Florence and the Booze

I'm a little bit obsessed by Florence Welch of Florence and the Machine.

Firstly, I think she, and her music, are really cool and properly individual.

Secondly, I used to work with her Dad, Nick Welch (how old does that make me feel?).

He was my first creative director, and I was both in awe of and terrified of him in equal measure. Spookily, she looks exactly like he would do if he were twenty five years younger (as he was when I first met him) and wearing a long red wig (which is the sort of thing he used to do).

Thirdly, she is very open about her 'unhealthy relationship with alcohol' which began, she says, when her parents divorced when she was fourteen and "there was chaos at home, so I drank. I went to wild parties, met some bizarre, amazing people and did mad things like running around naked in fields covered in leaves.”

We've been there, haven't we? Apart from maybe the bit with leaves. Definitely done wild parties, bizarre amazing people and inappropriate nakedness.

Flo claims she used alcohol to combat shyness (sound familiar, anyone?) and stage fright.

 

I used to drink before every performance," she told Billboard. "I’m quite shy, really - that’s probably why I used to drink a lot. But I don’t anymore."

Then, following the breakdown of a relationship, Florence says she went through a 'deeply chaotic and unhappy period.' She took a year off from the music industry and quit drinking.

"It [drinking] wasn’t coming from a place of fun and joy. It was coming from a place of wanting to cover and hide. But, actually, if I did want to go back and enjoy drinking again, then that’s a choice...

(NO FLO! FLO NO! Don't even think about it! Why go back into the hole you've just climbed out of?)

"I was so sad. And I’ve never been that interested in having a glass of wine, I’ll have a shot of tequila, it’s always been about the end result.”

Florence says that, during her year out, a cagoule* saved her life. No, that wasn't a typo. A cagoule.

Flo stole the cagoule (with all that money she could have bought a diamond encrusted one from Dolce & Gabbana! Surely no need to nick a manky second hand one?) from a house party on New Year's Eve, and wore it with a pair of leggings for a whole year.

She says "it saved my life." (see! I was not kidding you) "Clothes to me are a way of distracting myself and I had nothing left, I wanted to be identity-less.”

I so identified with the cagoule thing (although not in a literal sense, obviously). Two months ago I wrote a post called Losses and Gains (click here) where I said that when you quit drinking....

.....you have to start saying goodbye to all your favourite things. You lose all your routines, your comfort blankets, your oldest, most familiar friends.

Suddenly you find yourself sitting on an uncomfortable chair in a totally empty room feeling completely naked, alone and vulnerable.

And Florence, in effect, did exactly that, and not just in a metaphorical sense. She says that clothes had become her 'protection' (along with alcohol, I'm guessing) and that she had to spend a year or two 'unravelling all that stuff.'

So, it was great to see Florence back at Glastonbury on such great form, and here's hoping that she decides to ditch the Tequila for good. And the cagoule. Which must be really smelly by now...

Love SM

*a cagoule is a thin raincoat with hood, often taken on hikes/camping trips as it can be squashed into a small carry pack.

To AA, or not to AA?

Regular readers will know that I have been wrestling with this one for a while. And whenever I mention AA in a post, even in passing, it causes much debate, so I guess lots of you have been agonising over it too.

I always tell the children when they have to make a big decision to write a list of the pros and cons, so that's what I'm going to do.

To those of you who are AA experts, please forgive my obvious ignorance! This is a totally personal list based purely on hearsay and reading, not on any actual experience.

CONS

1. Fear

I confess. I am a coward. The idea of even walking into 'the rooms' fills me with terror. I'm scared of seeing anyone I know and I'm terrified of confessing to myself, let alone others. that 'I am an alcoholic.'

2. Negativity

Like Wine Bitch (www.thewinebitch.blogspot.com) I worry about the whole language of AA. The 'disease' stuff (see Is Alcoholism a Disease?), the turgidity of 'one day at time'. The prison sentence of forever being 'in recovery.' The endless re-telling of horror stories from the past.

Instinctively I prefer the positive language of Jason Vale - 'addiction to an addictive substance', rather than 'a disease called alcoholism', looking forward, not back, 'recovered' rather than 'in recovery.'

