A Worm, A Freeloader and A Movie Set Walk Into a Bar…

For the last year I’ve had this niggling worm in my head. I picture him as the little caterpillar who greets Jennifer Connelly with an “Ello” from The Labyrinth– because it’s never not a good idea to meditate on David Bowie and the Muppets. He pipes up in my brain in his thick Bri-Ish accent with a “remember the time you…oh that was horrid. You should be proper embarrassed!” He’s so insistent I pay attention he has become a bit of a nag. He’s unearthed a plethora of alarming super 8 films from my life –of which there are an abundance and each one I would rather forget. They are replayed, slo-mo style, to terrorize me with during 3 am red wine induced potty runs, mundane errands and quiet “me time” that subsequently sets off hours of obsessing and shame spirals. He’s awesome. 

And, he’s making his point. I haven’t been able to get around the mounting evidence that a majority of the big mistakes, crap conversations, overreactions and humiliating situations I have gotten myself into in my adult life are fueled by alcohol. But taking the cue to quit isn’t as simple as recognizing the problem. It’s similar to that squatter ex-boyfriend I had after college that refused to move out of my apartment. I knew he was deadweight and a major roadblock to living the life I imagined–but I was also used to his musty flannel wadded up next to the toilet. I had conditioned myself to accept the dirty laundry and the general unmotivated slacker habits because there is something comforting about the familiar. But there came a point when the freeloader needed to leave–so I could get on with my life. It was time for the boot.

For the last two years, in the last three months of the year, I have done this thing called “The Last 90 Days” (brainchild of Rachel Hollis and Rise). The concept is that you will end the year strong with five specific goals you implement daily, so when the new year arrives you already have a head start to a brand new you with healthy habits! One of the tenants is to give up a food that you know isn’t serving you. Two years ago I gave up alcohol one of the months. It was short and empowering. This year I gave it up for October and November with the caveat that I would still drink on two camping trips we already had planned. Of course those four day trips turned into seven days because “it’s a vacation week!” When December rolled around I rewarded myself. Oh you bet your sweet bippy I did! I think whenever we embark on a new health cleanse/craze/fad with a prescribed beginning and end date, our intention is to continue on our quest after the gig is up. Like those 30 day ab challenges…does anyone really continue doing sit-ups everyday? Or is that just me? My bad. Well, December proved one thing: that denying myself alcohol for a limited time culminated in drinking copiously everyday to make up for lost time. And I was right back where I started on September 30th, knowing that those Vespa martinis were not serving me but drinking them anyway because I said I could, and it felt good. 

And through it all the incessant niggling worm in my brain kept telling me: 

You’re out of control. To which I’d answer: It’s not like I’m drinking screwdrivers at 8 am and spending all of the food budget on wine ( I feel I should point out that grapes are fruit and vodka is potatoes, and thus food, at least that’s what I’m told. But I digress) 

You need to to slow down/take a break. I’d reply: I did and it was fine, I’m not an addict if I can quit for a month straight.

You embarrass yourself and it’s not who you want to be. To which I’d snidely say: People love me! I’m funny and they rely on my signature cocktails for all their party needs. 

This went on and on and on, day and night the two sides of me, fighting, justifying, spewing well known facts and figures at each other (did you know that you can find information to support just about any point of view you have? Yes, rhinos are chubby unicorns!). I googled every variation of the question “Am I An Alcoholic?” and got every imaginable answer from “How are you still alive?” to “You’re fine, have a glass of wine and chill.” But with each quiz and questionnaire the fog was starting to clear: wether some “expert” on the internet qualified me as an abuser or not, the simple truth was my drinking was not only causing me (and by extention my family and friends) pain and shame–it was holding me back and numbing me out to the life I wanted to live. And it had been, for far too long.

This realization had been percolating for some time, because when I really started to think about it (like, non-stop all consuming obsessive thinking) there was no doubt in my mind that something needed to change. I’d successfully ignored it just like the lazy ex: it was the standard, so even if it wasn’t all it was cracked up to be, at least I knew all the nooks and crannies and which parts worked and which parts didn’t. I had a handle on the mediocrity, I understood it, so feared letting it go in order to grab on to something new and exceptional.

Let’s face it: any change is hard, no matter how much the desire or the need to change. So this fundamental shift, something that I believe is so caught up with and intertwined in my being, the me in me, is going to be a tough one. But if my drinking doesn’t change, I’ll keep slogging through the years in a blur of laughter and tears but not remember or even really enjoy any of it. That’s what drinking does–it makes the moments feel hilarious and brilliant and genius and fabulous but then you can’t remember the moments, and if you can…are they really any of those things? Or are they just awkward, unsettling, and disconcerting? It feels like a movie set: is it the rolling hills bursting with sunflowers in Tuscany? Or the empty concrete back lot with dead weeds in the cracks when the backdrop is rolled away. Alcohol shows us the amazing view, but it’s really just covering up the cracks in the hot asphalt. 

I am a firm believer that most things worth doing require hard work. I am not, by any means, saying I love hard work, or am even willing to do it most of the time, but what I am saying is: 

1. The Cockney worm is right.
2. It is time to evict the worthless ex.
3. I’m ready to pull the weeds in the back lot and cultivate the flowers.

And so it begins, Time to get to work. As of today I am 60 days sober. In some ways it has been harder than I thought but in others easier somehow. The pandemic has thrown in some unexpected wrinkles for sure but many of those have been positive for me. I’ll share what has helped me thus far ASAP. I definitely see some meltdowns in the near future as I confront long buried emotions without the veil of the bottle, but I also look forward to the clear lens I am now determined to see everything through. It’s a fresh start.

Please be curious, give yourself GRACE and keep in mind the wise words of Maya Angelou: “When we know better, We do better.”

Take Care,

Jennifer