One of the best things about writing this blog is being able to look back over the last 90 days to see how far I've come.
Yesterday, I was driving back from the country with the kids and the dog when the same song came on the radio that we'd been listening to while travelling back from my sober ski holiday on day 37.
I wrote a post about that song 'I wish that I could wake up with amnesia', because every line reminded me of my relationship with Chablis.
I wrote:
....it struck me that ditching alcohol - at the grand old age of 46, is much like breaking up with the unsuitable first love at the age of nineteen.
Do you remember all those horribly raw emotions? You weep buckets. You think you're never going to be happy again. You sob on the shoulder of any friend who'll put up with you, truly believing that no-one has ever felt heartache like you do.
He is constantly on your mind, and everything seems to remind you of him: places you went to together, mutual friends, shared interests. Evenings are spent playing songs that you listened to together, poring over old photos and replaying the relationship in your head endlessly.
Was he really so bad? Perhaps, after this break, with time to reflect, you can 're-invent' the relationship - make it perfect. There was so much that was good, wasn't there?
But now I listen to the same song and I think #teenageangst! How ridiculously maudlin. Get a life! Move on!
In short, it doesn't feel like me at all.
I have, it seems, reached the stage of the relationship breakup where I no longer romanticise the memories. I don't look back and see all the good bits. I look back and see a total pillock (1980s English slang) who screwed up my life.
In fact, I have reached the classic 'I Will Survive' stage.
When I was about 25 I was madly in love with a boy called Liam who was part of my University crowd. He turned out to be a cad and a bounder who stole money from my bank account and pawned my clarinet.
After a few weeks of weeping I went out with some girlfriends to a trendy American style diner in the West End, drank lots (obvs), climbed onto the table and sang along loudly to Gloria Gaynor's 'I Will Survive'. I got a standing ovation (before I was thrown out).
It's Saturday morning. Please humour me. Join in. Click this link to glorious Gaynor (with amazing teeth! Check 'em out), gawp and the fabulous 1970s threads, and sing along while dancing. If it's too embarrassing to dance on your own then use a vacuum cleaner or broom (that's what I do).
And if's that's just far too cheesy for you, or you have an attack of the glums and can't face it yet, then look at the ironic one-eyed alien version instead. It'll cheer you up.
As you can see, the PAWS has lifted (see post on Post Acute Withdrawal Symptoms), and life is good.
Hurrah! And love to you all.
SM x
Showing posts with label relationship. Show all posts
Showing posts with label relationship. Show all posts
Saturday, 30 May 2015
Tuesday, 5 May 2015
Not the Girl he Married Part 2
Day 65.
My regular readers might remember that, exactly a month ago, I confessed my fear that in stopping drinking I'm ruining the husband's life (see Not the Girl he Married).
After all, he never signed up to being married to a teetotaller. I was convinced that he was hankering after our long, boozy, romantic dinners and feeling huge trepidation about the dry wasteland ahead of us. Or, rather, ahead of me.
So, a couple of nights ago I finally plucked up the courage to ask him about it. We were having dinner. He was slowly sipping his one glass of red wine. Ggrrrr.
(Actually, I know he sometimes has more than one, because I found a half full bottle in the playroom hidden behind some books! He must be having an extra glass from time to time while watching TV. How hilarious to find someone else hiding bottles! Don't worry, though. Mr SM is definitely not on first name terms with the wine witch. He's just, thoughtfully, trying not to wave too much vino in my face).
"Darling," I say, "can I ask you a question?" He looks like a rabbit caught in the headlights. Mr SM is old school - he doesn't do 'talking about stuff'. He went to boarding school at the age of seven. His mind is whirring, running through his mental filing cabinet of 'appropriate answers for tricky conversations' in advance.
"Does it bother you that I've stopped drinking? Do you miss having a drinking partner?"
Mr SM looks relieved. At least I hadn't asked him "does my bum look big in this?" He always struggles with the correct response to that one.
