volume nineteen
what good can day drinkin’ do?
CONTENT WARNING: As the subtitle suggests, there is a theme of alcoholism in this volume. With the various, wonderful people from all walks of life who are readers of this digital journal, I wanted to give you the option now to not read ahead if that is what is best for you.
This volume was brought to you unofficially by @fucking_sober and menstrual cramps.
Alcohol has always been a huge part of my family’s life — at parties and celebrations, at dinner, at BBQs, at picnics, at lunches, as the sun sets, at brunches, with breakfast on Christmas morning, to accompany good music, to accompany a good movie, to accompany someone with no company, the maker of a good time, the life bringer of parties, the fight starter, the button pusher…
I very happily participated in this being the lifestyle of those around me, because it was also my lifestyle and I enjoyed every single minute of it.
Earlier this year I finally realised I enjoyed it too much. That so much time was being wasted drinking and then so much time was being wasted being hungover, week in and week out. This was a pattern I had watched and learned, but by all means, taken the reigns of myself and charged on. Sure, I learned by observing those who were around me, but no one ever forced me to participate. I watched and decided I wanted what they had and went for it. Just like I watched and learned how happy sober people could be — how unclouded, joyful, purposeful, certain, bountiful their lives were. As a few sober people started to bounce into my life, literally — so much energy! — I started wanting what they had.
I stopped drinking not because I didn’t like it anymore, but because I had come to like it more than most other things, I had come to rely on it and I had come to make it a part of my life daily. As of writing this, I am just over seven months sober. I did it on my own at first, and it was so rewarding but also so fucking hard. It is still so fucking hard, but I no longer do it alone.
So something most people in my life don’t know about me, is that I have been going to AA for a bit now, and it has changed my life. I am not at all ashamed to admit this, but I am scared all the same as it is something private. However in the vein of honesty with the readers and to talk about things openly I want to talk about this week, there it is. While talking about it, I feel empowered, too — owning it because it is a good thing that I am so proud of, and excited because it is a place that brings me so much joy. I always thought it might be a sad place, a depressing place, an awful place. Instead, I get to sit with people who get it, and who decided to make a change just like me, and I get to witness their joy and love for life and have the hope that as I keep at it, I take another step each day toward that life for myself, too.
The first time I went to a meeting I was convinced I was there as an observer (it was an open meeting meaning people are welcome to come and listen). I went there just to learn more about alcoholism, and I left it by talking on the phone to someone from that group who was kind and patient and there for me. I was still unsure, my denial convincing me that I was taking up space by thinking this was at all the space for me, that I was not who these rooms were for. Remember by this point I had already decided to stop drinking as it was a huge problem so this thinking had no place here. Let’s just say after chatting with this person, in-depth, and also finding out that there is a quiz you can take to see if it might be the place for you and I passed with an impressively high score, I was convinced, somewhat, I was in the right place. I won’t and don’t need to go into my details from there, but just wanted to put that out there to you all, sharing it as a gift to myself more than anything, that I am so proud of my progress and so grateful for the people who help me achieve it day in and out, as I learn from their wisdom and serenity.
All of this to say that as my trip home approaches nearer and nearer I am terrified of how to “come out” as sober to my family. Thanks to the power of social media, I think some of them already know. But that doesn’t mean they all know, and it certainly doesn’t mean they understand. I have this huge fear that either they will assume this is just some phase I am going through, or worse, that I will come across as thinking that I am superior. I need to let go and stop imagining the future based on the past and start living in the present.
I think the fear is in that this is a choice I made. I want to be able to strongly and confidently express why this was the best choice for me, why I am happier, healthier and more peaceful for it, but every time I think of how I would say it, I just picture whoever is on the receiving end assuming I am judging them. This is how my brain is feeling — terrified of rejection, terrified of judgement, terrified of no longer fitting in and terrified, quite honestly, that if I don’t firmly state why this is the way it is now, I will be subject to “come on have a beer with us” and “just have one” and maybe even “you used to be fun”. These are all unfair fears and judgements I am giving myself and others based on conversations that have not even happened.
Will they still find me fun? Will they want to be around me if I am sober? Will they be okay with me being okay if they’re drinking and I am not? Will they be up for a variety of hangouts, drinking-related and otherwise? Other people in my life have slipped away now that I am no longer a drinking buddy, I guess I am scared this will happen there too.