3. Comparison

I'm sure that, in listening to people's stories there'd be loads of 'ah ha!' moments and lots of similarities, but I'm scared of the differences.

I know how easy it is to hear people talking about their rock bottoms - drinking whisky for breakfast and losing their homes, jobs and families and to think 'that's not me, ergo I am not an alcoholic'. I don't need to go down that cul-de-sac again.

I've also heard stories (which I'm sure are not at all representative) of people being mocked for their 'bottle of wine a day' habits by the 'two bottles of vodka' brigade.

4. Rules

I've always hated rules. And I hate the idea of 'doing the steps'. I also still feel horribly uncomfortable with the concept of 'surrendering your will,' to putting myself in the hands of anyone, let alone a 'higher power.'

I prefer to see myself as someone taking responsibility for their own actions, and doing it my own way. (It's only now that I've typed that that I realise it's terrible pride holding me back. I am definitely not humble enough for AA!)

HOWEVER, over the last few months, I keep returning to the idea of AA over and over again. I'm obsessed by Bill Wilson. I love the serenity prayer. I have The Big Book under my bed. So here are my....

...PROS

1. Some of You

People I admire and respect hugely keep urging me to give it a go. People like P, Anne, Wendy (www.tipsynomore.blogspot.com)  and Melanie (my e-mail buddy from Boston), to name just a few.

2. A New Tribe

One of the many truths that I've quoted from AA is that you can't do this journey alone. To date, with the exception of Mr SM and my friend P, all my confidantes have been virtual. Increasingly I feel the need to meet people like me IRL, as the kids would say (in real life).

Anne (from www.ainsobriety.wordpress.com) keeps telling me 'they're your people', and I think she may be right. I'm wondering whether I can find the same sense of belonging and solidarity that I once found in the smoking sections of aeroplanes, around the next bottle of wine at a party and dancing in fields in Hampshire in 'The Rooms.' Maybe that's where my tribe are now.

A promise

So, because I'm boring myself, and you, with my endless prevarication, and because I'll never know if I don't try, I promise that I'm going to go. Once the kids are back at school, in September - by when I'll be six months sober. It seems like an appropriate way to mark that milestone.

(But I'm not doing the steps. Or surrendering. And I can't guarantee that I'll be able to say 'I'm an alcoholic'. One step at a time, as they say)

So, if you're still reading my blog by then and I don't mention having gone to a meeting, please call me on it!

Love to you all

SM x

Mindful Self-Compassion

I came across this quote this morning:

'A moment of self-compassion can change your entire day. A string of such moments can change the course of your life.' C.K.Germer.

Wow! I thought. What a great way to start the day! Thank you C.K.Germer.

I was, in fact, so impressed by old C.K. that I Googled him.

(Aside: how did we manage without Google? I'd have to seriously have my socks blown off by someone before I'd troop down to the local library and look them up on the dewey decimal system).

Here's what C.K. has to say about Mindful Self-Compassion:

"Mindful self-compassion is the foundation of emotional healing—being aware in the present moment when we're struggling with feelings of inadequacy, despair, confusion, and other forms of stress (mindfulness) and responding with kindness and understanding (self-compassion). Mindful self-compassion also means holding difficult emotions—fear, anger, sadness, shame and self-doubt—and ourselves, in loving awareness, leading to greater ease and well-being in our daily lives.

"Mindful self-compassion can be learned by anyone. It’s the practice of repeatedly evoking good will toward ourselves especially when we’re suffering—cultivating the same desire that all living beings have to live happily and free from suffering. And as the Dalai Lama says, self-compassion is the first step toward compassion for others."

He sounded like such a wise chap that I decided to download one of his meditations and give it a go. (If you want to do the same, then click on the Mindful Self-Compassion link above).

I've never tried meditation before, but I've been meaning to. The children and the husband were all still slumbering upstairs, so I found myself a comfy chair and pressed play on the first download (18 minutes long).

Lots of breathing. Lots of paying attention to the breathing, and to what the breathing feels like.