"God no, it's a wholly good thing" he replies. I press him for more. I want to know details.
The benefits, according to Mr SM are as follows:
1. I no longer fall asleep while watching TV, so we can genuinely share a box set.
2. I'm less grumpy.
3. I don't keep him awake tossing and turning at night time.
4. He doesn't have to drink really fast to make sure he gets his share of a bottle of wine.
I grill him for any negatives. He thinks hard, then replies "I don't get as much access to the TV remote control." Then he hides behind his newspaper, like a tortoise sticking his head back in his shell. Conversation over.
Men. Simple creatures. Don't mess with their sleep, their TV watching or their comfort blankets and they're happy.
The truth is, I suspect, that the idea of losing a drinking partner is only terrifying to us - the pickles - not to the 'normal' drinkers.
But if I tried to take away his remote control permanently? That would be a deal breaker...
Love SM x
My regular readers might remember that, exactly a month ago, I confessed my fear that in stopping drinking I'm ruining the husband's life (see Not the Girl he Married).
After all, he never signed up to being married to a teetotaller. I was convinced that he was hankering after our long, boozy, romantic dinners and feeling huge trepidation about the dry wasteland ahead of us. Or, rather, ahead of me.
So, a couple of nights ago I finally plucked up the courage to ask him about it. We were having dinner. He was slowly sipping his one glass of red wine. Ggrrrr.
(Actually, I know he sometimes has more than one, because I found a half full bottle in the playroom hidden behind some books! He must be having an extra glass from time to time while watching TV. How hilarious to find someone else hiding bottles! Don't worry, though. Mr SM is definitely not on first name terms with the wine witch. He's just, thoughtfully, trying not to wave too much vino in my face).
"Darling," I say, "can I ask you a question?" He looks like a rabbit caught in the headlights. Mr SM is old school - he doesn't do 'talking about stuff'. He went to boarding school at the age of seven. His mind is whirring, running through his mental filing cabinet of 'appropriate answers for tricky conversations' in advance.
"Does it bother you that I've stopped drinking? Do you miss having a drinking partner?"
Mr SM looks relieved. At least I hadn't asked him "does my bum look big in this?" He always struggles with the correct response to that one.
"God no, it's a wholly good thing" he replies. I press him for more. I want to know details.
The benefits, according to Mr SM are as follows:
1. I no longer fall asleep while watching TV, so we can genuinely share a box set.
2. I'm less grumpy.
3. I don't keep him awake tossing and turning at night time.
4. He doesn't have to drink really fast to make sure he gets his share of a bottle of wine.
I grill him for any negatives. He thinks hard, then replies "I don't get as much access to the TV remote control." Then he hides behind his newspaper, like a tortoise sticking his head back in his shell. Conversation over.
Men. Simple creatures. Don't mess with their sleep, their TV watching or their comfort blankets and they're happy.
The truth is, I suspect, that the idea of losing a drinking partner is only terrifying to us - the pickles - not to the 'normal' drinkers.
But if I tried to take away his remote control permanently? That would be a deal breaker...
Love SM x
Sunday, 5 April 2015
Play it forward
I've been thinking more about my last post - 'not the girl he married'. Thank you so much for your comments - as always, a wonderful mix of empathy, humour and sound advice.
I realised, on re-reading, that the wine witch - yet again - had me romanticising the past.
I was waxing lyrical about boozy Sunday lunches with friends, elaborate gourmet dinners at home with fine wine, and date nights in fancy restaurants with aperitifs, wine and digestifs. Oh it is so, so easy to view it all through rose (I want to put an ecoute on the e of rose, but my iPhone won't let me!) coloured spectacles.
The AA advice is, I think, to 'play it forward', so in the interests of honesty, and to cast a blow against the wine witch, here's what happens when I press forward on the memory tape....
The boozy Sunday lunches with friends: I start drinking while preparing lunch (after all, I need to add wine to the gravy!). By the time the friends arrive with various children in tow I'm about 2/3 of a bottle down and finding it seriously tricky to co-ordinate all the cooking with the chatting, and hostessing.
