“Twenty Minutes.”

I recently stumbled on a home DVD from about twenty years ago. A grainy, hour-long video set in a dimly lit living room, where everyone was playing music and enjoying cocktails.

Towards the end, someone mentioned I should sing a song.

A drunken “in which key” conversation ensued for about ten torturous minutes, and at one point I am starting to sing a Patty Loveless song. Only it didn’t sound like Patty. It was more like her hammered, less talented best friend.

As I sat there listening to myself argue, and probably ruin everyone else’s buzz in the process, I was so ashamed I wanted to look up ways to disappear from the planet altogether or just melt right into the actual slipcover on the couch.

After the drunk debacle finally ended, I was suddenly grateful that my body made the decision for me to quit drinking. By watching that video it was super clear that it was a decision I was never going to make for myself mentally.

Someone asked me recently, “How long did you last at the bar for your first time without alcohol?”

I blurted out in lightning speed:

Twenty minutes.

Gaaagh! Twenty minutes?!

That’s not even an entire episode of Seinfeld.

How did I spend five hours there in one sitting?

How did I make it feel fun and effortless?

How much money had I spent on playing Ocean Front Property on TouchTunes over the years?

Okay, that one was worth it, one hundred percent.

I knew I had memories and good times, but suddenly, standing in the bar for the first time with my plastic glass of Diet Coke, everything felt almost impossible without alcohol.

I could feel the walls closing in, feel every popcorn kernel being crunched between hungry teeth, hear every paper tab being pulled. Laughter from every corner of the room was seemingly amplified and coming from every direction.

I suddenly turned to my husband and whispered,

“I have to bail.”

I grabbed the keys, did an Irish goodbye, and left the parking lot.

I cried so hard on the mile drive that I could barely see the lines on the road in front of me as I curved home in the dark.

Why was I crying? Because I couldn’t be someone who only has a few and then goes home? Ridiculous.

After everything I’ve accomplished, how in the hell did I get to the point where something had that much control over me?

I was angry.

Confused.

Afraid.

Angry at myself for having a problem.

Confused about who I was without alcohol.

Afraid I wouldn’t know how to be funny or know how to simply exist in a social setting without it.

I was even salty at my husband in the moment for not loudly exclaiming to everyone across the bar:

“Get out of the way! This is my LADY and I am accompanying her home this very instant!”

As he whisks me outside and exits stage left.

Like what world do I live in?!

You can see the delusional train I was derailing on, right? Sadly, having to sit in my own skin without alcohol, was dropping me right off at the station with a first-class ticket saying get your little be-hind on the train.

There was no other way around it. I had to face the fact that I had a super unhealthy relationship with alcohol and, quite possibly, didn’t even like myself, without it.

That evening, sitting in my living room with the thought of everyone carrying on, I had never felt so... alone.

Not in my entire life.

How does that work?

Alone?

In a house with warmth? Love? Cats, dogs, a beautiful family?

I was so confused.

I wasn't confused about whether I had a problem.

That part had become pretty obvious over the years when I fell and sliced my chin open on the bedpost, or left the car running in the driveway after a night out, and we were all certain, by the time I had knocked myself out falling into the bathtub trying to stand up from the toilet.

I was still perplexed about who I was going to be without booze.

Was I still going to be funny?

Well, maybe.

Maybe I wasn't going to be the life of the party.

Could I even be the life of my party?

Will my husband not think I’m fun anymore?

Leave me for a younger, more fun drunk version of me that can keep up?

Okay, I knew realistically that was not going to happen, as it would mean he would have to keep up with her too.

But still.

What if I removed alcohol from the equation and there wasn't much left to like?That was probably one of the hardest realizations of all.

Dramatic declarations of “I’m never drinking again” didn’t work, sadly.

I can’t tell you how many times I threw away a pack of cigarettes or a bottle of booze, swearing I was done, only to dig them back out of the garbage or drive to the store for more the very same day. So here was my mantra;

• Committing to something forever can feel overwhelming.

• Just making the initial decision to get better is enough, you can always build from there.

If you find a social event you aren’t ready for because you can’t get through it without alcohol, maybe it just isn’t the right time.

Don’t try to push yourself into situations that will make sobriety harder.

I found that there’s a difference between stepping out of your comfort zone in a healthy way, and then there’s forcing yourself into an environment that overwhelms you and defeats the purpose.

For me, it took about eight months before I went back into a bar, and even then, I had to proceed with caution. For me, to not have a drink is still a daily choice that I make, and it’s been 5 and a half years since I have had a drop of alcohol.

The journey really became easier at the point I stopped trying to be everything, to everyone and I learned it’s okay to say you don’t have it all under control.

Let’s Make a Toast

There is a constant presence of alcohol at social interactions, in mainstream media, and readily available almost anywhere you turn.

It’s how we mark occasions, happy or sad, big and small. It is a lot of years of conditioning mentally and physically.

I had myself convinced that normalcy looked like working, being a mom, wife, then working again until the wee hours of the morning after everyone was in bed.

The only problem with that is that I was also convinced that in order to work late and do so by myself, I would need alcohol to keep me company.

I would be massively hung over the next morning and continue the circle on, and on, and on.

I thought I could do it all.

Be there for my career, my family, and booze would just be my personal assistant, there in the evening to greet me.

Until my body was like,

We need to talk.

Staying sober also meant learning to be more kind to myself.

I had spent a lifetime in a co-dependent relationship with alcohol and needed to find out who I was without it.

Seeing myself as that little girl who maybe just needed a hug and some therapy allowed me to finally process what I had been carrying for so many years.

Once I understood the why behind my drinking, life almost seemed, easier.

Relationships got stronger.

Colors got brighter.

I felt more.

Yes. Feeling more can be just as uncomfortable as it sounds.

But surprisingly, liberating.

I’ve found in the past five years without using alcohol, experiences tend to also mean more when I remember them.

I don’t spend the next day recovering with half the medicine cabinet, grape Propels, and half the menu at McDonald’s.

It’s not to say that all the years of drinking didn’t come without some entertaining material.

Like, how did we successfully pay a cab driver in Christmas cookies?

Why is the brisket still sitting out on the counter at 9 a.m.?

And there’s always a story that ends with,

“Well, that was embarrassing.”

Here are some practical things that helped me survive those early social events:

Be kind to yourself.
Even twenty minutes out sober at a bar counts as a win.

Talk about it.
Simply communicating that you think you have a problem gives those who love you a chance to help. They want you to be the best you, too.

Remember your patterns.
Whenever I wanted a drink, I reminded myself that every regrettable decision I ever made in the past had alcohol as a contributing factor.

Understand your why.
Doing the work to explore why I felt I needed to drink in the first place made the larger picture much clearer.

Don’t let something difficult stop you from putting yourself or someone you care about first.
If that looks like quitting or cutting back, or even telling someone, “Hey, I see you, and I’m here to help if you ever need me.”

I’d like to end by saying that if you have a healthy relationship with alcohol, that’s wonderful.

Being able to enjoy it without it taking more than it gives is a great place to be.

Whether it’s with a mocktail or cocktail,

Cheers to enjoying life friends!

RaeAnne