This was all somewhat scuppered when the terrier got overexcited by discovering me sitting down with an unoccupied lap and decided to join in. Soon I was paying attention to the feeling of being licked by a puzzled dog.

You will find thoughts wandering in....says C.K. No shit Sherlock. Mine went something like this:

How long have I been doing this for already? Any minute now the troops will start appearing for breakfast. I'm hungry. What happens if I stop concentrating on the breathing? Will I stop breathing? Arrgghh. I'm going to die. How long have I been doing this for already? I've got stuff to do. I've got to write my blog and go for a run all before they wake up. Was that someone waking up? I'm hungry. How long have I been doing this for already?

Ten minutes in and I was stressed!

So, I totally buy the concept of self-compassion. We all need a bit of that. Plus, I love mindfulness, BUT I like mindfully doing stuff (see Monkey Brain and Mindfulness), not mindfully doing nothing. It freaks me out. And I feel like a pillock. Perhaps I'm too British?

Any thoughts and experiences with meditation gratefully received.

Have a great sober Sunday my friends! I'm off for a run...(after breakfast)

SM x

Life is Where You Look

There's another quote I love from Jane Green's amazing new novel, Summer Secrets, featuring an alcoholic heroine (see Instant Bonding).

The hero says "Life is where you look, right?....I mean look for the bad, you'll find more of the bad, look for the good, you'll find more of the good."

I've been turning this over and over in my head for a while.

I'm sure that if we spend much of our lives staring into the bottom of a glass rather than looking around us, our worlds become smaller and smaller.

If we fill our bodies constantly with poisons, our lives become more and more toxic.

If drink is crucial to our social lives, we end up surrounded solely by other drunks.

The more we stress out and feel anxious the more stress and anxiety we attract.

In effect, the world is what we make it.

When you get sober, you look up from the glass and find that your world has broader horizons.

As your body gets less toxic, you see beauty and clarity around you.

As you go out sober, you attract more sober (or less drunk) friends.

As you ditch the constant anxiety, your life becomes calmer and less problematic.

It really does depend where you look....

.....and how you look.

I went to a fabulous gathering of old friends recently. Wonderful P was the catalyst, as she was visiting from the US.

I was nervous, but feeling better (and more generally attractive) than I had in years, so I was ready for it. And P would have never forgiven me if I'd bailed.

Despite being a picnic in the rain (how classically English is that?) I had a ball.

Then one of the gang published a photo of us on Facebook. I wasn't looking at the camera, and looked utterly miserable.

I realised - horror of horrors -  that I have a grumpy resting face. Yikes!

Since then I have been trying to train my mouth to turn up, even when I'm just 'resting'. And, when I'm walking down the street I make an effort to smile at people.

Sometimes they think I'm a total nutter, but generally people smile back. Genuinely smile.

And after just a few days of doing conscious SMILING, I'm feeling great. I feel like I'm surrounded by happiness.

I'm spreading the love.

So remember, life is where, and how, you look.

SM x

Instant Bonding

I had to collect #1 from a new friend's house yesterday. I'd never met her Mum, but I liked her instantly. I could see us becoming friends.

"Cup of tea?" she asked, "or a glass of wine?"

It was six thirty. A perfectly reasonable time for a glass of wine.

"Ooh. Tea, please," I replied. (Obviously. Get with the programme...)

I could see the disappointment in her eyes. Not because she's a drunken lush and desperately wanted to open a bottle (I can tell that look by now!), but because of what it said about me.

I miss alcohol (and cigarettes) for their ability to create an instant bond. The tea or wine test - in my book - was a way of telling what sort of person you were dealing with.

I often used to employ the test with potential new friends. Those who replied 'wine' were, I decided, the fun ones. Grown up when required, but always young, wild and reckless at heart. The 'wine' responders were my crew. My posse.

When I replied 'tea' to the new friend, she thought 'responsible, sensible, straight....dull.' And that's not me!

I desperately wanted to say "Better not open the wine, unless you want to haul me out of here at 2am after having heard my full life story and seen my comedy version of a cabaret striptease." But I didn't want to scare her off completely.