By the end of the meal I've become horribly boring as I repeat anecdotes I've told a million times and/or forget the punchlines. I'm stuck on 'transmit' rather than receive, so don't ask my guests anything about their lives.
Usually at least one or two of our guests aren't drinking as they're driving, or on water after drinking too much on Saturday night. I must look seriously raddled to anyone completely sober!
Once everyone leaves (about 3.30pm) I clean up, while polishing off any leftover wine, then invariably fall asleep for a couple of hours. I wake up feeling really grumpy and yell at the husband and children. I realise that homework's not been finished, and the children have spent hours on electronic devices and are bouncing off the walls. Horrible evening followed by restless night. I start the week exhausted and depressed.
And those gourmet evening meals at home over a shared bottle? Here's the truth - I spend most of the meal trying to ensure that I get more than half of the wine. Husband gets cross as he had to drink at top speed if he's going to get more than a small glass. I start planning how to casually produce second bottle without getting a 'look', or a lecture.
If I do manage to open the next bottle (or if I'd quietly polished off a few glasses before husband got home) I'm drunk and cross by the end of the meal and end up picking a fight - often over horribly boring stuff like loading the dishwasher. We try to watch TV together, but I fall asleep after ten minutes. I wake up at about 3am hating myself (again).
What about 'date nights'? I usually manage not to pick a fight, and generally collapse in a cheerful(ish) heap when we get home, but I sleep really badly and wake up with the hangover from hell. I spend all morning counting the minutes until I can open the next bottle, as I know it's the only way of making the headache go away.
So, the truth is that whilst the husband probably does miss the girl he married 13 years ago (if he can remember her. Not sure that I can!), he almost certainly doesn't miss the girl he was married to 35 days ago.
Happy, sober Easter everyone!
Love SM x
I realised, on re-reading, that the wine witch - yet again - had me romanticising the past.
I was waxing lyrical about boozy Sunday lunches with friends, elaborate gourmet dinners at home with fine wine, and date nights in fancy restaurants with aperitifs, wine and digestifs. Oh it is so, so easy to view it all through rose (I want to put an ecoute on the e of rose, but my iPhone won't let me!) coloured spectacles.
The AA advice is, I think, to 'play it forward', so in the interests of honesty, and to cast a blow against the wine witch, here's what happens when I press forward on the memory tape....
The boozy Sunday lunches with friends: I start drinking while preparing lunch (after all, I need to add wine to the gravy!). By the time the friends arrive with various children in tow I'm about 2/3 of a bottle down and finding it seriously tricky to co-ordinate all the cooking with the chatting, and hostessing.
By the end of the meal I've become horribly boring as I repeat anecdotes I've told a million times and/or forget the punchlines. I'm stuck on 'transmit' rather than receive, so don't ask my guests anything about their lives.
Usually at least one or two of our guests aren't drinking as they're driving, or on water after drinking too much on Saturday night. I must look seriously raddled to anyone completely sober!
Once everyone leaves (about 3.30pm) I clean up, while polishing off any leftover wine, then invariably fall asleep for a couple of hours. I wake up feeling really grumpy and yell at the husband and children. I realise that homework's not been finished, and the children have spent hours on electronic devices and are bouncing off the walls. Horrible evening followed by restless night. I start the week exhausted and depressed.
And those gourmet evening meals at home over a shared bottle? Here's the truth - I spend most of the meal trying to ensure that I get more than half of the wine. Husband gets cross as he had to drink at top speed if he's going to get more than a small glass. I start planning how to casually produce second bottle without getting a 'look', or a lecture.
If I do manage to open the next bottle (or if I'd quietly polished off a few glasses before husband got home) I'm drunk and cross by the end of the meal and end up picking a fight - often over horribly boring stuff like loading the dishwasher. We try to watch TV together, but I fall asleep after ten minutes. I wake up at about 3am hating myself (again).
