I'm typing this between bites of my breakfast---a bowl of 5-grain cereal with fat-free milk and frozen blueberries. There's a home-made peach-raspberry smoothie in the freezer for my late-morning snack.
"So what?" you may well ask, adding, "This is an alcohol forum, NOT a nutrition site!" Well, yes, but...six months ago I would already have been on my second generous glass of pinot grigio or sauvignon blanc, faintly concerned because the (large, always large!) bottle looked to have only another few inches left. Darn, that'll be gone by noon, I'd calculate, but a glance at the clock would reassure me that I can nurse what I have until the wineshop opens in less than an hour. Ahhhh, good. Problem solved! Life was good.
But life was anything BUT good, with my big-bottle-a day-habit. I am 48 years old, and for the past 15 years I had been steadily up-up-upping my sipping, from a simple "harmless" fifth after 5 p.m. to the big one starting right after my husband left for the office. Daily. No exceptions. Even on the weekends, he'd be busy with either more work at the office (he's a lawyer) or playing tennis or golf, leaving me lots of daylight hours to enjoy my wine. Then on Saturday afternoon, he'd cheerfully ask "Where shall we eat tonight?" We'd choose a favorite restaurant, sit down, and have drinks beforehand, of course. He'd have his martini with two olives, and I'd have another couple of glasses of you-know what.
Oh, I'd converse charmingly, making him laugh about something one of our daughters did or said that day, a funny cartoon I saw in the *New Yorker,* or another in the long series of ridiculous things our aging dog got up to, and open the topic of whether we should consider a new puppy. Get it? The same normal chatter that spouses everywhere do. Sometimes I would not quiiiiite remember everything we talked about the next morning, but got very, very good at not giving that away.
The next morning? HEADACHE FROM HELL.
"But I don't get it, Janie," he'd say, bringing me three aspirin and a glass of water. "You had---what?---two glasses of wine?"
"I know," I'd lie sincerely. "I must be getting old!" And we'd laugh, he'd kiss the top of my head, and go get his coffee and paper. I'd lie there praying that the smell of the coffee wouldn't make me throw up.
It never did. I wish it had. I wish I'd been less good at hiding my lushing. I wish I'd gotten a DUI for smashing into a telephone pole, I wish I'd embarrassed myself thoroughly at his law firm's annual black-tie Christmas dinner, I wish I'd shown up for one of our daughter's ballet recitals or tennis matches blind-ass plastered, passing out and gashing my head, requiring 19 stitiches.
But oh, no. I was TOO good. The editors of the Webster's dictionary should put my picture by the definition of "high-functioning." In a way it was easy, because I stay at home (I am a free-lance writer, but work in my home office) and I live in the South, where a lot of drinking is considered NORMAL. Even in the mornings, although Bloody Marys and Mimosas are the usual "acceptable" sip for ladies like me! Bourbon before dusk? TRASH. Wine? Hmmmm, does she have a little problem? But a Bloody Mary with half vodka/half spiced tomato juice---why, don't we all?
My life looked perfect from the outside. And it was perfect, except for the demon secret of my abundant swilling.
I "stopped" several times. Once I went seven weeks without a drop, and then---"This SUCKS!" I decided one night at a summer party. One glass led to---well, a lot, and the next Monday I was right back at the wine shop bright and early (well, 10 a.m.) ready to reacquaint myself with my dear old best friend, Bella Sera! You can guess the rest---I was right back where I'd been. Finding my usual hiding places for the bottle, getting out my opaque plastic water-jug with the lid and straw I take to the gym, and filling it to the brim with wine and a couple of ice cubes to put in the car for my morning errands. Skipping afternoon errands because I really, really needed an hour's "nap." Translate, "pass-out." Same old same old. I'd get up from the nap, put on fresh make-up, run make a delicious dinner before Mr. Jane arrived home.
"So! What went on today?" he'd say, bursting in looking so nice and handsome.
"Oh, you know---the usual!" (Truer words were never spoken, alas.)
"What smells so good?"
"I'm roasting a chicken, and we're haviing those garlic-herb potatoes you like, and a good Greek salad. Oh---but you know, I'm afraid we only have red wine."
"Want me to run up to the Vineyard and grab a bottle?"
