Day 103. Last night the husband was at a work do, so I took the opportunity to indulge myself by downloading a copy of the new documentary on the Brits and their drinking: A Royal Hangover, by Arthur Cauty.
It's well worth a watch. Many of the themes got me thinking, and I'm sure I'll come back to more of them over the next couple of weeks.
The film starts and ends with a lady in her twenties talking about her drinking. One particular phrase stuck in my head. She said "I never, ever had enough to drink."
I've heard many people say this. They talk about having one drink and then not being able to stop. They decribe a raging thirst that is unquenchable. They were born, they believe, with a faulty 'off switch.'
It reminded me vividly of an old friend of mine. Once she started on the vino she couldn't stop until she was either physically incapable of drinking any more, or physically restrained from drinking any more. I once bumped into her in a restaurant. She was on a date with a relatively new boyfriend (they never hung around for too long!) and was obviously the worse for wear.
I noticed that there were three barely touched bottles of red wine under the table. My friend kept ordering new ones and then, when she wasn't looking, her date would hide them from her. That must have resulted in a very large bill.....
Every time I heard someone talking about off switches I'd feel a little smug, and hugely reassured: that's not me! I don't have a problem! I am not an 'alkie.'
You see, whilst I was physically incapable of having 'just one drink', and would always drink as much as I could, I would be able to stop at the point just before I lost control. I would never get to the vomiting, falling over, passing out or shagging strangers stage.
So I watched the documentary last night which focussed on the classic 'no off switch' binge drinker, and was littered with shots of people dribbling and vomiting into gutters, knowing that in the past the wine witch would have been cackling gleefully, shrieking "not you! not you! Have another drink!"
But now I realise that alcohol is an extremely pernicious drug that insinuates itself into the fibre of your being in very different ways.
From what I've read, and from the stories people tell me, it seems that the 'no off switch' drinkers get into trouble at a relatively young age. They know that they are 'different' almost as soon as they start drinking alcohol in their teens.
My problem crept up much more deviously. Yes, my off switch worked, but as my tolerance increased, it kicked in later and later, until it would take at least a bottle of wine before it had any effect at all.
Plus, many of the 'no off switch' drinkers are classic bingers. They don't drink for days at a time and then they go on a bender.
Not me. You see I think my 'on switch' was the problematic one. I found it very difficult - from my early twenties onwards - not to drink every day. And then, over the last year or so, it became very difficult not to drink every lunch time as well as every evening. And at the weekends (and sometimes on Fridays) lunch times and evenings would blend into one.
So, I might had had an off switch, which meant that I could fool myself (and all my friends, plus most of my family) that I was perfectly ok, but, in reality, over the course of a week I would drink at least as much as a classic binger. Just on a drip feed basis.
I discovered right at the beginning of this journey that my drinking type is known as a 'maintenance drinker' (see my post on maintenance drinking), and is a typical middle aged, middle class, educated female profile. And the profile most associated with self denial. It's also the type of drinking that is most easily hidden from everyone else, which is why I called this blog 'Mummy was a Secret Drinker').
So, whilst I loved A Royal Hangover, I found it a bit frustrating that it focussed solely on one particular drinking profile, therefore re-enforcing the stereotype of the binge drinking, gutter hugging alcoholic.
I wonder how many women watched it, patted themselves on the back and opened a second bottle of sauvignon blanc?
It's Friday! Have a great one.
Love SM x
Showing posts with label secret drinker. Show all posts
Showing posts with label secret drinker. Show all posts
Friday, 12 June 2015
Sunday, 22 March 2015
Sundays - Hair of the Dog
Happy Sunday Morning Everyone!
Sometimes I feel like I'm living in a parallel universe where everything has ended up back to front. I remember when I was a child I used to think that if I dug a hole deep enough I'd end up in Australia where everything would be kind of similar but we'd all be standing upside down. (Did any of my Australian readers imagine ending up in London?). Well, giving up a chronic alcohol habit is a bit like that. For example, in the BS (Before Sober) days, Friday nights and Saturday nights were the best, and Sunday mornings were the pits. Now, AF (Alcohol Free), Friday and Saturday nights are the hardest BUT Sunday Mornings are our reward!
One of the best things about glorious, empty but filled with promise and expectation, Sunday Mornings AF is remembering the horror of Sunday Mornings BS. So here's a trip down memory lane:
4am Sunday morning: wake up, head pounding, dry mouth, dying for a wee. Gradually try to piece together exactly what led to feeling like this. Wish I hadn't. Lots of self hatred and self flagellation and empty promises to self to change. Endless trips to the loo and the fridge to get more water. Toss and turn until about 6.30am. Go back to sleep until woken up by kids and dog at 7ish. Try really hard not to be grumpy and horrible. Fail. Spend all morning wishing time away until midday when I can 'reasonably' open a bottle of wine 'while I'm getting lunch ready'. Watch minute hand on kitchen clock obsessively because I cannot drink in the morning. Only alcoholics do that, and I am not an alcoholic. Open bottle at 11.50am so glass is ready for midday. Drink first glass wine fast. Feel much better.
It strikes me now that one of the core differences between 'normal' drinkers and 'overly enthusiastic' drinkers is their attitude to hangovers. I was always amazed at people who would refuse a drink at Sunday lunch because they'd drunk too much the night before and 'couldn't face it'. Surely they knew that the only way to 'face it' was to drink more? I was an enthusiastic proponent of 'hair of the dog'.
The phrase 'hair of the dog' comes from a time when - bizarrely - it was believed that the cure for rabies was to put the 'hair of the dog that bit you' onto the rabid dog bite. There is also a great Swahili phrase for drinking off a hangover: kuzimua which means being assisted to wake up after a coma.
A recent scientific study Proof: the science of booze by Adam Rogers claims that 'hair of the dog' really is the only effective cure for a hangover. This is because alcoholic drinks contain methanol, which is poisonous, and doctors treat methanol poisoning with ethanol i.e. alcohol.
There is another, more worrying, reason why 'hair of the dog' works according to alcoholrehab.com and it's this: 'A common reason why heavy drinkers experience hangovers is that they have actually entered the early stages of withdrawal. By drinking alcohol the next morning they are preventing these withdrawal symptoms from taking hold.' Seems obvious, but I'd honestly never thought of it like that!
I checked out the good old National Health Service website for their advice on hangover cures, and found this classic line: 'The best way to avoid a hangover is not to drink.' Well no shit Sherlock (as they say, but not in front of the kids, obviously, or it's another pound in the swear box). But, acutally, that is what I am doing! And it's Sunday morning. Beautiful, glorious, Sunday morning, and I feel amazing!
So, here's my plan for the day. I will not be grumpy and clock watchy all morning followed by drunk and asleep most of the afternoon. Oh no. I am taking #1 and dog to park this morning for good walk and girlie chat. Come back and cook roast beef and Yorkshire pudding for lunch (oh yes, my French readers, it is not for nothing that you call us 'les rosbifs') Have judging of the great cheesecake bake off (yesterday husband and #1, inspired by the Great British Bake Off on TV, had an argument about who could make the best cheesecake. Their efforts, plus one from Waitrose, are in the fridge awaiting the family blind taste test). Collapse with Sunday papers. Take #2 and #3 to pet shop to buy birthday presents for the dog. Have birthday tea (with dog food cake and candles) for said dog. Play massive game of Monopoly or similar. Put kids in bed and watch 3 episodes back-to-back of latest box set with husband. Collapse into bed sober and happy.
So, Sundays are still about 'the dog'. But this one's six years old today, smelly, furry and totally loveable.
Enjoy your Sober Sunday my sober friends! And if you're reading this with a chronic hangover, pondering giving it all up then please join us!
Love SM x
Sometimes I feel like I'm living in a parallel universe where everything has ended up back to front. I remember when I was a child I used to think that if I dug a hole deep enough I'd end up in Australia where everything would be kind of similar but we'd all be standing upside down. (Did any of my Australian readers imagine ending up in London?). Well, giving up a chronic alcohol habit is a bit like that. For example, in the BS (Before Sober) days, Friday nights and Saturday nights were the best, and Sunday mornings were the pits. Now, AF (Alcohol Free), Friday and Saturday nights are the hardest BUT Sunday Mornings are our reward!
One of the best things about glorious, empty but filled with promise and expectation, Sunday Mornings AF is remembering the horror of Sunday Mornings BS. So here's a trip down memory lane:
4am Sunday morning: wake up, head pounding, dry mouth, dying for a wee. Gradually try to piece together exactly what led to feeling like this. Wish I hadn't. Lots of self hatred and self flagellation and empty promises to self to change. Endless trips to the loo and the fridge to get more water. Toss and turn until about 6.30am. Go back to sleep until woken up by kids and dog at 7ish. Try really hard not to be grumpy and horrible. Fail. Spend all morning wishing time away until midday when I can 'reasonably' open a bottle of wine 'while I'm getting lunch ready'. Watch minute hand on kitchen clock obsessively because I cannot drink in the morning. Only alcoholics do that, and I am not an alcoholic. Open bottle at 11.50am so glass is ready for midday. Drink first glass wine fast. Feel much better.
It strikes me now that one of the core differences between 'normal' drinkers and 'overly enthusiastic' drinkers is their attitude to hangovers. I was always amazed at people who would refuse a drink at Sunday lunch because they'd drunk too much the night before and 'couldn't face it'. Surely they knew that the only way to 'face it' was to drink more? I was an enthusiastic proponent of 'hair of the dog'.
The phrase 'hair of the dog' comes from a time when - bizarrely - it was believed that the cure for rabies was to put the 'hair of the dog that bit you' onto the rabid dog bite. There is also a great Swahili phrase for drinking off a hangover: kuzimua which means being assisted to wake up after a coma.