Cigarettes were the same. I made some of my lifelong friends huddling in a garden trying to get the Zippo lighter to work at a party, or when banished to the smoking section of an office, restaurant, train or aeroplane (remember those days?).

What I miss by not doing AA (do you think I'm gradually talking myself round?) is a new posse.

And ex-drinkers are, in many ways, the best posse of all. (See Why Ex-Drinkers Rock! and Why Ex-Drinkers Rock Part 2)

I was reading a new novel (BUY IT! It's a lovely page-turner with romance, drinking, recovery, AA...what's not to like?) by Jane Green about an alcoholic and her chequered life called Summer Secrets.

The heroine, Cat, describes the people she sees at AA. It's a meeting she hasn't been to before. She says:

I know the people. I recognise the look we have, all of us who have lived a little too hard, partied a little too long, done everything a little harder, faster, longer. Addicts and alcoholics. People of extremes.

We are, as a group, often too fat, or too thin. We are too tanned. Our fashion sense is out there. But our hearts? Our hearts are as big as the ocean.

And that's us, my friends. You and me. The new crew.

Love SM x

Strong Women Don't Drink!

Last night was date night. Mr SM and I gabbed a quick bite to eat (I've found that I can't hang around in restaurants for too long without a glass (or 5) of vino), and then went to the movies.

We watched the new Terminator movie. Mr SM's choice, obviously. I wanted to see the new Amy Winehouse biopic.

The film was pretty much like the last ones, just with even more confusing time travel (people going backwards, then forwards, then both simultaneously. Even sober it was tricky to follow....).

What I did love, however, was the lead female character - Sarah Connor.

Sarah Connor (mother of the future leader of the revolution), is played by Emilia Clarke who is also my heroine - Daenerys Targaryen (Mother of Dragons) - in Game of Thrones.

As I was watching Sarah Connor, I was imagining her getting a little stressed about the responsibility of saving the future of mankind. What if she'd decided to sink a bottle or two of vino instead of kicking ass with a machine gun?

She wouldn't have been much of a match for a shape shifting terminator from the future then, would she? Unless she was planning to bore him to death.

Do you think Daenerys Targaryen has a swift double vodka 'just to take the edge off' before unleashing her dragons? Would the army of Unsullied have pledged their devotion to a slurring lush? I don't think so.

What about Ripley in Alien? If she'd decided to quench the anxiety a little with a few drinks before heading out with the flamethrower she'd have had aliens popping out of her stomach before she could say "open another bottle, will you?"

I may be (only just) closer to fifty than forty, but I decided last night that I want - I deserve - to be a strong woman. In mind and body.

I am going to get back to my fighting weight (I'm 11 pounds lighter already). I'm going to get serious about running. I'm going to take up yoga and get strong and flexible....

.....and then I'm going to change the world.

Who's with me?

(I might just have a sit down and a quick cup of tea before I get started)

Love to all you strong women. And any men out there.

SM xx

P.S. For those of you following the fate of the tadpoles (I'm looking at you, Suburban Betty!), we now have three frogs! Which is good. I'm unlikely to be able to change the world if I'm unable to ensure a bunch of tadpoles reach maturity....

Related Post: I am Khaleesi!

The Lies Alcohol Tells

I've been thinking about Michael Jackson's face. (Bear with me, it does become relevant!)

When I was at boarding school, I had a poster of the young Michael Jackson on my wall. It was the days just before Thriller, when he was properly black, with afro hair and a slightly squishy nose.

He was gorgeous. I would lie on my bed, staring up at him and imagine what our babies would look like.

But Michael never thought he looked good. He didn't like his hair, his skin, his nose, his chin or his eyes.

So Michael discovered plastic surgery. It promised him a solution to all his self esteem issues. And initially it did what it promised. He liked his nose more, his paler skin, his straighter hair and his sculpted chin. But he still wasn't happy, so he did more and more...

Bit by bit, Michael hacked away at all his perfect features until, one day, he must have looked in the mirror and discovered that instead of making himself perfect, he'd turned into the freak he'd always feared.

The surgery he thought was the solution had caused a horrible problem.