I am writing this with the emotion of day two of severe cramps and hot water bottle cuddles. My period tracker says that this will be the case for me while likely in the air on the way to Australia on a fifteen-hour flight, surrounded by strangers, and on my first days there — so doesn’t the universe just have a bit of a wicked sense of humour sending me this gift in peak stress of my trip? SIDE NOTE: Please comment with your tips that I can use to prepare myself for this flight, given I will not be able to take my hot water bottle with me or be able to lay down.
Gosh, in a perfect world, my family would say how happy they are for me and we would move on. But that is not something I can ask of them. Also, that is a tall order, they don’t have to feel *anything* about it. That is kind of selfish thought, to be honest, to make it such a big deal when maybe they won’t even care at all, in the best way. I cannot control their response, only what I say and do. So I will say it with all my heart — I am sober, I am happy, I am strong, I am not doing this alone, even if I just say this to myself, and here to you.
My proof, if that is what I will call it, to them that this is the best decision for me, will be in them witnessing just how magnificent my life is now. I am more joyful, more energised, more caring — for others and for myself, more aware of others and more interested in them, more motivated, more ambitious and honestly, I am way more fun.
I love you,
Lauren xoxo
Three things I struggled with this week:
The fire alarm went off on Sunday afternoon. It was loud and rang through the apartment and the halls. I peered out my door to see my neighbours rushing by in their coats, masks and dogs in tow. I was looking after a rescue who is scared of most people and terrified of animals. This was going to be a challenge. We took the stairs, along with everyone else, and we found a corner to wait while she buried her head in my lap and hid her face and I gave her cuddles. It wasn’t long until we were back inside the building and bounding up the stairs ahead of the crowd, safe and sound, treats to be had once we got in my door. Honestly, It was something I theoretically shouldn’t have handled well — fires are maybe the scariest thing to me, my things are my world, and Monica (the dog) was on edge in the halls as it was. But we did it. I didn’t even panic. I surprised myself with my calm, and I praised Monica for hers.
I submitted to this exhibition this week. I wrote (and wrote and wrote) about the harm done to me as a woman, focussing only on the industry I work in. It was tough, it brought a lot up for me, I edited it down so that I could keep it as anonymous as possible… but it was therapeutic and a perfect way to let it out as I close up a chapter. It is open worldwide to anyone who identifies as a woman to submit by mail or email, and it is currently on display in Vancouver.
My “do you need a cry?” playlist is not doing its trick for me, come on! **UPDATE: this song worked, trust the sad song from my favourite teen film (10 Things) to do it:
Three blessings from this week:
I booked myself a ticket to see Nick Cave & Warren Ellis in April and I couldn’t be more excited. Nick Cave is a musical poet who inspires me on a whole other level — a master of words and tunes. I booked a solo ticket because I need to be alone and undistracted for this spiritual evening — I have a seat on one of those little side-stage balconies, sorry to the likely-family-of-four or two couples who get sat in the four seats next to me. Hopefully, it won’t be like when I saw Queen and a stranger held me and asked if I was okay as I sobbed during Love Of My Life. I can’t wait to be taken to church at this concert.
‘Tis the season of PJ pants poking out of the bottom of winter coats in the grocery store on a Friday night. I see you with your arms full of chocolate and candy and I raise you a frozen pizza, a tub of ice cream and a box of croissants.
My hot water bottle. Once a month we are best friends and I would be so, so lost without her.
Three goals for the coming week:
OH YEAH, season three of my podcast My Dad Stole My Limelight is creeping up to my release date! Look out for it in early 2022 and catch up on the first two seasons now. It’s been such an amazing ride getting these stories to you all. My goal is to remain patient while I get to you, and the world, the surprises in store for this season.
Is it kind? Is it necessary? Is it true?
Ask for help when I need it. It is in my nature not to, and as I slowly learn to, I see how fucking helpful it can be. Not everything should be done alone.
What I am enjoying this week: I owe all credit to fellow Writers’ Hour host and all ‘round diamond of a human Lindsey Trout Hughes for sharing this tweet, but wanted to pass it on because it is perfect (and so is that suit). Lindsey’s recent work that I was transported back to high school with and oh-so-enjoyed so very much can be found here.
If you feel inclined to say thanks for this post, please like or comment (it’s free and means so much!), forward it to a friend or you can buy me a slice 🍕
“ SIDE NOTE: Please comment with your tips that I can use to prepare myself for this flight, given I will not be able to take my hot water bottle with me or be able to lay down.”
If you get a row with all empty seats (way back is usually open), sometimes you can lie down. Maybe you could bring an empty water bottle vessel and ask for hot water once you’re on the plane. You could also possibly bring a little rice pouch and ask them to microwave it for you.