A recent scientific study Proof: the science of booze by Adam Rogers claims that 'hair of the dog' really is the only effective cure for a hangover. This is because alcoholic drinks contain methanol, which is poisonous, and doctors treat methanol poisoning with ethanol i.e. alcohol.
There is another, more worrying, reason why 'hair of the dog' works according to alcoholrehab.com and it's this: 'A common reason why heavy drinkers experience hangovers is that they have actually entered the early stages of withdrawal. By drinking alcohol the next morning they are preventing these withdrawal symptoms from taking hold.' Seems obvious, but I'd honestly never thought of it like that!
I checked out the good old National Health Service website for their advice on hangover cures, and found this classic line: 'The best way to avoid a hangover is not to drink.' Well no shit Sherlock (as they say, but not in front of the kids, obviously, or it's another pound in the swear box). But, acutally, that is what I am doing! And it's Sunday morning. Beautiful, glorious, Sunday morning, and I feel amazing!
So, here's my plan for the day. I will not be grumpy and clock watchy all morning followed by drunk and asleep most of the afternoon. Oh no. I am taking #1 and dog to park this morning for good walk and girlie chat. Come back and cook roast beef and Yorkshire pudding for lunch (oh yes, my French readers, it is not for nothing that you call us 'les rosbifs') Have judging of the great cheesecake bake off (yesterday husband and #1, inspired by the Great British Bake Off on TV, had an argument about who could make the best cheesecake. Their efforts, plus one from Waitrose, are in the fridge awaiting the family blind taste test). Collapse with Sunday papers. Take #2 and #3 to pet shop to buy birthday presents for the dog. Have birthday tea (with dog food cake and candles) for said dog. Play massive game of Monopoly or similar. Put kids in bed and watch 3 episodes back-to-back of latest box set with husband. Collapse into bed sober and happy.
So, Sundays are still about 'the dog'. But this one's six years old today, smelly, furry and totally loveable.
Enjoy your Sober Sunday my sober friends! And if you're reading this with a chronic hangover, pondering giving it all up then please join us!
Love SM x
Saturday, 21 March 2015
Fed up Friday - Angst and Wobbles
I suppose it was bound to happen. The last 19 days have been tough, but I've been generally positive about what I'm doing. I've been determined, upbeat, sometimes verging on euphoric (see my post from last Sunday on Mindfulness). Then last night I hit a wall.
It was Friday. The end of the week. I've done really well this week. And last week. And the week before. I just felt that I really deserved to be able to treat myself, let my hair down, go wild. Yet we have NO PLANS this weekend. None at all (except the usual kid based activities). I deliberately didn't organise any social events and we've had no invitations. Nada. Does everyone hate me because I'm a drunk? Does everyone hate me because I'm not a drunk? Aaarrrgghhh.
So, I pick #2 up from school. #1 and #3 have playdates (alright for some). I feel an overwhelming need to indulge. The boy and I go to a café and I order a piece of carrot cake. It must be at least half vegetable, right? When it arrives it's almost as big as my head, and doesn't look in the slightest vegetably. How can they serve portions that big? How could I have finished it? I feel physically sick, but no happier.
In the fridge I have 6 Becks Blue beers (alcohol free). I've never tried one of these, but I'd bought them especially for the weekend, thinking that I'd have one at the old 'wine o'clock'. I make it as far as 4.45pm (plus ca change!) and then crack open the (alcohol free) beer. Spookily, it looks just the same (not quite as much 'head'), tastes just the same and even makes me feel light headed. I double check the bottle. It is alcohol free. Either they're playing a sick joke or my head is so finely tuned to expect to feel drunk that it's slipped into that mode automatically!
Once I've drunk the beer and the light headedness has worn off I feel even worse. I'm fed up with being 'boring'. I'm fed up with the constant dialogue in my head about alcohol, with spending hours each day reading about it and writing about it and not getting anything else done. I'm not sure I want to live my life on an even keel rather than a roller coaster.
6.30pm and I have to pick up #1 and #3. I remind myself that in the 'old days' this would have caused me endless angst. Either I would have had to delay drinking on a Friday night until 7.30pm when I got the girls back home OR I would have spent ages working out how much I could drink without being over the limit or looking worse for wear to the girls' hostesses. As it was, I jumped in the car totally sober.
Husband came home, opened fridge and brightened up visibly when he saw the beer. "Just what I need after cycling home from the City!" You should have seen his face when he spotted the 'alcohol free' flash. Oh God, I'm ruining his life too! He sneaks a glass of wine from the kitchen cupboard surreptitiously, so as not to rub it in my face. I think about how much I'd love to rub a glass of wine in my face. Then neck it in one. I reminisce fondly about our decades of evenings sharing a bottle of wine (conveniently forgetting the fact that I'd usually have 'pre-loaded' with at least another half bottle first).
We watch a family movie. #2 and #3 have a god almighty barney about who gets which end of the sofa and spend ages 'accidentally' kicking each other. I wish (again) that I could self-medicate with the bottle of St Emilion that the husband's hid behind his chair. I look back at some of my early posts and I think "OMG I sound so smug."
The wine witch starts whispering in my ear. I try desperately to beat her off. She says: "It's Friday night! You need to be able to celebrate the weekend!" I think back "But it's not just Friday night, is it? It's Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday and every other night." She says "Just have one! That can't do any harm." I remind myself "It wouldn't be just one, would it? It would be the whole bottle." She says "You've done nearly three weeks! You'll have re-defined your relationship with alcohol. Now you can moderate!" Well, now she's bought out the big guns. The classic moderation argument. I've been here before - again and again. I know that even if I can 'moderate' for a while it won't be long before I'm back where I started, doing DAY 1 all over again.
So, I remind myself again and again about how bad it got. I re-read Secret Drinker hits the High Bottom. Then I think about all of you guys - about Kags, Justine, Wendy, Laura, Jen, Emily, Bethany and everyone else who's been kind enough to post comments. I think about my lovely friend, Philippa (now 9 years sober and an addiction counsellor) who is the only person I know who has my blog url. And the main reason I don't physically wrestle the Saint Emilion from the husband and drink it from the bottle is that I don't want to let you all down.
So thank you all, because today I feel much better. Apart from the fact that I seem to have gained a pound in the last 24 hours - damned carrot cake.
Onwards and upwards, soberly.....
It was Friday. The end of the week. I've done really well this week. And last week. And the week before. I just felt that I really deserved to be able to treat myself, let my hair down, go wild. Yet we have NO PLANS this weekend. None at all (except the usual kid based activities). I deliberately didn't organise any social events and we've had no invitations. Nada. Does everyone hate me because I'm a drunk? Does everyone hate me because I'm not a drunk? Aaarrrgghhh.
So, I pick #2 up from school. #1 and #3 have playdates (alright for some). I feel an overwhelming need to indulge. The boy and I go to a café and I order a piece of carrot cake. It must be at least half vegetable, right? When it arrives it's almost as big as my head, and doesn't look in the slightest vegetably. How can they serve portions that big? How could I have finished it? I feel physically sick, but no happier.
In the fridge I have 6 Becks Blue beers (alcohol free). I've never tried one of these, but I'd bought them especially for the weekend, thinking that I'd have one at the old 'wine o'clock'. I make it as far as 4.45pm (plus ca change!) and then crack open the (alcohol free) beer. Spookily, it looks just the same (not quite as much 'head'), tastes just the same and even makes me feel light headed. I double check the bottle. It is alcohol free. Either they're playing a sick joke or my head is so finely tuned to expect to feel drunk that it's slipped into that mode automatically!
Once I've drunk the beer and the light headedness has worn off I feel even worse. I'm fed up with being 'boring'. I'm fed up with the constant dialogue in my head about alcohol, with spending hours each day reading about it and writing about it and not getting anything else done. I'm not sure I want to live my life on an even keel rather than a roller coaster.
6.30pm and I have to pick up #1 and #3. I remind myself that in the 'old days' this would have caused me endless angst. Either I would have had to delay drinking on a Friday night until 7.30pm when I got the girls back home OR I would have spent ages working out how much I could drink without being over the limit or looking worse for wear to the girls' hostesses. As it was, I jumped in the car totally sober.
Husband came home, opened fridge and brightened up visibly when he saw the beer. "Just what I need after cycling home from the City!" You should have seen his face when he spotted the 'alcohol free' flash. Oh God, I'm ruining his life too! He sneaks a glass of wine from the kitchen cupboard surreptitiously, so as not to rub it in my face. I think about how much I'd love to rub a glass of wine in my face. Then neck it in one. I reminisce fondly about our decades of evenings sharing a bottle of wine (conveniently forgetting the fact that I'd usually have 'pre-loaded' with at least another half bottle first).
We watch a family movie. #2 and #3 have a god almighty barney about who gets which end of the sofa and spend ages 'accidentally' kicking each other. I wish (again) that I could self-medicate with the bottle of St Emilion that the husband's hid behind his chair. I look back at some of my early posts and I think "OMG I sound so smug."
The wine witch starts whispering in my ear. I try desperately to beat her off. She says: "It's Friday night! You need to be able to celebrate the weekend!" I think back "But it's not just Friday night, is it? It's Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday and every other night." She says "Just have one! That can't do any harm." I remind myself "It wouldn't be just one, would it? It would be the whole bottle." She says "You've done nearly three weeks! You'll have re-defined your relationship with alcohol. Now you can moderate!" Well, now she's bought out the big guns. The classic moderation argument. I've been here before - again and again. I know that even if I can 'moderate' for a while it won't be long before I'm back where I started, doing DAY 1 all over again.
So, I remind myself again and again about how bad it got. I re-read Secret Drinker hits the High Bottom. Then I think about all of you guys - about Kags, Justine, Wendy, Laura, Jen, Emily, Bethany and everyone else who's been kind enough to post comments. I think about my lovely friend, Philippa (now 9 years sober and an addiction counsellor) who is the only person I know who has my blog url. And the main reason I don't physically wrestle the Saint Emilion from the husband and drink it from the bottle is that I don't want to let you all down.
