"You Picked A Bad Night To Not Drink"
A New Year's Eve Realization
Earlier this month, I traveled to Las Vegas to record the audiobook for my reflective nonfiction book, It’s Not About the Wine: The Loaded Truth Behind Mommy Wine Culture (better late than never).
My book came out over a year ago, and it’s been even longer since I read it cover to cover. Reading it again in a short three-day span was enlightening, especially as my sobriety continues to help me heal.
I expected to find some spelling or grammar errors (I did). I even expected to find a thing or two I no longer agreed with (yep), but I didn’t expect to have a revelation. On day two of my recording in the studio, I realized something so shocking, I had to stop the recording and tell the audio tech I needed a moment.
I’ll share with you the piece first, where I’m describing my first night out with friends newly sober.
“The only day I remember with clarity during those first few weeks is New Year’s Eve. We agreed to join some friends at a nice restaurant that night and I was frantic. These were drinking buddies of ours and it would just be five of us, so there would be no way to hide my drink selection.
I was less than two weeks sober at this point, so while I had gotten through the hump of the incredibly challenging first week, this would be my first test outside of my family and in such small company.
As one of our friends started reviewing the wine list, I could feel my heart beating like a drummer in a marching band. Here it comes . . .
“What does everyone want to drink?”
I held off, letting everyone speak first. Maybe they won’t even get to me. But when all eyes turned to me, I said softly, “Nothing for me. I’m good with water.”
That was it. I wasn’t booted out of our booth or chastised or smirked at, but my friend next to me quietly asked why, trying not to make it a whole table conversation.
“I’m not pregnant or anything.” I felt like I needed to nip that assumption in the bud. “I’m just taking a break.”
She left it at that for a few minutes until the bottles of wine they had ordered arrived at the table. But then she said something I’ll never forget. “You picked a bad night to not drink.”
She was referring to the fancy wine they ordered, of course. And I remember screaming inside at the unfairness of it all. Everyone at this table enjoyed booze just as much as I did. How is it they get to enjoy classy wine in froufrou goblets while I get stuck with ice water all night?”
This is the point where I had to stop recording. I felt the blood in my veins cool to freezing as I pondered those last two sentences. I took off my headphones and asked for a break, thinking about that night at the restaurant.
Five of us met up that evening. My husband and I, a couple that introduced us to each other many years ago, and one of their close friends. I didn’t know him well. In fact, I hadn’t seen him since that night and never would again. He died of an alcohol overdose a year ago.
Once I had some time to reflect, the audio tech allowed me to add some insight into this realization, so when the audio book comes out I encourage you to buy it. I can’t even remember what I said as my heart raced between immense sadness and gratitude.
I’ve always struggled with the idea of alcoholism as a disease but now I see it differently. Loneliness in our plight is the disease. Isolation. Shame. The disease is the feelings we carry in secret that prevent us from seeking help sooner, sharing our struggles out loud.
Looking back on this evening with friends in a new light, I can’t help but grapple with my friend’s observation that I picked “a bad night to not drink.” It was the best night to not drink. It was the most important night to not drink, because it was the only night I had control over.
In recovery, there is only two things I am certain. 1) You will never regret not drinking and 2) you are never alone in your struggles. Wherever you are at on your recovery, there is inevitably someone nearby going through something similar. If not at your same table, in the same restaurant or vicinity. And if isolation and loneliness really is the disease, connection may very well be what saves us.
I can’t reach my hand out to that person across the table from me that night so many years ago. I can’t even reach my hand out now. But I can reflect on an experience where I felt vulnerable, scared and ashamed, and share that I made the right decision. I wasn’t sure then, but I am confident now.
To think that night at the table, I wasn’t the only one struggling with my toxic relationship with alcohol. I was just the only person doing something about it.
Have you bought my book, It’s Not About the Wine: The Loaded Truth Behind Mommy Wine Culture? Buy it here. And please leave a review on Amazon when you’re finished!
Comments are for paid subscribers only.