"No, no, let me---the chicken's got a few more minutes and I need to get some fresh air!" (Translation: HELL NO I don't want you to go! The store clerk will say, 'Oh, hey there, Mr. Jane! Your wife was in here just this morning! What's new?" And then, well, I'd have some 'splainin' to do. Note to all drunks: remember to go to DIFFERENT liquor stores occasionally! Note to wine store clerks: NEVER say you saw someone's spouse earlier! Are you nuts? Want to lose your best customers to rehab?
I think you all get the picture. Some of you could have written this yourselves.
What turned me around at last? As a storyteller, I'd love to give you a dramatic cliff-hanger involving "hitting bottom" but you see, I never "hit" bottom---I was just LIVING there on the bottom, day-in-day-out. Only half-participating in my very comfortable, love-filled, and rewarding life. Living for the next pop of the cork, and slow peaceful slide into my happy haze.
One day I just...had enough. I knew that I couldn't get away with it much longer, and that when I was finally "outed," it would be very, very ugly, embarrassing, hurtful, and maybe tragic. I could SO easily killed someone, coming home from my nighttime book club meeting (lots of wine there!) or even from the supermarket, some afternoons when I decided not to nap.
I put myself on a strict super-health diet---told my husband I was giving up ALL wine until I got rid of those irritating five pounds that had crept on since quitting my tennis team, and---just DID IT.
I decided to allow myself two glasses on Saturday and two on Sunday evenings---PERIOD. I promised myself that if I slipped again, I'd confess all and get "real help," even if it meant disappointing my husband and daughters. The very shame of imagining THAT talk did the trick, and (please God) I think it will work for the long run. It's been about 5 months now, and somehow this time "feels real."
And by the way---I lost EIGHT pounds! Without even much trying. I tried on my college tennis-team skirt last week, AND IT FIT. The late '70s style looked pretty corny---but what bliss to know that I'm also "fitting into" my old "moderation mindset" as well. At 160 calories per 8-ounce goblet---think what I was putting away daily! I'm scared to even add it up.
I didn't go into a long biography, because if you really want to know all that you can read my old posts that tell all that stuff. And I hope I'll see many of you in Long-Term Moderators.
I FEEL BLESSED! I thank God daily that something clicked at long last. And believe me, if Crazy Jane Jane can do it, ANYONE can.
************************************************** ************
PS---For the record, I used no meds, supps, therapy, and only went to one AA meeting. That was SO not gonna work, but it may be the ticket for some. All I know is that I left that meeting and went straight to The Vineyard!
"So what?" you may well ask, adding, "This is an alcohol forum, NOT a nutrition site!" Well, yes, but...six months ago I would already have been on my second generous glass of pinot grigio or sauvignon blanc, faintly concerned because the (large, always large!) bottle looked to have only another few inches left. Darn, that'll be gone by noon, I'd calculate, but a glance at the clock would reassure me that I can nurse what I have until the wineshop opens in less than an hour. Ahhhh, good. Problem solved! Life was good.
But life was anything BUT good, with my big-bottle-a day-habit. I am 48 years old, and for the past 15 years I had been steadily up-up-upping my sipping, from a simple "harmless" fifth after 5 p.m. to the big one starting right after my husband left for the office. Daily. No exceptions. Even on the weekends, he'd be busy with either more work at the office (he's a lawyer) or playing tennis or golf, leaving me lots of daylight hours to enjoy my wine. Then on Saturday afternoon, he'd cheerfully ask "Where shall we eat tonight?" We'd choose a favorite restaurant, sit down, and have drinks beforehand, of course. He'd have his martini with two olives, and I'd have another couple of glasses of you-know what.
Oh, I'd converse charmingly, making him laugh about something one of our daughters did or said that day, a funny cartoon I saw in the *New Yorker,* or another in the long series of ridiculous things our aging dog got up to, and open the topic of whether we should consider a new puppy. Get it? The same normal chatter that spouses everywhere do. Sometimes I would not quiiiiite remember everything we talked about the next morning, but got very, very good at not giving that away.
The next morning? HEADACHE FROM HELL.
"But I don't get it, Janie," he'd say, bringing me three aspirin and a glass of water. "You had---what?---two glasses of wine?"
"I know," I'd lie sincerely. "I must be getting old!" And we'd laugh, he'd kiss the top of my head, and go get his coffee and paper. I'd lie there praying that the smell of the coffee wouldn't make me throw up.
It never did. I wish it had. I wish I'd been less good at hiding my lushing. I wish I'd gotten a DUI for smashing into a telephone pole, I wish I'd embarrassed myself thoroughly at his law firm's annual black-tie Christmas dinner, I wish I'd shown up for one of our daughter's ballet recitals or tennis matches blind-ass plastered, passing out and gashing my head, requiring 19 stitiches.