So thank you all, because today I feel much better. Apart from the fact that I seem to have gained a pound in the last 24 hours - damned carrot cake.
Onwards and upwards, soberly.....
Wednesday, 18 March 2015
Why Ex-Drinkers Rock!
We ex-drinkers get a really bad rap. Which is why so many of us stay in the closet for weeks, if not months or years, after quitting drinking. If you give up smoking you tell the world and everyone pats you on the back. Give up drinking and you mumble apologetically about 'being on antibiotics.' Why?
It's not at all surprising when you look at the image of the ex-drinker. We're seen as weak willed, lacking in self control, abnormal, ill, addicted. Which makes absolutely no sense at all. How can you - Mrs drinker - accuse me of being weak willed, lacking in self control, abnormal, ill and addicted when I haven't had a drink for 16 days (woo hoo!), while you're still downing the best part of a bottle every evening? Who's really the weak willed one? I'm the healthy, normal person - not the lady who is still obsessed by 'wine o'clock' and doing terrible damage to her liver every day.
We are not lacking in self control. We're the ones who've looked hard at our lives and decided to do something about it, despite swimming against the tide of the rest of society. We are bl***y strong, and we should be wearing t-shirts celebrating the fact, not hiding behind 'an important meeting in the morning' or 'got to drive home'.
Okay, maybe in the past we had an eeensy little issue with moderation, but is that such an awful thing? I bet we're not moderate in anything, and on the whole that's laudable.
I may have been hopeless at moderating nicotine (I smoked 30 a day before giving up 13 years ago) and alcohol, but I don't moderate the good stuff either. Anything I do, I do with gusto - the career, friendship, motherhood, marriage - and my drinking buddies were the same.
I met some of the most interesting and wonderful people smoking behind the bike sheds and staying late at the party with an additional bottle. We were the rebels - the ones who loved pushing the boundaries and riling against the rules. And I'm still a rebel at heart, and proud of it. Personally, I would much rather chat to the ex-drinker at a party than the person who's never coloured outside the lines.
We are not bad people, we're people with a massive lust for life who have just realised that we've got to the stage where we need to re-focus our enthusiasm onto something a bit less self-destructive. And whatever we re-focus on we'll do brilliantly.
Now, I'm not ready to come out yet and deal with everyone else's negative perceptions, but I'm sure as hell not going to beat myself up when I'm doing the bravest and best thing I've done in my life to date.
I rock! And so do you! So they can stick that in their oversized wine glass and drink it.
Apologies to my regular readers, but I'm going to have to stop posting every day and post every two or three days instead. I've got to do something about the finished novel languishing in my desk drawer, plus I'm worried about running out of stuff to say. I don't want to start boring you! I will reply to comments daily, though, so please stay in touch. And if you have any topics you'd like me to post on then please let me know.
Have a great, immoderate, day. SM x
Related post: Why Ex-Drinkers Rock! Part 2
It's not at all surprising when you look at the image of the ex-drinker. We're seen as weak willed, lacking in self control, abnormal, ill, addicted. Which makes absolutely no sense at all. How can you - Mrs drinker - accuse me of being weak willed, lacking in self control, abnormal, ill and addicted when I haven't had a drink for 16 days (woo hoo!), while you're still downing the best part of a bottle every evening? Who's really the weak willed one? I'm the healthy, normal person - not the lady who is still obsessed by 'wine o'clock' and doing terrible damage to her liver every day.
We are not lacking in self control. We're the ones who've looked hard at our lives and decided to do something about it, despite swimming against the tide of the rest of society. We are bl***y strong, and we should be wearing t-shirts celebrating the fact, not hiding behind 'an important meeting in the morning' or 'got to drive home'.
Okay, maybe in the past we had an eeensy little issue with moderation, but is that such an awful thing? I bet we're not moderate in anything, and on the whole that's laudable.
I may have been hopeless at moderating nicotine (I smoked 30 a day before giving up 13 years ago) and alcohol, but I don't moderate the good stuff either. Anything I do, I do with gusto - the career, friendship, motherhood, marriage - and my drinking buddies were the same.
I met some of the most interesting and wonderful people smoking behind the bike sheds and staying late at the party with an additional bottle. We were the rebels - the ones who loved pushing the boundaries and riling against the rules. And I'm still a rebel at heart, and proud of it. Personally, I would much rather chat to the ex-drinker at a party than the person who's never coloured outside the lines.
We are not bad people, we're people with a massive lust for life who have just realised that we've got to the stage where we need to re-focus our enthusiasm onto something a bit less self-destructive. And whatever we re-focus on we'll do brilliantly.
Now, I'm not ready to come out yet and deal with everyone else's negative perceptions, but I'm sure as hell not going to beat myself up when I'm doing the bravest and best thing I've done in my life to date.
I rock! And so do you! So they can stick that in their oversized wine glass and drink it.
Apologies to my regular readers, but I'm going to have to stop posting every day and post every two or three days instead. I've got to do something about the finished novel languishing in my desk drawer, plus I'm worried about running out of stuff to say. I don't want to start boring you! I will reply to comments daily, though, so please stay in touch. And if you have any topics you'd like me to post on then please let me know.
Have a great, immoderate, day. SM x
Related post: Why Ex-Drinkers Rock! Part 2
Tuesday, 17 March 2015
Alcohol Induced Rage
My UK readers will be aware that Jeremy Clarkson has been all over the news this week. For the benefit of the non-Brits (by the way, welcome to my reader(s) in Antigua!), Jeremy Clarkson is a very well known, well loved TV presenter over here. Jeremy presents Top Gear - one of our most popular TV programmes, and one of our most lucrative exports.
Last week Jeremy got into a brawl with his producer in a hotel in Yorkshire because, allegedly, his producer had the nerve to produce a plate of cold meat and cheese for his dinner instead of the steak he'd asked for. As a result the BBC have suspended all showings of Top Gear and Jeremy is under investigation and will, despite huge popular support, probably lose his job.
I took one look at Jeremy's florid complexion, puffy jowls, confused and depressed expression and thought "ladies - he's one of us." Some commentators claim that he'd spent 'several hours in the pub' prior to the brawl, some that he didn't drink at all. His boss has muttered (on the record) about re-hab. It looks to me (and this is purely speculation, and not in any way an accusation) like a classic case of alcohol induced rage. Either rage due to too much alcohol or too little...
We've all been there, haven't we? Many times I've picked a fight with the poor, longsuffering husband when he's got back from work and I've been (secretly) 2/3 of a bottle down. I've slammed cupboard doors passive aggressively and considered hurling a wooden spoon across the kitchen as a result of some (imagined) slight. Jeremy, allegedly, called his producer a 'lazy, Irish ****' and punched him in the face - splitting his lip. I never went that far. Apart from anything else, my husband isn't Irish.
Professor McMurran - a psychologist at Nottingham University - says that alcohol "narrows our focus of attention and gives us tunnel vision....If someone provokes us while we're drunk, we don't take other factors into account, such as the consequences of rising to the bait. This can lead to violent reactions from people who would usually shrug things off." Also, because alcohol lowers inhibitions our warning systems don't go off and "this can put us in dangerous or confrontational situations."
The Prof goes on to say that alcohol affects the way we process information so we are more likely to misinterpret information - to see insults where there are none. That's why so many fights start "because he looked at me the wrong way."
When I was in the high powered job (with the bar in the office), I remember having two large glasses of wine with a colleague at lunch. When I got back to my desk I found an e-mail from a very important, global client asking for a number of changes to the edit of the new TV commercial we'd just shot. I fired off a reply in (drunken) high umbrage, calling him a Neanderthal nincompoop who was obviously unable to appreciate a work of true artistic genius. This e-mail became famous and made me a heroine in the creative department, but it got me fired off the business and could easily have lost me my job.
Funnily enough, since giving up the booze I've not picked one fight. I've been - relatively - Zen. I am a thing of wondrous calm and serenity.
So I look at lovely, raddled, remorseful Jeremy and think: log on to www.mummywasasecretdrinker.blogspot.com Jezza, and we'll give you a big virtual hug and persuade you of the magical restorative powers of hot chocolate.
Love, peace and calm to you all X
Related post: Alcohol Induced Rage Part 2
Last week Jeremy got into a brawl with his producer in a hotel in Yorkshire because, allegedly, his producer had the nerve to produce a plate of cold meat and cheese for his dinner instead of the steak he'd asked for. As a result the BBC have suspended all showings of Top Gear and Jeremy is under investigation and will, despite huge popular support, probably lose his job.
I took one look at Jeremy's florid complexion, puffy jowls, confused and depressed expression and thought "ladies - he's one of us." Some commentators claim that he'd spent 'several hours in the pub' prior to the brawl, some that he didn't drink at all. His boss has muttered (on the record) about re-hab. It looks to me (and this is purely speculation, and not in any way an accusation) like a classic case of alcohol induced rage. Either rage due to too much alcohol or too little...
We've all been there, haven't we? Many times I've picked a fight with the poor, longsuffering husband when he's got back from work and I've been (secretly) 2/3 of a bottle down. I've slammed cupboard doors passive aggressively and considered hurling a wooden spoon across the kitchen as a result of some (imagined) slight. Jeremy, allegedly, called his producer a 'lazy, Irish ****' and punched him in the face - splitting his lip. I never went that far. Apart from anything else, my husband isn't Irish.
Professor McMurran - a psychologist at Nottingham University - says that alcohol "narrows our focus of attention and gives us tunnel vision....If someone provokes us while we're drunk, we don't take other factors into account, such as the consequences of rising to the bait. This can lead to violent reactions from people who would usually shrug things off." Also, because alcohol lowers inhibitions our warning systems don't go off and "this can put us in dangerous or confrontational situations."
