by Heather Lowe
Here’s the same cheap wine that I drink at home. It can be bought from a gas station. That gas station wine is on vacation now. I paid three times the price. Here’s my picture of me having that gas station wine by a palm tree! It’s equivalent to lipstick on a pig. It’s still a pig. My wine was still my drug no matter what environment I was doing it in. To say I was obsessed with drinking is an understatement. My whole life revolved around it. I measured my success by the amount of alcohol that I had access to, and the amount of time spent consuming it.
were proof that drinking was no problem. I could stop one step before the catastrophe. I’d wake up in shame, and feel physically ill. I’d start my hangover detective work. If no one was not mad at me, and I remembered most of the night, this was a sign of good drinking. This was a sign to keep drinking. I was always trying to be a good drinker. I never wanted anyone mad at me for any reason, but definitely not for my drinking behavior. The goal was to not let anyone notice how much I’ve had, but of course to continue drinking as undercover as possible.
I wanted to believe this was me living my hashtag best life.
The way to reach my goal was:
● Be drunk but don’t act drunk ● Fly under the radar ● Brown out, don’t black out, don’t pass out ● Be the last one up and keep drinking ● Don’t let the kids notice. ● Stay away from the kids ● Let the kids do whatever they want ● Be casual, funny, and no big deal about alcohol At 4.5 years sober this seems like a really low bar to set. Since getting sober, I have found so many higher goals to reach. These goals don’t include avoiding my children. More like the opposite and creating opportunities for authentic connection. Remembering my night before is a given. It is not something I have to plan for and put effort into. Going unnoticed is no longer my highest achievement.
The truth was, I worried about my drinking for decades. I seemed to like drinking more than anyone else. I wanted alcohol with a ferocity that frightened me. I drank with a velocity that didn’t match the people around me. Still I classified my drinking as not “that bad.” The only reason I could imagine quitting drinking was if it got “that bad”. “That bad” was something that happened to other people who were not on vacation. A good night on vacation was one where I drank, not quite as much as I wanted. Having less than I really wanted made me so proud of myself. I could keep ignoring my drinking problem, because I showed discipline and self control. I proved moderation, by being completely blitzed out of my mind, but not yet having fallen over or passed out in front of others. Drinking nights that didn't end in disaster
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