Crossing the Invisible Line
How I Knew It Was Time To Quit Drinking
I was looking for some warm clothes to wear to my daughter’s 5:30PM softball game one evening in late September of 2020. The leaves were just starting to fall. The days were warm while the sun was still shining. As it dipped lower in the sky, though, the temperature would plummet. At the end of the game I was going to be an iced cube sitting in a camp chair, teeth chattering. I couldn’t find my wool socks. I couldn’t find my extra warm sweatshirt. I threw something out of my drawer in a fit of rage, and knocked over a glass of water on the nightstand behind me, only to fuel my rage even further. I was a blazing fire, embodied.
“These games being right in the middle of the evening are so fucking annoying. When are we supposed to eat dinner?” I shouted at my husband, who just stared at me blankly. What I was more irritated about was that I wasn’t going to be able to have a drink until I got home. Would it be acceptable to have one at 8:30 on a work night? I debated bringing some wine in the mug I normally put hot tea in. It is happy hour, right? It will make the game more interesting? Maybe it will warm me up, too?
These were the kinds of thoughts I was starting to have about every event in my life. I couldn’t wait to finish working so I could get home for a drink. I looked forward to a time it seemed to be an acceptable hour to open up a bottle of wine. A two-year olds birthday. Sunday funday. Dinners. Parties. Any time spent with friends all called for booze, whether other people were drinking or not. I found myself doing things I didn’t even want to do if alcohol was involved.
I often questioned my drinking and was confused about whether it was problematic. When I would mention it to friends, they would laugh and say, “Oh, you just like to have a good time every now and then” or “You drink a lot less than most people.” I would look at the FDA’s seven drinks a week or less recommendation for women and wonder if anyone really drank that little? I wasn’t drinking in high volume but it was definitely more than seven drinks a week, most weeks. Then, there came a time period where I couldn’t remember the last day I didn’t have at least one drink.
I would wake up at 3AM with cotton-mouth and think about the night before and how I probably overdid it. I would think about my mother who misused alcohol her whole life and ruined our family life and my relationship with her. I would think about my health as my heart pounded while I felt so low and anxious. Only to do it again the next day, convinced it was helping me. Most people drink right? It is a way to relax, the blunter of a bad day, and the tonic of celebration. As I learned more about what alcohol was doing to my body and when I really explored what I thought it was that alcohol provided me, I realized it was all a lie. Big alcohol, the mommy-wine culture, and everyone else that told me to “have a drink” at every occasion possible made me feel like I was normal. I started to realize that every time I drank I was numbing and burying emotions, both the good and the bad. When I really thought about it - did it help me connect, commiserate, celebrate, or improve my health? The answer was a resounding NO.
The path to crossing the invisible line of addiction is slow and insidious. I believe once you cross it, there isn’t any going back. The path may have begun before you were even born, with a family history of addiction, or if you watched a loved one struggle with alcohol. You inch there slowly when you continue a habit you know isn’t serving you day after day until it becomes apart of you. You hover on the line when you know you are no longer in control of your emotions. You are on the cusp when your health starts to suffer. You are edging over the line when you push it to black out, drive drunk, or hurt yourself or others.
But none of these things need to happen to cross the invisible line. You will know you’ve crossed it when you are there, thinking about bringing alcohol to a child’s softball game. When it is consuming your thoughts. When you know this bad behavior is causing you and loved ones emotional turmoil. When you keep trying to fill a void you know will never be full. When you realize this problem is a noose around your neck you didn’t realize was getting tighter and tighter and tighter. When you are in a hell you’ve become comfortable in. And you know something isn’t right.
It took me a few more months but I changed course and quit drinking in November of 2020. My life now is more peaceful. It is not perfect, but everything that I thought alcohol made easier, I now realize it made much more difficult. I’m more resilient and I’m still working to unravel the self-loathing and the shame. Removing this one thing, lifted everything else up. I have a much better relationship with everyone in my life, including myself. I’m proud that my daughter will never know a mom who has a drink in her hand and who was strong enough to notice a pattern and break the chain. I get to watch all of life’s joys and hardships with bright eyes and a clear mind. Life is not duller, it is in high definition. My mental space is now free to think about what is truly important. I now have capacity to help others because I’m no longer drowning. I’m so grateful to be able to breathe without the noose of addiction around my neck.
The truth is life on this side of the invisible line is so much sweeter.
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What a brilliant, honest piece. The “high definition” line is so good. Good on you for knocking the booze and really pleased to hear it’s working out for you!