I wish I could say that this was all part of a clear plan. A plan to take back control of my life and conquer the stranglehold alcohol had over me.

But at the time, it just felt messy.

Kind of like waking up in the early hours of the morning and stumbling about in the dark. I was feeling my way through more than anything, not really knowing whether I was on track or about to start a well-intentioned cycle of ‘breaks’ that never quite stuck.

Sober School came at just the right time.

Kate had created a video series for people like me. People who weren’t really sure if they were actually *alcoholics* (insert whispering voice here) because, I mean, I don’t like pass out or drink during the school hours or dance on tables or anything. But people who were finding it increasingly hard to ignore that harsh voice that surfaced right around 3am – the voice that questioned what on earth we were thinking and made us promise to try harder the next night.

It was late December 2018. Christmas had just passed by and I had, as usual, overindulged in the name of celebration. ‘I deserve to have fun!’ I thought while single-mindedly pouring and refilling my glass, trying to ignore the fact that the buzz seemed to be getting harder and harder to reach.

Each day a new video was released and I devoured them. Kate had this way of shattering all these myths about alcohol that I had just unwittingly assumed as fact. I wasn’t ready to quit yet, of course. I was still firmly under the illusion that I could control this, I just needed a bit more information.

I learned that a lot of my ideas about alcohol had seeped in through the surrounding culture. I believed that it was difficult to have fun without alcohol because wine just made everything more sparkly.

But did it?

I began to deconstruct the experience and realise that we tell ourselves that alcohol is a magical elixir. It can boost our spirits, comfort us when we are depressed, take the edge off our anxious thoughts and help us become more brave. Now, I don’t know about you but I don’t know any substance that can do all of those things. Particularly not one that is literally comprised of ethanol (which is also used as a germ-killer, paint-stripper and car fuel).

Mmm, delicious.

My main reason for drinking at home was the suppression of my anxious thoughts. I wanted to get through crazy hour and not have to face the fact that I wasn’t living my best life. I didn’t think I had the stamina or courage to face it for real. ‘Wine is helping me’, I reasoned, ‘I just need to drink less of it.’ What I didn’t realise was that alcohol makes anxiety worse – rewiring the brain to become more afraid and less resilient to trauma.

I learned about the stats for breast cancer and liver disease and had to face the sobering reality that if I continued along this path, I was sacrificing my health and longevity of life for half an hour of elevated mood in the evenings.

I still wasn’t ready to stop drinking, but I was going to give it a good go. I would try 100 days without alcohol, starting on 30 December 2018. It was a little daunting, but I needed to do it to prove to myself that I was different. I wasn’t really addicted to alcohol, I could control it and still get to have my fun too.

It was great at first. We left for a whirlwind trip to Byron with my extended family on New Year’s Day and I managed to enjoy the experience of celebrating without alcohol. There was so much going on and the culture in my family wasn’t booze-dependent, so it didn’t feel as if I was really missing out.

Then Hudson got gastro.

We were leaving for a four day trip to Tamborine Mountain and he was gagging every few minutes in the backseat. My anxiety began to spike and that nice ‘holiday’ feeling I had suddenly vanished. By the time we finished the two hour drive north, I had convinced myself that seven days without alcohol was more than enough. We dropped by the supermarket to pick up dinner supplies, and I walked with Hudson over to the liquor store. We were meters away when he suddenly cried out. ‘I need to go to the toilet!’ But it was too late. The stomach bug had travelled downwards and the stench was unmistakable.

There would be no wine tonight.

I was distraught. I need this! I can’t cope without it! Dave hauled a couple of the kids back into the car to do an emergency wine run while I grumpily banged pots and pans around the cottage’s quaint kitchen. In the midst of the chaos, I did have one qualifier. I would only drink half a bottle a night. My pours had been creeping upwards recently and I noticed my tolerance to the substance was increasing. Getting to that blissful buzz state was more difficult now. When Dave finally returned and we sat down to our butter chicken and rice, I felt the pinot noir slide down my throat and I waited for the numbness to take over.

Our time in that house on the hill is fixed in my mind as a mix of adventure and complete internal chaos. The days we spent exploring, and the nights I went through the motions, despising myself for being so weak, but not sure how I was ever going to manage life without this crucial element. On the third day, Dave took Eli out for a special rock-climbing experience and I had to look after the other three. In my chaotic state, I resented this. ‘Why does he get to have all the fun?‘ I hated being left behind. We scoured the shelves for movies and came across The Wizard of Oz. Perfect. I put it on for the kids and began willing the hands of the clock towards 4:30pm.

In the end, I couldn’t wait.

I was restless and annoyed. 4pm would have to do. I got up and poured the biggest glass I could find. It was like medicine now – just had to get through the first bit so it could really kick in. In the background, Dorothy sang of the yellow brick road, and I stared into the golden glass of chardonnay hoping that it would take me somewhere else entirely.

I was drunk by the time Dave got back.

Years of experience meant that I was able to hide it until after the kids had gone to bed. I knew how to do this – focus intently on the actions of washing up, carefully lower that plate into the dishwasher. Sometimes I felt like I was more effective when I had been drinking because all of the noise in my head had blissfully disappeared and I was able to just focus on the task at hand. It was after I reacted more than a little emotionally to something Dave said that he looked quizzically at me.

‘How much did you drink tonight?’ 

The question shattered me and I broke down. The worst part was that it wasn’t even working! The re-education I had undergone with the Sober School had added another layer of commentary underneath my usual ‘bliss’ that questioned all my assumptions. I was noticing that my lows were getting lower and feeling as if those highs were almost inaccessible even when I was drinking to excess. Damn Kate and her myth exposure! Now alcohol wasn’t even doing its job!

I poured the rest of the wine down the sink and resolved to try again. After all, it seemed as if I had two paths before me. The one in which I keep increasing that daily hit and hope against hope that I could forget all the truth I had learned. Or I could give it up altogether.

Both options terrified me.

We touched down in Melbourne and I was filled with resolve again. I would do another break and try again. Life was going to be different. I can control this. I can! I managed to stay away from wine for the rest of the holidays. I was quite proud of myself. It was actually getting easier.

Then Dave went back to school.

I found the transition absolutely overwhelming and, having established no other real coping mechanisms, went straight back to the bottle. It was the end of January and I figured I had really failed this time. I was just counting down the days until my next drink anyway, it wasn’t as if I was actually changing anything in my mindset or figuring out how to support myself.

Then somehow I came across ‘Mrs D is Going Without’ and the subtitle lured me in. ‘I used to be a boozy housewife. Now I’m not. This is my story.’ Hmm. Interesting. I read it straight away. I raised my eyebrows sceptically when she talked about how she wouldn’t drink alcohol now if someone paid her. How does one even get to that place? I wondered.

But, along the way of learning about her messy (and oh so familiar) journey, something gradually began to shift. I wasn’t quite at the point she was, but I could see my path laid out before me. Like a glimpse into the future I was inevitably choosing if I kept going.

Or, I could do the unthinkable and actually quit alcohol altogether. Forever.

It seemed completely unattainable. I wasn’t ready yet.

I filed away the possibility for later.

Then this happened.

…

I hope you are enjoying this sobriety series which I’ve created in order to celebrate one year of being sober! If you have missed the previous instalments in this series, you can find part one (One Year On: The Moment that Changed Everything) and part two (When the Universe Has Other Ideas) at the links.