He must, surely, have realised that his original self - before he listened to all those surgeons - was actually pretty perfect.

That's what alcohol does. It promises to be the solution to all your problems. Then, one day, you realise that, actually, it's made all your problems much worse, and that the person you had been - before you started on this road - was actually pretty amazing.

Here are some of the lies we believe:

I will give you courage!

To start with, a shot of 'dutch courage' does seem to do the trick. But then, we get so used to using alcohol as a prop that, without it, we become complete cowards. We retreat into our own little worlds, clutching our bottles, unwilling and unable to take any risks in our lives.

I will give you confidence!

And you do feel more confident in the beginning. But pretty soon you become a bag of fear and anxiety. Unable to cope with anything much without your crutch. You're bloated, overweight, not sleeping and eating junk.

I will make you popular!

And, initially, we are life and soul of the party. But over time we become more and more boring. Self obsessed. Sometimes badly behaved and rude. We look around and realise that the only friends we have are other 'big drinkers.'

I will calm your anxiety!

And so it does - to start. That little knot in your stomach just dissolves after the first few glugs. But then you find you're anxious pretty much all the time! Because the need for a drink causes exactly the same build up of anxiety that it then releases. Plus, you have a hell of a lot more to be anxious about! Your life is a mess.

I will help you sleep!

A few glasses of wine before bed and - bang - out like a light. Only to wake up again at 3am as your poor body tries to process all that booze. Tossing, turning, sweating and hating yourself.

Like Michael Jackson, one day we look in the mirror and think: what have I done? What have I become? All the things I thought alcohol would give me, it's taken away.

You look back at your teenage self and think Wow! I was amazing. Gorgeous, popular, confident, strong. Why couldn't I see that?

But, the good news is, unlike Michael Jackson you can turn back the clock. You can get it all back: courage, confidence, popularity, calmness and sleep.

All you need to do is to see the lies for what they are, and step away from the bottle.

I'm back online!

Love SM x

Related posts: Anxiety and Courage, Sleep, glorious sleep,

Control Freakery

Sober Mommy (my American blogging twin) commented on my post yesterday that things happen for a reason. And, sure enough, my internet debacle (still not fixed. I'm still one fingered typing on my iPhone) has made me realise something:

I am a total control freak!

I was already aware that my biggest trigger is anxiety. That knot of tension that wine unravels so easily.

Now I realise that what makes me really anxious is when something is out of my control. 

Like my internet problem - currently in the hands of some keen, overworked, massively overqualified, call centre operator in Delhi.

It's why I often find being a stay at home Mum so stressful. You can't control 3 kids. Coach, yes. Cajole, bribe, threaten, encourage....but not control. It's like trying to herd cats.

My wonderful friend P (who sent me her 90 day chip. See: AA, and when the virtual world isn't enough) came to stay from the U.S. with her 2 kids (including my gorgeous Godson Mark).

She is the first person I've met in real life who's read my blog. And she's an addiction counsellor.

Naturally, we talked about it all. To my horror I was totally tongue tied! Here I am, perfectly fluent in the page, but - faced with a real person....bag of nerves.

P told me how she felt after nine years of sobriety. I can't remember her words, but what sticks in my mind is the gesture she made.

She kept clenching her hand into a fist, and then opening up her palm. She talked about acceptance, and letting go. And I realise now that what I am is a clenched fist - desperately trying to control everything.

One of the things that always scared me about the idea of AA is the concept of 'surrendering your will to a Higher Power.' Funnily enough, it's not the Higher Power bit that bothers me; it's the idea of 'surrender'.

Surrender? Me? No! I caused this problem, I can fix it! I will write my own program with my own steps, thank you very much! Read blogs? Not only that, I'll write my own damn blog!

I'm still trying to control the process - every step of the way.

So yesterday, unable to control the issue, or fix it myself, I was a tightly wound stress ball. I couldn't get myself out of my funk. I couldn't even turn to the Internet (my usual escape hatch) since it was down. The only way I knew, with an absolute certainty, I could unwind the ball was to drink.

I explained this to The Husband.

"Go for a run", he suggested.

