My Perfectly Imperfect Road to Sobriety

(It's also somewhat controversial.)

Welcome to my first Substack blog post. If you choose to subscribe, and I hope you do, you can expect a monthly post delivered to your inbox. I’ll talk about recovery, mental health, life lessons, and top it off with a little poetry.

Today.  Eight years sober.  I don’t advertise the fact that I’m a recovering alcoholic but I don’t hide it either.  I usually only mention it if I think it might be beneficial for someone to hear or in a situation that’s awkward because I’m the only person in the room not drinking.  I’m 58 years old and the most content I’ve ever been.  But like many of you, my journey to get here has been peppered with stress and uneasiness.

If I had to tell you the reason I drank it would probably be an underlying feeling of not being enough.  That feeling has caused me to at times spend too much money, avoid social situations and drink too much alcohol.  The money often bought me material things to help me feel good about myself and the alcohol usually freed me from having to think about how I measured up to others.  And if I wasn’t in a room with a lot of people I wouldn’t compare myself to them.

My addiction started in high school and college where I drank myself to blackout stage fairly often.  The alcohol freed me from my inhibitions and I couldn’t imagine a party without it.  Ironically, I didn’t look too good bent over a toilet vomiting either but I guess that’s the true sign of an addict; the drug is so necessary it’s used at any cost.

There were definitely some fun times in those days too.  Times when I drank but was coherent.  Times my friends and I got ourselves into absurd situations that created funny memories.  My friends and I had really strong bonds because of all we went through together and I wouldn’t change that for anything.

My journey continued into marriage but in a completely different form.  I was codependent.   My addiction was always there but I didn’t need to drink as much when I was married.  I felt I needed to monitor how much my husband was drinking.  It led to Al-Anon meetings, a lot of misery, and ultimately a divorce.  I’m not qualified to determine if my husband was an alcoholic but I know alcohol prevented us from setting goals, being truly connected and intimate, and wanting to spend our lives together.  It destroyed our marriage.  A marriage I thought would last forever.

Years went by where I only drank socially.  I started a new healthy relationship and life was good.  New love brought new happiness and new confidence.  It also delivered me a new healthy addiciton - running.  It was a great stress reliever and helped me feel good about how I looked.  It instilled pride in my accomplishments of running longer and longer distances and ultimately a full marathon.  I was, at times, uncomfortable in my own skin if I couldn’t run.  But due to a move out of town and a new routine, the amount of running slowly decreased and the amount of stress and alcohol increased.

I worked a job that, in hindsight, wasn’t a match to my personality.  Teaching required me to control young humans. I so badly wanted to give up controlling others after my divorce.  I stuck with the job for too long and attempted to drink the stress away.  I wasn’t just drinking socially anymore.  I was drinking every night.  It started out as a glass or two of wine and turned into a bottle and a half nearly every evening.  It dulled the edges.  It made the stress and feelings of self-doubt bearable.  It allowed me to ignore other stressors in my life.  I hid it well.  I was a high functioning alcoholic, working every day and keeping my ducks in a row.  People knew I drank but most didn’t know I needed to.

My route to work used to take me by a recovery center.  They had a sign out front that said, “Do you or does someone you love suffer from addiction?”  I noticed it everyday as I drove by.  At first, I just read it.  Each day it gained more meaning.  Finally it hit a nerve and I slowly gained the courage to admit my drinking was a problem.  It culminated the night I had an argument with my partner over something trivial.  We didn’t argue often and the way I handled the situation while drunk didn’t sit well with me.  The next morning I asked myself the question, “Who do you want to be?’ and I’ve been asking myself the same question for eight years.

I called a therapist.  He determined I easily met the criteria for alcoholism so we continued to meet weekly.  Sadly, he allowed me to use the excuse of being a teacher in a small town with a reputation to uphold as being a good reason to not attend AA meetings.  My reputation was part of the reason I didn’t want to go.  I was afraid of losing my job.   But mainly, I was ashamed.  I didn’t want to be in a room with sad people and bad coffee complaining about my problems and listening to other people’s.  At that time I didn’t know how inspiring AA meetings can be.

Those eight months of being a dry drunk were brutal.  I felt like my best friend had been taken away from me.  I was irritable and constantly on edge.  I wasn’t socializing much because a lot of our social life included alcohol.  I was lonely.  I was ashamed I had let this happen to me.  But I was also proud I wasn’t drinking.

Eight months later I had an epiphany.  It came as suddenly as the will to quit had come.  I needed some form of treatment, time away to reflect and get support.  I called Hazelden and was admitted to their lodge program that week.  I spent a week at their Center City, Minnesota location re-learning the 12 Steps and listening to people’s stories.  My shame was lifted and I had a plan for how to proceed.  AA was my model. I was part of a group whose lives had the promise of peace.  I learned I was okay just the way I was and everyone has baggage.  I was proud of myself for dealing with mine.

Thinking and praying,

facing my persistent fears,

I found my own peace.

I came home and attended AA meetings off and on for a few years.  I would not have stayed sober without the support and wisdom of the women at these meetings.  They were vulnerable, brave and wanted to help.  I believe my stories and wisdom gained through sobriety inspired others too.  It was exactly what I needed to fill the void left by alcohol. Those meetings also taught me to not judge others.  If you haven’t been to a meeting you’d be surprised at the wisdom that comes from people when you least expect it.  Being in the program is appropriately humbling.

This is where my story gets controversial.  I haven’t been to a meeting in a couple years.  My life was busy and full and I slowly drifted away.  I’ve been doing well without the meetings but am definitely not opposed to returning one day.  I write, pray, talk and think about my sobriety nearly every day.  I have amazing support at home.  He understands my struggle, processes with me and doesn’t expect me to participate in plans that might jeopardize my sobriety.  I have wise, supportive friends who don’t abuse alcohol.  I have a job working in an inpatient behavioral health facility that is less stressful and allows me to share my story and empathize with theirs.

Sometimes I drink non-alcoholic beer and alcohol-free wine.  Many in the recovery community consider these to be taboo.  It works for me.  I'm more confident than I’ve ever been.  I’m comfortable in my own skin and continually try to learn more about my disease. I rarely think about drinking in my day to day life.  Just for today, I’m sober.

So here’s to eight years.  Eight perfectly imperfect years.

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