What about 'date nights'? I usually manage not to pick a fight, and generally collapse in a cheerful(ish) heap when we get home, but I sleep really badly and wake up with the hangover from hell. I spend all morning counting the minutes until I can open the next bottle, as I know it's the only way of making the headache go away.
So, the truth is that whilst the husband probably does miss the girl he married 13 years ago (if he can remember her. Not sure that I can!), he almost certainly doesn't miss the girl he was married to 35 days ago.
Happy, sober Easter everyone!
Love SM x
Saturday, 4 April 2015
Not the girl he married
Thirteen years ago my husband married a party girl. A bon viveur.
Until recently our lives revolved around entertaining friends over boozy Sunday lunches, getting happily plastered at parties and cooking elaborate dinners accompanied by expensive wine. 'Date nights' generally involved meals out at the latest restaurant with aperitifs, wine and digestifs. Followed by a nightcap.
And now he's married to a teetotaller. I signed up to this - he didn't. He wanted me to cut down (drastically). He didn't ask (or want) me to stop completely.
The difference is especially stark now we're on holiday. I haven't asked him not to drink. I'm happy to have alcohol in the house. After all, it's unrealistic to avoid alcohol given that 90% of the adult population drink the stuff. But he very kindly doesn't leave open bottles of wine around - at home he's switched to beer, and I join him with a non alcoholic beer.
When we eat out he orders a small carafe of wine (having checked that I don't mind first). But I can't help worrying that he's missing the company. That he's missing the girl he married.
In my low moments BS (before sober), usually at around 3am, I'd have visions of the husband leaving the puffy, boozy, raddled wife and running off with a younger, slimmer, more vibrant version.
Now in my low moments I have the same vision, but in this one they are happily sharing a bottle of wine in a romantic bistro. Aaarrrggghhh! Stab the filthy hussy drinking in moderation in the eyes! Leave my husband alone, damn you.
There's a lot of help and discussion for families of problem drinkers, but not much help - as far as I know - for husbands of non-drinkers.
The problem is that I can't even discuss my fears with him as he's too kind to ever confess to any pangs of regret, so whatever he says I won't believe him.
For better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, for drunker and more sober.....
Love to you all,
SM xx
Related post: Not the Girl he Married Part 2
Until recently our lives revolved around entertaining friends over boozy Sunday lunches, getting happily plastered at parties and cooking elaborate dinners accompanied by expensive wine. 'Date nights' generally involved meals out at the latest restaurant with aperitifs, wine and digestifs. Followed by a nightcap.
And now he's married to a teetotaller. I signed up to this - he didn't. He wanted me to cut down (drastically). He didn't ask (or want) me to stop completely.
The difference is especially stark now we're on holiday. I haven't asked him not to drink. I'm happy to have alcohol in the house. After all, it's unrealistic to avoid alcohol given that 90% of the adult population drink the stuff. But he very kindly doesn't leave open bottles of wine around - at home he's switched to beer, and I join him with a non alcoholic beer.
When we eat out he orders a small carafe of wine (having checked that I don't mind first). But I can't help worrying that he's missing the company. That he's missing the girl he married.
In my low moments BS (before sober), usually at around 3am, I'd have visions of the husband leaving the puffy, boozy, raddled wife and running off with a younger, slimmer, more vibrant version.
Now in my low moments I have the same vision, but in this one they are happily sharing a bottle of wine in a romantic bistro. Aaarrrggghhh! Stab the filthy hussy drinking in moderation in the eyes! Leave my husband alone, damn you.
There's a lot of help and discussion for families of problem drinkers, but not much help - as far as I know - for husbands of non-drinkers.
The problem is that I can't even discuss my fears with him as he's too kind to ever confess to any pangs of regret, so whatever he says I won't believe him.
For better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, for drunker and more sober.....
Love to you all,
SM xx
Related post: Not the Girl he Married Part 2
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