Now, I was not built for speed. I have only gone running a handful of times in my life. But I changed into the closest thing I own to 'running kit', put my headphones in and headed for the door.

#1, #2 and #3 fell about laughing.

I was back 15 minutes later (don't want to overdo it initally! And after 15 minutes of light jogging I felt like I'd run a marathon) feeling way better.

I'm still a little wound up, but there's a song going round in my head which helps:

Que sera, sera. Whatever will be, will be. The future's not ours to see. Que sera, sera.

Which, spookily, is very much like the AA serenity prayer 'God grant me the serenity to accept the things I can't change.'

Gradually I feel that clenched fist unfurling....

Love SM x

Offline

My internet connection is down.

I had 3 BT engineers in my kitchen scratching their heads for 3 hours yesterday.

I'd packed a picnic and was ready to go the the park with the kids who were by now stir crazy, hungry and beating each other up.

I could feel the stress levels rising. I was getting more and more tightly coiled, like a spring about to explode.

There was a bottle of chilled Chablis in the fridge. It was talking to me. "I'll make it better. This would not be your fault. The situation is out of your control. You deserve this."

Instead I yelled at the kids (not good behaviour) and disappeared to my room with two AF beers until I'd calmed down.

The engineers left without fixing the problem and I've subsequently spent 2 hours on the phone to their call centre in India with no joy.

So I'm typing this with one finger on my iPhone, just to let you know that I am still here and will post properly once I'm back online.

I keep telling myself that, in the grand scheme of things, this is not a big issue. We managed without the internet for millennia. I haven't exactly been plunged back into the Stone Age (despite what the children say!).

How did I get to the point where a small technological problem becomes a major disaster? There are people coping with war, famine and persecution. I just have a problem blogging, and three children whining about not being able to play interactive Minecraft.

This really is not an excuse to pour a drink after four months sober. Get a grip SM x

Best Kept Secret

A few of my readers have mentioned a book by Amy Hatvany called A Best Kept Secret.

I'm enjoying it hugely, but it terrifies me.

The heroine, Cadence, is a Mum (sorry, Mom), just like me. For many years she drank 'normally,' 'moderately'. But then it starts to get out of control. In secret.

Unlike me, Cadence splits up with her husband.

I know from e-mails I've received and blogs I've read that divorce (like bereavement) can be a huge catalyst. Not only is it hard, but - once there's no-one around to hide from and to disapprove - the gloves are off.

Cadence (and this is not a spoiler, you know it from the beginning of the novel), ends up fighting for custody of her son who is, for the time being at least, living with her ex and his (ghastly) mother.

There's an analogy in the book that really resonated with me. Cadence asks a man at an AA meeting how he know he'd 'hit bottom.' He replies "When I stopped digging."

Hatvany/Cadence then writes: I see myself at the base of a deep, dark hole, shovel in hand, face blackened, exhausted. I'm prodding the soil, digging here and there, the ground literally falling out from under me, right along with my footing. But it's me, I'm the one digging. I stop my jabbing movements and see myself lifting the shovel out of the dirt. I hold onto it still, unsure how to let go, where to put it, no clue as to what else I might use as a tool to find my way out of this deep well I've put myself in.

"How do I stop digging?" My voice is quiet. "I don't know how to stop."

"Put down the shovel, honey," he says. "That's all. Just put it down, and start looking up."

#1 has a friend who, for as long as I've known her, has lived with her Dad. She never talks about her Mum. Her parents split up when she was tiny, and, like Cadence, her Mum's drinking spiralled out of control.

Like Cadence, she had to fight for custody. I don't think she had any fight in her by that stage. She lost.

I've never met this lady, but her story, and Cadence's, terrifies me. Because my children (and the husband) are what kept me 'high functioning'. Once you've lost your kids how can you cope without the drink? What's to stop you drinking yourself to death?

So if you're standing there with your shovel, digging deeper, thinking 'I'm not a proper alcoholic! I'm functioning! I haven't reached 'bottom.'

Stop and think. Do you really want to know what bottom looks like?

Start looking up whilst you can still see the sky. Start climbing while there's not so far to go.

Just put down the shovel.

Love SM x