settle in victim mode, another comfortable place to sit. Drinking is all we’ve got, dammit. We are just prisoners here of our own device. Alcohol is the only thing left that feels genuinely right.
Except in the morning, when waking up and it hurts to sit up. Or at work, where the fog sinks in and the realization of eight hours in one place feels claustrophobic and nauseating. Productivity feels impossible. Not enough coffee in the world can make thoughts or ideas come with clarity. And finally back at home with our family, who just don’t understand, or stifle us in their own ways. Just can’t kill the beast. So we open the fridge and start the cycle all over again.
Do you see the pattern, friends? Do you see all the signs pointing at one thing while you point and blame everyone else? Do you see it? The passage back to the place I was before. Because from my vantage point it’s quite clear. I wish you could see it from where I’m standing.
But you can’t. You can only take my word for it. My word, and the word of thousands of others who have also escaped that great abyss. Your friends and family, or your kids… who want nothing more than to see you light up the way you once did. To see your eyes sparkle; to see life in those eyes again.
Have you noticed that the path is starting to steepen? Eventually you’ll trip and begin to roll down with such velocity, it will take a damn miracle to stop you. Have you noticed that those who finally freefall down that corridor never come back out? There’s a reason no one gives the Hotel California a five star review. You can check out anytime you like, but you can never leave.
Where You’ve Seen Me
Had an amazing conversation with my friend Veronica Valli on the Soberful podcast. Have a listen here.
Kate Swenson of Finding Cooper’s Voice and I did a Facebook live and had a great discussion on motherhood, mommy wine culture, and parenting neurodivergent children.
Does Mommy Wine Culture Gaslight Moms About Their Workload? Love how this Your Tango article turned out and honored to be in it.
Upworthy picked my book for it’s September book club! Annie Reneau and I got to chat about the book, the origin story and I got to do a brief book reading!
Do you want more? Sign up as a paid subscriber to see the rest of what’s happening this week, including my series “Weekly Unwined” of what I’m reading/watching and how it ranks on a sober-positive scale.
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