How to live in your skin

As I neared the end of my drinking days, I sat in bed lamenting all of the things I would never experience. Miring in my 40th year, this seemed like typical midlife madness. “I will never be president of the United States,” I moaned. “I will never go to Harvard, do a cartwheel, or speak Russian.” My husband, Mr. Supportive, said “Did you want to be president of the United States?” That’s so not the point.

When you’re young, with your whole life ahead of you, there are no “nevers.” Everything seems like, “Hey, it could happen.” Enter midlife and suddenly you realize that, not only is your time limited, but your possibilities have been shaped by what you’ve done so far. I lamented having spent so much time “partying,” nice little euphemism for drinking all the time, instead of studying for the SATs, becoming a Senate page, investing, traveling to Eastern Europe, taking gymnastic classes, and so on.

Through the fuzziness of my pickeled brain, a spark of realization gathered enough oomph to make it to my consciousness. I cannot change my past but my future does not have to mirror it. I can change now, and thereby, possitively affect what comes next. I can change now. That was a powerful little message my subconscious managed to spew forth. Changing now meant not drinking anymore.

When you are in the midst of an addiction, getting out from under it seems like the ultimate goal. Once you stop drinking, the music swells and the screen goes black. It’s totally post Hollywood kiss. Except it isn’t.

It’s the beginning of figuring out how to live in your skin because you have never had to do that before. How do you keep from jumping right out of it all day, every day. How do you face your stuck relationships, the job that stresses you out (whether you love it or hate it), the 20 pounds you’ve gained, the friendships you’ve neglected, or the children who associate you with ice clinking in a glass? How do you do life sober? All of your regrets, the problems you’ve ignored, the goals you never bothered to achieve. How do you look your life in the eyes without screaming and running from the room?

That is the question. I can tell you what I did — and still do. Because after eight years of sobriety, every once in a while, I still want to get drunk. I don’t want a drink. I want to get drunk. And, that, my friends, in the definition of an alcoholic. Someone who wants to get drunk every time she drinks — whether it is once a week or every day.

The two most important components to my recovery are Alcoholics Anonymous and self care (I’ll talk about self care in my next post).

AA is saving my life (an ongoing process). Some people have a problem with the Higher Power aspect of AA and some people just aren’t joiners. This is not about God or whether or not you want to become a member of a club. This is about survival.

AA provides a list of people for you to call if you want to drink. The only time I made a call was my first Christmas Eve when everyone was drinking and I wanted to join them. Instead of doing those shots of Sambuca, I picked up the phone. It worked. Even though I’ve only made one call in eight years, I keep that list in my purse at all times. The psychological life line is enough.

AA provides meetings — lots of them no matter where you live or travel. They are even on-line. They say that you should go to 90 meetings in 90 days when you first start out. I didn’t do that, though I know lots of people who did (and do). I went to one women’s meeting a week because I was comfortable with that level of participation. I did that for the first six years. Now I go when I feel like I need a meeting. But this is selfish of me because the reason people with years of sobriety go is to help newcomers. It is part of the recovery for all concerned.

During meetings, you hear people’s stories. Sometimes, you feel like, blah, blah, blah. I’ve heard it all before. But usually, you get one gem, the thing you needed to hear to make it through the day (or the week in my case). Oftentimes for me, it is the story about the alcoholic brother who just died young because of his disease or the aunt who lost her home and now her children won’t speak to her because of her addiction. It’s sick. I know. But it reminds me of where I don’t want to be.

12 Steps. Yes, there really are 12 Steps and, if you are serious about quitting, you should do them. Some people do them all for the first time in a few months, some take years. They are steps you repeat throughout your sobriety. It’s all explained in the “Big Book,” the AA Bible. You’ll probably read the whole thing at first and then use it for a pick-me-up on days when you struggle. I don’t use the book as much as other people. For me the meetings and phone list hold far more power.

Get a sponsor. This seems scary but after you attend a few meetings, it will become apparent who you might be able to click with. Choose someone with a similar background and who you actually like. I chose a woman around my age who worked, was married, and had children. I figured we could relate. I was right.

Cliches. AA is full of them and at first you think, “Give me a break.” Fake it ’til you make it. Just don’t drink today. Meeting makers make it. Keep your own side of the street clean. But after awhile, you realize that you need a trite little line to get you back on track when you start to slide. Four years into my sobriety, my 20-year-old nephew was killed in a drunk driving crash (he was the driver — and an alcoholic) and I wanted to drink more than I could possibly explain. For weeks, I suffered. I went to meetings, talked to my sponsor, read the Big Book, blah, blah. One day, I was eating lunch with my sponsor and she said to me, “Just don’t drink today.” And it was as if she had just parted the Red Sea. It was that simple. I was wallowing in my pain and trying to imagine how I would get through life with this intense heartbreak. That little cliche reminded me that I didn’t have to get through my whole life without numbing the pain. I just had to get through today.