The Prof goes on to say that alcohol affects the way we process information so we are more likely to misinterpret information - to see insults where there are none. That's why so many fights start "because he looked at me the wrong way."
When I was in the high powered job (with the bar in the office), I remember having two large glasses of wine with a colleague at lunch. When I got back to my desk I found an e-mail from a very important, global client asking for a number of changes to the edit of the new TV commercial we'd just shot. I fired off a reply in (drunken) high umbrage, calling him a Neanderthal nincompoop who was obviously unable to appreciate a work of true artistic genius. This e-mail became famous and made me a heroine in the creative department, but it got me fired off the business and could easily have lost me my job.
Funnily enough, since giving up the booze I've not picked one fight. I've been - relatively - Zen. I am a thing of wondrous calm and serenity.
So I look at lovely, raddled, remorseful Jeremy and think: log on to www.mummywasasecretdrinker.blogspot.com Jezza, and we'll give you a big virtual hug and persuade you of the magical restorative powers of hot chocolate.
Love, peace and calm to you all X
Related post: Alcohol Induced Rage Part 2
Monday, 16 March 2015
14 days - Discovering Mindfulness
We got through the weekend, ladies! (are there any blokes reading this? If so, do shout and I'll stop being so sexist). Congratulations to Kags who did her first big night out sober - woo hoo! Love and hugs to Whimsical (great username!) who was out drinking until 3am Sunday morning and felt terrible yesterday. We've all been there, and we're with you.
14 days in, and here's what I've noticed:
Bright eyes and clear, sort of dewy fresh, skin. And I've lost 2 pounds and about an inch off the muffin top. I'm not yet at the 'hot mama, careful as you walk past building sites' stage, but definitely not looking as raddled as I did. Yay!
Cravings not as bad as they were. I've realised that my danger periods are the old 'wine o'clocks' i.e. around 1pm and 6pm. The way I get through these tough times is to indulge myself. I lie down on the sofa with a good magazine or book, or I have a bath with bubbles, candles and some chilled music - just for 30 minutes until the craving passes. And it does.
I'm not as distracted as I was (see previous post - withdrawal symptoms), so I am managing to (more or less) get through my 'to do' list for the day. And - thank goodness - the digestion seems to be back to normal.
But the big change is that I have suddenly discovered the ability to live in the moment. For the first time in as long as I can remember I can do 'mindfulness'. It strikes me that mindfulness is impossible for an alcohol dependant. We are either wishing time away so we can get rid of the hangover, or wishing it away because we're longing for the next drink or - most likely - both simultaneously. The last thing we want to do is linger in the moment. Maybe we're in the moment when we take the first sip of the first glass, but we're very quickly looking forward to pouring the next one.
The other issue with alcohol and mindfulness is that we use our drinking to take the edges off life - to make it all a bit fuzzy. This is the antithesis to mindfulness, which is about noticing everything clearly and sharply - colours, smells, sounds, our own breathing.
Mindfulness has been in the news a lot recently. Wikipedia define it as "the intentional, accepting and non-judgemental focus of one's attention on the emotions, thoughts and sensations occurring in the present moment." (Try doing that drunk). The effects of mindfulness include alleviation of anxiety, depression, stress, handling emotions and treating substance abuse disorders. Hey, what's not to like?
So, Sunday morning I take my youngest (aged 5) for a walk with the dog round the local cemetery (sounds ghoulish, but it's beautiful). Half way round and I realise that I am absolutely in the moment. Not wishing away a hangover, not checking the time constantly to see when I can pour the first glass. I'm seeing all the daffodils appearing around the gravestones, the glorious spring light and the terribly poignant inscriptions on the monuments. The little one and I play 'who can find the most angels' (not celestial ones, sadly - stone ones). She turns to me and asks " How old are you again, Mummy?" "As old as the hills", I reply. She pauses, thinking, then asks "how old are the hills, Mummy?" I laugh till I cry.
Here's my mindfulness quote for the day: "You must live life in the present, launch yourself on every wave, find your eternity in each moment. Fools stand on their island of opportunities and look towards another land; there is no other life but this." Henry David Thoreau.
Best of luck to you all. Stay in touch. X
14 days in, and here's what I've noticed:
Bright eyes and clear, sort of dewy fresh, skin. And I've lost 2 pounds and about an inch off the muffin top. I'm not yet at the 'hot mama, careful as you walk past building sites' stage, but definitely not looking as raddled as I did. Yay!
Cravings not as bad as they were. I've realised that my danger periods are the old 'wine o'clocks' i.e. around 1pm and 6pm. The way I get through these tough times is to indulge myself. I lie down on the sofa with a good magazine or book, or I have a bath with bubbles, candles and some chilled music - just for 30 minutes until the craving passes. And it does.
I'm not as distracted as I was (see previous post - withdrawal symptoms), so I am managing to (more or less) get through my 'to do' list for the day. And - thank goodness - the digestion seems to be back to normal.
But the big change is that I have suddenly discovered the ability to live in the moment. For the first time in as long as I can remember I can do 'mindfulness'. It strikes me that mindfulness is impossible for an alcohol dependant. We are either wishing time away so we can get rid of the hangover, or wishing it away because we're longing for the next drink or - most likely - both simultaneously. The last thing we want to do is linger in the moment. Maybe we're in the moment when we take the first sip of the first glass, but we're very quickly looking forward to pouring the next one.
The other issue with alcohol and mindfulness is that we use our drinking to take the edges off life - to make it all a bit fuzzy. This is the antithesis to mindfulness, which is about noticing everything clearly and sharply - colours, smells, sounds, our own breathing.
Mindfulness has been in the news a lot recently. Wikipedia define it as "the intentional, accepting and non-judgemental focus of one's attention on the emotions, thoughts and sensations occurring in the present moment." (Try doing that drunk). The effects of mindfulness include alleviation of anxiety, depression, stress, handling emotions and treating substance abuse disorders. Hey, what's not to like?
So, Sunday morning I take my youngest (aged 5) for a walk with the dog round the local cemetery (sounds ghoulish, but it's beautiful). Half way round and I realise that I am absolutely in the moment. Not wishing away a hangover, not checking the time constantly to see when I can pour the first glass. I'm seeing all the daffodils appearing around the gravestones, the glorious spring light and the terribly poignant inscriptions on the monuments. The little one and I play 'who can find the most angels' (not celestial ones, sadly - stone ones). She turns to me and asks " How old are you again, Mummy?" "As old as the hills", I reply. She pauses, thinking, then asks "how old are the hills, Mummy?" I laugh till I cry.
Here's my mindfulness quote for the day: "You must live life in the present, launch yourself on every wave, find your eternity in each moment. Fools stand on their island of opportunities and look towards another land; there is no other life but this." Henry David Thoreau.
Best of luck to you all. Stay in touch. X
Sunday, 15 March 2015
Sober Saturdays
I think Saturday is the hardest day of all. I've noticed that my page views drop by 50% from Friday to Saturday. Hopefully that's because we're all busy with family time rather than out getting trollied ;-) I was thinking about Kags last night - one of my readers - and hoping that she got through her first big night out sober. Please let us know, Kags!
I thought I'd compare and contrast my day yesterday with how it would have gone 'in the old days' (i.e. 2 weeks ago) in the company of - approximately - 2 bottles of wine.
Yesterday: Woke up at 6.30 full of beans after 7 hours deep sleep. Went downstairs to drink coffee and write blog, then back to bed for big group hugs as the rest of the family woke up - husband, 3 kids and dog all under duvet (dog pretending not to be there as 'officially' he's banned). Bounced down to kitchen followed by the merry band at about 8.30am to make breakfast.
Drinking days: Would have been awake since about 4am drinking pints of water and stressing about anything and everything. By about 7am would drop back off to sleep. At around 7.30am when kids and dog start piling in would hide head under pillow and hope that it all went away. Would give up eventually (about 8.30am) and get up grumpy and knackered.
Yesterday: Husband and son went off to football club. My eldest (11) was playing her oboe in a big music competition in the afternoon and hadn't done any practice all week. She played her competition piece and it was pretty awful. I quickly realised that she was nervous about the afternoon, told her that it didn't matter at all, it was only practice for playing in public and, if she really didn't want to do it, we could pull out. She thought about it for a bit and then said that she really didn't want to let her teacher down. She played the piece a few more times and it was sounding way better. We then decided we should have a break, put Spotify on loud in the kitchen and danced.
Drinking days: Eldest would have played her competition piece badly. I would have yelled at her for not having practiced all week, and told her that she was letting her teacher down. She would have stomped upstairs to her room and refused to play any more. The bad atmosphere would have prevailed until it was time to leave for the competition.
Yesterday: We had a jolly family lunch. I drank water. Husband had a beer (I've become obsessed by watching what he's drinking!). Eldest and I hopped into car in a good mood and headed off.
Drinking days: I would have been having an endless internal monologue about whether/how much to drink at lunch time. I would persuade myself that I absolutely had to have a glass of wine to 'take the edge off' the competition nerves. Having had one I'd want another. I'd try to work out how much I could drink and still be under driving limit. I'd consider sending husband to competition. Daughter would complain vociferously on basis that her father is tone deaf (true). Another argument would take place. I'd decide that two glasses was bound to be under limit. We'd leave with me grumpy because I hadn't drunk enough, and guilty because I'd drunk too much. Daughter would still be cross with me for yelling at her over lack of practice, plus worried that - due to her big sulk - she hadn't done any practice at all!
Yesterday: Daughter played beautifully and came out with top prize for under 12s - medal and a cup. We were both totally gobsmacked. As I was sober I was sufficiently socially aware to spot the rictus grins of the assembled tiger mums and realise that we had to scarper quick before we were lynched. We got to the car and whooped all the way home.