But oh, no. I was TOO good. The editors of the Webster's dictionary should put my picture by the definition of "high-functioning." In a way it was easy, because I stay at home (I am a free-lance writer, but work in my home office) and I live in the South, where a lot of drinking is considered NORMAL. Even in the mornings, although Bloody Marys and Mimosas are the usual "acceptable" sip for ladies like me! Bourbon before dusk? TRASH. Wine? Hmmmm, does she have a little problem? But a Bloody Mary with half vodka/half spiced tomato juice---why, don't we all?
My life looked perfect from the outside. And it was perfect, except for the demon secret of my abundant swilling.
I "stopped" several times. Once I went seven weeks without a drop, and then---"This SUCKS!" I decided one night at a summer party. One glass led to---well, a lot, and the next Monday I was right back at the wine shop bright and early (well, 10 a.m.) ready to reacquaint myself with my dear old best friend, Bella Sera! You can guess the rest---I was right back where I'd been. Finding my usual hiding places for the bottle, getting out my opaque plastic water-jug with the lid and straw I take to the gym, and filling it to the brim with wine and a couple of ice cubes to put in the car for my morning errands. Skipping afternoon errands because I really, really needed an hour's "nap." Translate, "pass-out." Same old same old. I'd get up from the nap, put on fresh make-up, run make a delicious dinner before Mr. Jane arrived home.
"So! What went on today?" he'd say, bursting in looking so nice and handsome.
"Oh, you know---the usual!" (Truer words were never spoken, alas.)
"What smells so good?"
"I'm roasting a chicken, and we're haviing those garlic-herb potatoes you like, and a good Greek salad. Oh---but you know, I'm afraid we only have red wine."
"Want me to run up to the Vineyard and grab a bottle?"
"No, no, let me---the chicken's got a few more minutes and I need to get some fresh air!" (Translation: HELL NO I don't want you to go! The store clerk will say, 'Oh, hey there, Mr. Jane! Your wife was in here just this morning! What's new?" And then, well, I'd have some 'splainin' to do. Note to all drunks: remember to go to DIFFERENT liquor stores occasionally! Note to wine store clerks: NEVER say you saw someone's spouse earlier! Are you nuts? Want to lose your best customers to rehab?
I think you all get the picture. Some of you could have written this yourselves.
What turned me around at last? As a storyteller, I'd love to give you a dramatic cliff-hanger involving "hitting bottom" but you see, I never "hit" bottom---I was just LIVING there on the bottom, day-in-day-out. Only half-participating in my very comfortable, love-filled, and rewarding life. Living for the next pop of the cork, and slow peaceful slide into my happy haze.
One day I just...had enough. I knew that I couldn't get away with it much longer, and that when I was finally "outed," it would be very, very ugly, embarrassing, hurtful, and maybe tragic. I could SO easily killed someone, coming home from my nighttime book club meeting (lots of wine there!) or even from the supermarket, some afternoons when I decided not to nap.
I put myself on a strict super-health diet---told my husband I was giving up ALL wine until I got rid of those irritating five pounds that had crept on since quitting my tennis team, and---just DID IT.
I decided to allow myself two glasses on Saturday and two on Sunday evenings---PERIOD. I promised myself that if I slipped again, I'd confess all and get "real help," even if it meant disappointing my husband and daughters. The very shame of imagining THAT talk did the trick, and (please God) I think it will work for the long run. It's been about 5 months now, and somehow this time "feels real."
And by the way---I lost EIGHT pounds! Without even much trying. I tried on my college tennis-team skirt last week, AND IT FIT. The late '70s style looked pretty corny---but what bliss to know that I'm also "fitting into" my old "moderation mindset" as well. At 160 calories per 8-ounce goblet---think what I was putting away daily! I'm scared to even add it up.
I didn't go into a long biography, because if you really want to know all that you can read my old posts that tell all that stuff. And I hope I'll see many of you in Long-Term Moderators.
I FEEL BLESSED! I thank God daily that something clicked at long last. And believe me, if Crazy Jane Jane can do it, ANYONE can.
************************************************** ************
PS---For the record, I used no meds, supps, therapy, and only went to one AA meeting. That was SO not gonna work, but it may be the ticket for some. All I know is that I left that meeting and went straight to The Vineyard!
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