Drinking days: I would have hated arriving at competition as I'd have to 'air kiss/hug' all the Mums I knew while trying not to breathe alcohol on them. Daughter would have done fine, but not won anything due to lack of practice, and we would have left grateful to have got it all over and done with, vowing not to go again the next year.
Yesterday: Got home and celebrated with a cup of tea (actually felt v cross at not being able to crack open champagne, but craving only lasted ten minutes and I got through it!), managed not to post unbearably smug photo of daughter holding cup on Facebook. We all went out to local bistro for steak frites. I drank water. Husband drank 2 glasses red wine, one glass sauternes (see, I'm doing it again!). Watched 2 episodes of new box set on sofa without falling asleep, then slept like a log for 7 hours.
Please let m know how you got on, and - for all my UK readers - HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY!
I thought I'd compare and contrast my day yesterday with how it would have gone 'in the old days' (i.e. 2 weeks ago) in the company of - approximately - 2 bottles of wine.
Yesterday: Woke up at 6.30 full of beans after 7 hours deep sleep. Went downstairs to drink coffee and write blog, then back to bed for big group hugs as the rest of the family woke up - husband, 3 kids and dog all under duvet (dog pretending not to be there as 'officially' he's banned). Bounced down to kitchen followed by the merry band at about 8.30am to make breakfast.
Drinking days: Would have been awake since about 4am drinking pints of water and stressing about anything and everything. By about 7am would drop back off to sleep. At around 7.30am when kids and dog start piling in would hide head under pillow and hope that it all went away. Would give up eventually (about 8.30am) and get up grumpy and knackered.
Yesterday: Husband and son went off to football club. My eldest (11) was playing her oboe in a big music competition in the afternoon and hadn't done any practice all week. She played her competition piece and it was pretty awful. I quickly realised that she was nervous about the afternoon, told her that it didn't matter at all, it was only practice for playing in public and, if she really didn't want to do it, we could pull out. She thought about it for a bit and then said that she really didn't want to let her teacher down. She played the piece a few more times and it was sounding way better. We then decided we should have a break, put Spotify on loud in the kitchen and danced.
Drinking days: Eldest would have played her competition piece badly. I would have yelled at her for not having practiced all week, and told her that she was letting her teacher down. She would have stomped upstairs to her room and refused to play any more. The bad atmosphere would have prevailed until it was time to leave for the competition.
Yesterday: We had a jolly family lunch. I drank water. Husband had a beer (I've become obsessed by watching what he's drinking!). Eldest and I hopped into car in a good mood and headed off.
Drinking days: I would have been having an endless internal monologue about whether/how much to drink at lunch time. I would persuade myself that I absolutely had to have a glass of wine to 'take the edge off' the competition nerves. Having had one I'd want another. I'd try to work out how much I could drink and still be under driving limit. I'd consider sending husband to competition. Daughter would complain vociferously on basis that her father is tone deaf (true). Another argument would take place. I'd decide that two glasses was bound to be under limit. We'd leave with me grumpy because I hadn't drunk enough, and guilty because I'd drunk too much. Daughter would still be cross with me for yelling at her over lack of practice, plus worried that - due to her big sulk - she hadn't done any practice at all!
Yesterday: Daughter played beautifully and came out with top prize for under 12s - medal and a cup. We were both totally gobsmacked. As I was sober I was sufficiently socially aware to spot the rictus grins of the assembled tiger mums and realise that we had to scarper quick before we were lynched. We got to the car and whooped all the way home.
Drinking days: I would have hated arriving at competition as I'd have to 'air kiss/hug' all the Mums I knew while trying not to breathe alcohol on them. Daughter would have done fine, but not won anything due to lack of practice, and we would have left grateful to have got it all over and done with, vowing not to go again the next year.
Yesterday: Got home and celebrated with a cup of tea (actually felt v cross at not being able to crack open champagne, but craving only lasted ten minutes and I got through it!), managed not to post unbearably smug photo of daughter holding cup on Facebook. We all went out to local bistro for steak frites. I drank water. Husband drank 2 glasses red wine, one glass sauternes (see, I'm doing it again!). Watched 2 episodes of new box set on sofa without falling asleep, then slept like a log for 7 hours.
Please let m know how you got on, and - for all my UK readers - HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY!
Saturday, 14 March 2015
Will I lose all my friends?
Day 13 and it's a Saturday. In the old days I would wake up feeling ropey and trying desperately to go back to sleep while the dog and the children all take turns piling in under the duvet, excited about a new day - their enthusiasm equally matched by my despair. I would then try and get through the morning of chores, ferrying children to activities and so on, counting the hours and minutes until 12pm when I could reasonably open a bottle of wine 'to go with lunch'.
Today my eyes snapped open at 6.30am and I had that fabulous slow realisation that 'something is different. What is it? Oh yes, I'm not drinking. Yay - no hangover. I feel fabulous!' I greet the onslaught of dog and children with open arms and equally matched enthusiasm. I have a whole, glorious day ahead of me to fill. I feel like a child.
I'm doing a lot of reading right now, as well as writing, and I came across a beautifully written and really funny piece by John Cheese on Cracked.com entitled 'Seven things you don't know about addiction until you quit.' I was nodding along happily until I got to #6: You Will Lose Most of Your Friends. Wait John Cheese - STOP RIGHT THERE. I want to get off. I have spent thirty years building up my circle of fabulous friends and if this journey means losing most of them I'm going straight back to the Chablis. Is this really true?
John's argument is that most of your friends are bound to be 'drinking buddies' and that - without the alcohol - either they won't want to hang out with you or you won't want to hang out with them. Or both. Now I like to think that I chose my friends for far more profound reasons than that they drank. I thought I chose them (and, I hope, they me) for their kindness, wit, intelligence - not their fondness of a sauvignon blanc. However, it is possible that the friends I've seen more than others (and therefore grew closer to) were the ones happy to spend hours over a few bottles setting the world to rights.
I haven't told any of my friends yet that I'm intending not to drink again, ever. Or my family. Instead I've said that I'm 'giving up for Lent, and to give the liver a break.' This is seen as entirely appropriate and laudable (if a little boring) in my circles. I'm hoping that by the time I 'come out' they will have seen that I'm actually a better person when sober, and quite happy for them to carry on imbibing around me so I won't be dropped like a hot potato.
But a niggling voice tells me that John may be right - at least to an extent. I bumped into a Mum friend outside the school yesterday and she said "Why we go out for a bottle of champagne next week since I missed your birthday party?" (The birthday party was the last time I drank alcohol). I said "Great, but I'm not drinking - giving up for Lent. Give the liver a break, you know how it is?!" She looked crestfallen and said "When's Lent finish? Give me a call then!" I shouted after her "I can go out anyway!" But she'd gone.
Is it true that in our messed up society if you're not getting messed up on a regular basis you're deemed boring? Perhaps in going alcohol free we make others question their own habits and feel uncomfortable. Will I have any friends left? Please advise!
Today my eyes snapped open at 6.30am and I had that fabulous slow realisation that 'something is different. What is it? Oh yes, I'm not drinking. Yay - no hangover. I feel fabulous!' I greet the onslaught of dog and children with open arms and equally matched enthusiasm. I have a whole, glorious day ahead of me to fill. I feel like a child.
I'm doing a lot of reading right now, as well as writing, and I came across a beautifully written and really funny piece by John Cheese on Cracked.com entitled 'Seven things you don't know about addiction until you quit.' I was nodding along happily until I got to #6: You Will Lose Most of Your Friends. Wait John Cheese - STOP RIGHT THERE. I want to get off. I have spent thirty years building up my circle of fabulous friends and if this journey means losing most of them I'm going straight back to the Chablis. Is this really true?
John's argument is that most of your friends are bound to be 'drinking buddies' and that - without the alcohol - either they won't want to hang out with you or you won't want to hang out with them. Or both. Now I like to think that I chose my friends for far more profound reasons than that they drank. I thought I chose them (and, I hope, they me) for their kindness, wit, intelligence - not their fondness of a sauvignon blanc. However, it is possible that the friends I've seen more than others (and therefore grew closer to) were the ones happy to spend hours over a few bottles setting the world to rights.
I haven't told any of my friends yet that I'm intending not to drink again, ever. Or my family. Instead I've said that I'm 'giving up for Lent, and to give the liver a break.' This is seen as entirely appropriate and laudable (if a little boring) in my circles. I'm hoping that by the time I 'come out' they will have seen that I'm actually a better person when sober, and quite happy for them to carry on imbibing around me so I won't be dropped like a hot potato.
But a niggling voice tells me that John may be right - at least to an extent. I bumped into a Mum friend outside the school yesterday and she said "Why we go out for a bottle of champagne next week since I missed your birthday party?" (The birthday party was the last time I drank alcohol). I said "Great, but I'm not drinking - giving up for Lent. Give the liver a break, you know how it is?!" She looked crestfallen and said "When's Lent finish? Give me a call then!" I shouted after her "I can go out anyway!" But she'd gone.
Is it true that in our messed up society if you're not getting messed up on a regular basis you're deemed boring? Perhaps in going alcohol free we make others question their own habits and feel uncomfortable. Will I have any friends left? Please advise!
Friday, 13 March 2015
Why so many well educated, middle aged women drink too much
One of the reasons why I was able to fool myself for so long that my drinking wasn't an issue was because everyone I knew was doing it too! Amongst my band of top university educated, high achieving mummies, most of us were drinking more days of the week than not, and at least half a bottle of wine in a session - usually more. We all joked about 'wine o'clock', and you were as likely to be offered a large glass of vino when collecting from a play date than a cup of tea. School socials all revolved around wine bars, and playground drop off chat often included a comparison of hangovers.
A study in 2010 concluded that women with degrees are twice as likely to drink daily than those without. The report concludes "The more educated women are, the more likely they are to drink alcohol on most days and to report having problems due to their drinking patterns." And this habit is killing us. Between 1991 and 2006 the incidence of alcohol related mortality in women aged 35-54 doubled.
Here's a quote from a doctor interviewed by The Guardian in 2008 about his female cirrhosis patients: "These are the steady drinkers. Typically they have a half-bottle of wine with their meal every night, or at lunchtime, and another drink at dinner. They are never drunk but they drink in a sustained manner. They don't realise they've got a problem because they think alcoholics are down-and-outs, or pub regulars. They have wine with meal and because of that they somehow think that takes away the harm, or they say "but I don't drink spirits." These misconceptions are very common. I suspect there are thousands and thousands of women who are drinking at risky levels, all over the country."
Too right, doc - and I was one of them. He describes me to a T. So why? Here's my theory:
Firstly, we were the first generation to grow up with parents who regularly drank wine with their meals - we saw it as the norm. We also hit puberty during the 1980s when 'ladette' culture was born. We didn't want to be sitting quietly in a corner sipping a Babycham. Oh no. We were at the bar necking them back with the lads. Anything they could do, we could do better!
We went to the top universities (where work hard, play hard was the culture, and 'play' revolved around drinking copiously), and - like the good feminists we were - got the top jobs that were traditionally the reserves of the male. These jobs were well paid, but stressful, at it was normal to retire to a wine bar straight from work to let off steam. In fact, in my creative industry, we had a bar IN THE OFFICE where most of the important networking took place. I also had a huge expense budget which I was expected to use to wine and dine clients and my team at lunch and at dinner.
The 1980s and 1990s also saw the rise of the chi chi wine bar. Anyone from London will remember the inexorable rise of 'The Pitcher and Piano.' These wine bars, and many more like them, were deliberately designed to make us 'educated and sophisticated' women feel comfortable. And they served our favourite wines (Chardonnay in those days, right?) in 250ml glasses - that's one third of a bottle! They also, unlike the pubs of that era) served food, so we could stay there all evening. And we did. And we didn't feel like sad alkies with their strong cider. Oh no - we were cultured. We discussed different grapes, vintages and provenances.
Cut to a decade later, and we all started having kids. Now, we were raised to believe that we could, and indeed had to, have it all! Great careers and perfect families. And most, if not all, of us quickly realised that this was a swift route to insanity. Many of us were trying to manage top jobs and babies without a wife at home to keep the ship from sinking. Only copious drinking provided a release from the inevitable stress, and knowledge that - for the first time - we were failing at everything.
Others (and I've been in both camps) quit the rat race and became full time (or at least part time) Mums. Now, being able to stop work to bring up your gorgeous babies is, obviously, a great honour and a privilege, but anyone who's done this knows that it's not a walk in the park. Or rather, it is endless walks in the park - with wet wipes and breast pads and emergency rice cakes. For us wine often provided a release from the boredom and the tedium, plus the stress of toddler tantrums etc. After a day of wiping orifices we'd ask ourselves whether this was what we slaved over our Oxford degree for. Naturally the answer was at the bottom of a goblet of wine. Also, if you're at home all the time there are no colleagues, meetings, deadlines etc. to keep you away from the bottle....
So, that's how I think I got to where I am today. How about you?
Related post: Women and Alcohol - a Deadly Realtionship
A study in 2010 concluded that women with degrees are twice as likely to drink daily than those without. The report concludes "The more educated women are, the more likely they are to drink alcohol on most days and to report having problems due to their drinking patterns." And this habit is killing us. Between 1991 and 2006 the incidence of alcohol related mortality in women aged 35-54 doubled.
Here's a quote from a doctor interviewed by The Guardian in 2008 about his female cirrhosis patients: "These are the steady drinkers. Typically they have a half-bottle of wine with their meal every night, or at lunchtime, and another drink at dinner. They are never drunk but they drink in a sustained manner. They don't realise they've got a problem because they think alcoholics are down-and-outs, or pub regulars. They have wine with meal and because of that they somehow think that takes away the harm, or they say "but I don't drink spirits." These misconceptions are very common. I suspect there are thousands and thousands of women who are drinking at risky levels, all over the country."
Too right, doc - and I was one of them. He describes me to a T. So why? Here's my theory:
Firstly, we were the first generation to grow up with parents who regularly drank wine with their meals - we saw it as the norm. We also hit puberty during the 1980s when 'ladette' culture was born. We didn't want to be sitting quietly in a corner sipping a Babycham. Oh no. We were at the bar necking them back with the lads. Anything they could do, we could do better!
We went to the top universities (where work hard, play hard was the culture, and 'play' revolved around drinking copiously), and - like the good feminists we were - got the top jobs that were traditionally the reserves of the male. These jobs were well paid, but stressful, at it was normal to retire to a wine bar straight from work to let off steam. In fact, in my creative industry, we had a bar IN THE OFFICE where most of the important networking took place. I also had a huge expense budget which I was expected to use to wine and dine clients and my team at lunch and at dinner.
The 1980s and 1990s also saw the rise of the chi chi wine bar. Anyone from London will remember the inexorable rise of 'The Pitcher and Piano.' These wine bars, and many more like them, were deliberately designed to make us 'educated and sophisticated' women feel comfortable. And they served our favourite wines (Chardonnay in those days, right?) in 250ml glasses - that's one third of a bottle! They also, unlike the pubs of that era) served food, so we could stay there all evening. And we did. And we didn't feel like sad alkies with their strong cider. Oh no - we were cultured. We discussed different grapes, vintages and provenances.
Cut to a decade later, and we all started having kids. Now, we were raised to believe that we could, and indeed had to, have it all! Great careers and perfect families. And most, if not all, of us quickly realised that this was a swift route to insanity. Many of us were trying to manage top jobs and babies without a wife at home to keep the ship from sinking. Only copious drinking provided a release from the inevitable stress, and knowledge that - for the first time - we were failing at everything.
Others (and I've been in both camps) quit the rat race and became full time (or at least part time) Mums. Now, being able to stop work to bring up your gorgeous babies is, obviously, a great honour and a privilege, but anyone who's done this knows that it's not a walk in the park. Or rather, it is endless walks in the park - with wet wipes and breast pads and emergency rice cakes. For us wine often provided a release from the boredom and the tedium, plus the stress of toddler tantrums etc. After a day of wiping orifices we'd ask ourselves whether this was what we slaved over our Oxford degree for. Naturally the answer was at the bottom of a goblet of wine. Also, if you're at home all the time there are no colleagues, meetings, deadlines etc. to keep you away from the bottle....
So, that's how I think I got to where I am today. How about you?
Related post: Women and Alcohol - a Deadly Realtionship
Thursday, 12 March 2015
Secret drinker hits the high bottom
'Hitting the high bottom' sounds a bit like a Miley Cyrus dance move, but that's not what I'm talking about.
It seems to be generally understood that alcoholics need to 'hit rock bottom' before they can shake off the denial and change their lives. We're used to hearing stories of people doing terrible things like sleeping with their best friend's husband, or putting themselves at huge risk - waking up in a gutter with no idea where they are or how they got there. For some, a medical diagnosis is the wake up call, or an 'intervention' by family and friends. The problem with never getting to 'rock bottom' is that it's much easier to convince yourself that you're absolutely not an alcoholic and, therefore, are perfectly able to start drinking again 'in moderation.'
I know that I'm going to constantly question whether going back to drinking is possible for me, so in order to remind myself why I stopped I thought I should document my 'high bottom'. Not a 'rock bottom', admittedly, but a 'bottom' in any case.
There were three events in short succession that gave me the necessary wake up call. My drinking had gradually increased, from sharing a bottle of wine with my fabulous long-suffering husband over dinner every night, to also (secretly) drinking half a bottle at lunch time and (secretly) drinking another half bottle while getting the children's supper ready and supervising homework. When I say 'secretly', I mean that I never confessed to drinking 1.5 bottles of wine a day, but my children were totally used to seeing me with a glass of wine constantly to hand.
Event number 1 was in my youngest child's classroom. She's five. Her teacher pulled me aside one morning and said "Lucy said the funniest thing yesterday! We were reading a book called 'a cup of tea' and I asked if Mummy liked a cup of tea, and she replied 'no, Mummy likes wine!' Ha! Ha! Ha!"
"Ha! Ha!" I replied, "Aren't children funny?" but inside I felt terrible. The truth is that my children think it's perfectly normal for Mummies to drink constantly. What kind of a role model am I?
Event number 2 was a few weeks ago when, for the first time I hid a bottle of wine. I'd always thought that alcoholics stashed bottles of vodka in laundry baskets, and because I only drank expensive wine, and never hid what I was drinking, I was ok. Well that evening I'd cracked open a bottle at about 5.30pm (as near as dammit to wine o'clock) while I was cooking the children's supper. By 7pm it was only a third full and I knew that the husband would - quite rightly - raise an eyebrow when he got home, so I hid it in the back of the cupboard and texted him asking him to bring a bottle home with him for supper (which I then drank half of, obviously). I did the same thing a couple more times, and realised that I'd crossed over one of my invisible lines.
Event number 3 was another line crossing. Alcoholics drink in the morning. If you don't drink in the morning, therefore, you're not an alcoholic - right? Well, a couple of weeks ago I woke up on a Saturday with a rotten hangover. I had lots to get done and knew that I wasn't going to feel better until I was able to have another drink. But it was only 10.30am. There was an inch of red wine left in a bottle from the night before. I poured it into a mug (a mug! ), so that the children wouldn't notice, and I drank it. And - wow! - I felt better. For about 5 minutes. Until I realised that I'd broken the big taboo. I stared at the empty mug and - with horrible irony - it had 'World's Best Mum' printed on the side. And that was it. I knew it was all over.
So when the wine witch starts whispering that it's really ok to drink on special occasions I'm going to read this again and remember the shame.
By the way, I went out for dinner with the husband and another couple last night and drank water. Yay!
It seems to be generally understood that alcoholics need to 'hit rock bottom' before they can shake off the denial and change their lives. We're used to hearing stories of people doing terrible things like sleeping with their best friend's husband, or putting themselves at huge risk - waking up in a gutter with no idea where they are or how they got there. For some, a medical diagnosis is the wake up call, or an 'intervention' by family and friends. The problem with never getting to 'rock bottom' is that it's much easier to convince yourself that you're absolutely not an alcoholic and, therefore, are perfectly able to start drinking again 'in moderation.'
I know that I'm going to constantly question whether going back to drinking is possible for me, so in order to remind myself why I stopped I thought I should document my 'high bottom'. Not a 'rock bottom', admittedly, but a 'bottom' in any case.
There were three events in short succession that gave me the necessary wake up call. My drinking had gradually increased, from sharing a bottle of wine with my fabulous long-suffering husband over dinner every night, to also (secretly) drinking half a bottle at lunch time and (secretly) drinking another half bottle while getting the children's supper ready and supervising homework. When I say 'secretly', I mean that I never confessed to drinking 1.5 bottles of wine a day, but my children were totally used to seeing me with a glass of wine constantly to hand.
Event number 1 was in my youngest child's classroom. She's five. Her teacher pulled me aside one morning and said "Lucy said the funniest thing yesterday! We were reading a book called 'a cup of tea' and I asked if Mummy liked a cup of tea, and she replied 'no, Mummy likes wine!' Ha! Ha! Ha!"
"Ha! Ha!" I replied, "Aren't children funny?" but inside I felt terrible. The truth is that my children think it's perfectly normal for Mummies to drink constantly. What kind of a role model am I?
Event number 2 was a few weeks ago when, for the first time I hid a bottle of wine. I'd always thought that alcoholics stashed bottles of vodka in laundry baskets, and because I only drank expensive wine, and never hid what I was drinking, I was ok. Well that evening I'd cracked open a bottle at about 5.30pm (as near as dammit to wine o'clock) while I was cooking the children's supper. By 7pm it was only a third full and I knew that the husband would - quite rightly - raise an eyebrow when he got home, so I hid it in the back of the cupboard and texted him asking him to bring a bottle home with him for supper (which I then drank half of, obviously). I did the same thing a couple more times, and realised that I'd crossed over one of my invisible lines.
Event number 3 was another line crossing. Alcoholics drink in the morning. If you don't drink in the morning, therefore, you're not an alcoholic - right? Well, a couple of weeks ago I woke up on a Saturday with a rotten hangover. I had lots to get done and knew that I wasn't going to feel better until I was able to have another drink. But it was only 10.30am. There was an inch of red wine left in a bottle from the night before. I poured it into a mug (a mug! ), so that the children wouldn't notice, and I drank it. And - wow! - I felt better. For about 5 minutes. Until I realised that I'd broken the big taboo. I stared at the empty mug and - with horrible irony - it had 'World's Best Mum' printed on the side. And that was it. I knew it was all over.
So when the wine witch starts whispering that it's really ok to drink on special occasions I'm going to read this again and remember the shame.
By the way, I went out for dinner with the husband and another couple last night and drank water. Yay!
Wednesday, 11 March 2015
From muffin-topped, puffy faced alcohol addict to Goddess!
Day 9 today, and I am fully anticipating that this sober life is going to lead to a total transformation looks wise. After all, if I estimate that I was drinking, on average, a bottle of wine per day (just one? who am I kidding!?!?), then quitting the vino should reduce my calorie intake by a massive 600 calories per day. That's 4,200 calories per week. Cutting out 4,200 calories is like NOT EATING AT ALL for two days of the week. Hell, I'll look like Kate Moss in no time (or Cindy Crawford for my American friends ;-)). As well as cutting out the booze calories I'll also be cutting out the hangover fuelled carb-fests. And who has any willpower when facing a pudding menu after drinking a bottle of wine? Not me, certainly.
I have to confess, that so far there's not much sign of the weight falling off, but I reckon it's like turning round a super-tanker (which is, actually, how my children describe my arse), so it's going to take a while to get going.
So, in the interests of making this as scientific as possible, I'm going to give you my vital stats as a 'baseline'. Apologies for not posting a photograph - to start with I'm not ready to 'come out' yet to the Yummy Mummy community and my stiff upper lipped family, plus I've avoided being caught in any photos for years.
Here you go: Height - 5 foot 7 inches. Weight 11 stone 10 (164 pounds), BMI 25.6 - that's at the bottom end of the 'overweight' category, just above 'normal'. Dress size UK 12/14 or US 8/10.
Doesn't look too horrendous, does it? But that's because you can't see the wine belly. I have been accused of being pregnant many times over the years, especially by children (whose mothers are squirming with embarrassment). I haven't had the dire 'when's it due?' question for a while, not because the wine belly's gone, but because at 46 I'm starting to look too old for it to be probable. So now I'm fat and old with only the menopause to look forward to. Oh joy. So the wine belly HAS TO GO! Right now, if I lie in the bath and scrunch up all my belly fat with both hands (nice image there, huh? I hope you're not eating your breakfast!) it's about the size of a bottle of wine.
Having just stripped off in the kitchen and played around with pieces of sting and a metal tape measure I confess that the stomach/butt stats are as follows: waist 36 inches, belly 41 inches (!), hips 43 inches. This is why the children's favourite song to play in the car on the school run has a chorus "Watchya gonna do with that big fat butt? Viggle, viggle, viggle." This leads to hysterical laughter from everyone except me. Kids, why do we have 'em? To put this in perspective, in my early twenties my vital statistics were 36, 26, 36. Sob.
Things, as they say, can only get better! I'll check the stats again in a month and let you know how close to Cindy Crawford we're getting.
Love SM x
Related Post: Turning into a Goddess - Update
I have to confess, that so far there's not much sign of the weight falling off, but I reckon it's like turning round a super-tanker (which is, actually, how my children describe my arse), so it's going to take a while to get going.
So, in the interests of making this as scientific as possible, I'm going to give you my vital stats as a 'baseline'. Apologies for not posting a photograph - to start with I'm not ready to 'come out' yet to the Yummy Mummy community and my stiff upper lipped family, plus I've avoided being caught in any photos for years.
Here you go: Height - 5 foot 7 inches. Weight 11 stone 10 (164 pounds), BMI 25.6 - that's at the bottom end of the 'overweight' category, just above 'normal'. Dress size UK 12/14 or US 8/10.
Doesn't look too horrendous, does it? But that's because you can't see the wine belly. I have been accused of being pregnant many times over the years, especially by children (whose mothers are squirming with embarrassment). I haven't had the dire 'when's it due?' question for a while, not because the wine belly's gone, but because at 46 I'm starting to look too old for it to be probable. So now I'm fat and old with only the menopause to look forward to. Oh joy. So the wine belly HAS TO GO! Right now, if I lie in the bath and scrunch up all my belly fat with both hands (nice image there, huh? I hope you're not eating your breakfast!) it's about the size of a bottle of wine.
Having just stripped off in the kitchen and played around with pieces of sting and a metal tape measure I confess that the stomach/butt stats are as follows: waist 36 inches, belly 41 inches (!), hips 43 inches. This is why the children's favourite song to play in the car on the school run has a chorus "Watchya gonna do with that big fat butt? Viggle, viggle, viggle." This leads to hysterical laughter from everyone except me. Kids, why do we have 'em? To put this in perspective, in my early twenties my vital statistics were 36, 26, 36. Sob.
Things, as they say, can only get better! I'll check the stats again in a month and let you know how close to Cindy Crawford we're getting.
Love SM x
Related Post: Turning into a Goddess - Update
Tuesday, 10 March 2015
Secret Drinking & 'The Maintenance Drinker'
I was lying in bed last night reading the excellent book by Lucy Rocca: 'The Sober Revolution'.
Quick aside: how about that? Reading in bed rather than passing out on the sofa half way through a movie, leaving the long suffering husband to finish it on his own! Result.
Anyhow, I had a Eureka moment when I found a description of myself: The Maintenance Drinker.
Check this out: This is another form of very hazardous drinking defined by constant, and often secret, style of alcohol consumption (Tick! Me, me, me). Never totally sober but always topped up, these women often appear to drink little when out socially. Many pre-load (oh, yeah baby, half a bottle of Chablis as a quick 'sharpener') before leaving the house and become adept at managing their moods and outward signs of intoxication, as the thought of being ousted as an 'alkie' is, to the maintenance drinker, abhorrent (alkie? Moi?)....
.....Openness frequently does not come easily to the maintenance drinker and thus for many, it can be difficult to even acknowledge that a problem exists. Problem? What problem?
So, there you have it - me in a nutshell. And I wonder how many other perfectly turned out mothers on the school run at my oh-so-chi-chi private Chelsea prep school are in exactly the same boat. Was I the only one? Anyone else out there recognise themselves?
Apparently this blog has had more than 100 page views as of today, which I realise is a tiny little molecule in the giant ocean that is the world wide web, but it makes me happy to feel that I am not just talking to myself which is, after all, the first sign of madness.
To all you 'Maintenance Drinkers' out there - I raise a fresh lime and soda to you. Onwards and Upwards!
Quick aside: how about that? Reading in bed rather than passing out on the sofa half way through a movie, leaving the long suffering husband to finish it on his own! Result.
Anyhow, I had a Eureka moment when I found a description of myself: The Maintenance Drinker.
Check this out: This is another form of very hazardous drinking defined by constant, and often secret, style of alcohol consumption (Tick! Me, me, me). Never totally sober but always topped up, these women often appear to drink little when out socially. Many pre-load (oh, yeah baby, half a bottle of Chablis as a quick 'sharpener') before leaving the house and become adept at managing their moods and outward signs of intoxication, as the thought of being ousted as an 'alkie' is, to the maintenance drinker, abhorrent (alkie? Moi?)....
.....Openness frequently does not come easily to the maintenance drinker and thus for many, it can be difficult to even acknowledge that a problem exists. Problem? What problem?
So, there you have it - me in a nutshell. And I wonder how many other perfectly turned out mothers on the school run at my oh-so-chi-chi private Chelsea prep school are in exactly the same boat. Was I the only one? Anyone else out there recognise themselves?
Apparently this blog has had more than 100 page views as of today, which I realise is a tiny little molecule in the giant ocean that is the world wide web, but it makes me happy to feel that I am not just talking to myself which is, after all, the first sign of madness.
To all you 'Maintenance Drinkers' out there - I raise a fresh lime and soda to you. Onwards and Upwards!
Monday, 9 March 2015
Alcohol Withdrawal Symptoms
Before I started on this path (exactly one week ago - yay!) I Googled 'alcohol withdrawal symptoms' and I got loads of scary stuff about DTs and seizures. Now, in my many attempts to 'moderate' I've given up drinking for days at a time and never had 'the shakes', despite drinking an average of one and a half bottles of wine a day, so those information sites didn't really help me. What I wanted to know is what myriad of more minor symptoms a heavy drinker like me could expect in the first week or so. So, if any of you are wondering the same thing, here's my answer:
1. Exhaustion. Getting to sleep can be a bit of a challenge as I'm kind of used to an anaesthetic to help me drift off, but once asleep I'm out for the count - just like my children. No more endless waking up in the middle of the night to drink water and wee. No more tossing and turning while wrestling the demons. Seven hours of uninterrupted sleep. You'd think, then, that I'd be filled with boundless energy. Not so! I feel like I've been run over by a truck! I have to have catch up naps in the afternoon like a toddler. I imagine it's a result of my body using up all its energy repairing the damage I've done over a long period of time, so I'm just indulging it.
2. Irritability. A bit like PMT. Particularly when I'm exhausted (see above!), or wrestling with a craving, I can snap. It struck me yesterday, however, that I used to be exactly the same (if not worse) after a couple of glasses of vino, it's just that now I'm aware that I'm doing it and I feel awful about it. When I was drunk I'd feel justified (for whatever warped reason I'd invented) in being cross. Now I say sorry.
3. Mucus. Weird. Constantly running nose. I see it as a tap draining off the toxins. Nice, huh?
4. Constipation. Sorry, but it has to be said. Apparently it's a result of your poor, endlessly dehydrated body desperately trying to catch up on water.
5. Weight gain. Where is the logic (or fairness) in that? By my reckoning, I was drinking about 900 calories a day. Plus, whenever I drank all my willpower disappeared, so I 'd polish off a bar of chocolate. And everyone knows that the best way to cure a hangover (apart from more alcohol!) is binging on carbohydrates. But, one week in and I weigh more! My assumption is that it's down to the dehydration/rehydration thing again. Despite the weight gain I am able to do the belt up an extra notch, so I do reckon (hope!) that it's water not fat. I'll keep you posted on this one, because I am totally expecting to be size zero by the end of the year ;-).
6. Concentration. This is the biggie! No concentration. None. Nada. Zip. All I can think about it not drinking. It goes round and round in my head. And it strikes me that part of the reason I drank so frequently and so much is to shut the voice in my head up. I suspect that we 'alcohol dependants' (I still struggle with the word alcoholic) are often people with over active thoughts who are just looking for a little peace. But now all those thoughts are back. And they have only one thing to chat about - MORE BOOZE.
So, this blog is really helping me, just in terms of getting the thoughts out of my head and onto paper (screen) instead.
I'd love to hear about your alcohol withdrawal symptoms, and to any of you who have taken the time to read this: thank you. x
1. Exhaustion. Getting to sleep can be a bit of a challenge as I'm kind of used to an anaesthetic to help me drift off, but once asleep I'm out for the count - just like my children. No more endless waking up in the middle of the night to drink water and wee. No more tossing and turning while wrestling the demons. Seven hours of uninterrupted sleep. You'd think, then, that I'd be filled with boundless energy. Not so! I feel like I've been run over by a truck! I have to have catch up naps in the afternoon like a toddler. I imagine it's a result of my body using up all its energy repairing the damage I've done over a long period of time, so I'm just indulging it.
2. Irritability. A bit like PMT. Particularly when I'm exhausted (see above!), or wrestling with a craving, I can snap. It struck me yesterday, however, that I used to be exactly the same (if not worse) after a couple of glasses of vino, it's just that now I'm aware that I'm doing it and I feel awful about it. When I was drunk I'd feel justified (for whatever warped reason I'd invented) in being cross. Now I say sorry.
3. Mucus. Weird. Constantly running nose. I see it as a tap draining off the toxins. Nice, huh?
4. Constipation. Sorry, but it has to be said. Apparently it's a result of your poor, endlessly dehydrated body desperately trying to catch up on water.
5. Weight gain. Where is the logic (or fairness) in that? By my reckoning, I was drinking about 900 calories a day. Plus, whenever I drank all my willpower disappeared, so I 'd polish off a bar of chocolate. And everyone knows that the best way to cure a hangover (apart from more alcohol!) is binging on carbohydrates. But, one week in and I weigh more! My assumption is that it's down to the dehydration/rehydration thing again. Despite the weight gain I am able to do the belt up an extra notch, so I do reckon (hope!) that it's water not fat. I'll keep you posted on this one, because I am totally expecting to be size zero by the end of the year ;-).
6. Concentration. This is the biggie! No concentration. None. Nada. Zip. All I can think about it not drinking. It goes round and round in my head. And it strikes me that part of the reason I drank so frequently and so much is to shut the voice in my head up. I suspect that we 'alcohol dependants' (I still struggle with the word alcoholic) are often people with over active thoughts who are just looking for a little peace. But now all those thoughts are back. And they have only one thing to chat about - MORE BOOZE.
So, this blog is really helping me, just in terms of getting the thoughts out of my head and onto paper (screen) instead.
I'd love to hear about your alcohol withdrawal symptoms, and to any of you who have taken the time to read this: thank you. x
Friday, 6 March 2015
First big night out sober!
So, day 6. I'm still feeling positive, but am exhausted! The initial rush of euphoria and energy (see ex-lush goes spinning) has been replaced with a bone deep tiredness. I'm sleeping like a small child - no more waking up endlessly to drink water and go to the loo, tossing and turning while wrestling with demons - but I still wake up feeling like I've been hit by a bus. I guess it's my body healing, which has to be a good thing.
So, tonight is the first night I have to cope with going out, rather than just watching TV on the sofa with a hot chocolate. It's a long planned family celebration at an extremely well known restaurant and nobody - except the long suffering and wonderful husband - is going to understand why I am not drinking. Given that I was the sort of drunk who drank large amounts over long periods of time, rather than binge drinking, they have never seen me fall over, black out, slur, do anything embarrassing. They (and I until recently) thought I was totally in control. I always had an 'off button'. That's why I never classed myself as 'an alcoholic'. It's just that my off button would click in after I had managed to drink two bottles of wine over the course of a day.
So, tonight, I imagine, will be lots of entreaties to "have just the one". From the evil wine witch as well as from my lovely family. What the family don't know (but the wine witch does) is that if I have just the one tonight I'll have just the two bottles tomorrow.
Wish me luck!
So, tonight is the first night I have to cope with going out, rather than just watching TV on the sofa with a hot chocolate. It's a long planned family celebration at an extremely well known restaurant and nobody - except the long suffering and wonderful husband - is going to understand why I am not drinking. Given that I was the sort of drunk who drank large amounts over long periods of time, rather than binge drinking, they have never seen me fall over, black out, slur, do anything embarrassing. They (and I until recently) thought I was totally in control. I always had an 'off button'. That's why I never classed myself as 'an alcoholic'. It's just that my off button would click in after I had managed to drink two bottles of wine over the course of a day.
So, tonight, I imagine, will be lots of entreaties to "have just the one". From the evil wine witch as well as from my lovely family. What the family don't know (but the wine witch does) is that if I have just the one tonight I'll have just the two bottles tomorrow.
Wish me luck!
Thursday, 5 March 2015
Mummy Was a Secret Drinker....
....until 3 days ago.
Nobody knew how much I was drinking. Not even I knew how much I was drinking.
On the surface my life looked totally under control. I was never embarrassingly drunk. I never threw up. I never had black outs. My children were always at school on time - in the right kit, homework done. I made my family healthy, home cooked meals. My house was always tidy.
But underneath it all I was drowning in a sea of wine. Mainly Chablis (doesn't seem tawdry, does it?). And here's the truth *whisper it*: I was drinking between one and two bottles of the stuff a day. In fact, if I went out to a party at the weekend I could probably make it to three.
Arrghhh! Doesn't that look awful written down?
I never saw myself as an alcoholic. Oh no! I didn't drink in the morning. I never snogged strangers or got into trouble. I never even had to apologise for my behaviour. I must have been horribly boring and self obsessed, and often touchy and tetchy - but I had none of those disaster stories that you associate with AA. I guess I was - am - a high functioning alcohol dependant. That sounds much better. High Functioning. I've always liked to achieve at whatever I set my mind to....
Gradually I've begun to see the impact that the constant drip feed of terribly expensive premier cru vino has had on me and my family. I've been killing myself and wasting my life. I say ENOUGH IS ENOUGH! Damn you, you silky tongued back stabbing friend of a wine witch. Get out of my life and never come back with your false promises and subtle traps.
If you come across this blog please wish me luck, and check in to see how I'm doing. Thank you!
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