On July 8th 2023, I will have been sober for 6 years.  This is not a milestone I ever thought would be an important one for me.  I was never a “low bottom” drunk.  I didn’t lose my job, my house, my family over alcohol.  I didn’t drink in the morning (except maybe in college but we had been up all night….so it doesn’t count, right?).  I never drank a fifth of liquor in one sitting. Although, there was a memorable 19th birthday bonfire where I drank at least half of a Jack Daniels bottle but that and the chewing tobacco came right back up somewhere in the woods of New Hampshire.  Jack Daniels didn’t pass my lips for at least a decade. The issue was that my lessons from alcohol were always fleeting and there was always some occasion where it seemed an imperative that I have a glass, a bottle or shot of whatever. 

I began drinking as a teenager.  I’m guessing fifteen. I remember my parents having bridge parties at our house, complete with whiskey sours that I’d grab a taste of. They had a sweet tangy flavor with a slight throat burn.  There was always my mother’s dry sherry in the refrigerator or beer stacked on the wall of our basement staircase. My father was never a big drinker and rarely drank except on special occasions.  I can remember my mother reclining in the family room La-Z-boy with a cigarette and a glass of sherry after working all day, and after preparing the family meal.  I thought it was all the great reward for getting through the day.  Kick back, light up and numb out to some sherry. My friends and I would pilfer beers from each other’s houses and sit outside drinking a can or bottle of whatever we might scrounge. I don’t remember being drunk, at least not in the beginning. 

By the time I went to college in upstate New York, I found that drinking helped me numb out my feelings of inadequacy.  My two older brothers were straight A students and athletes as well.  I always suffered from a recessed chin even after braces and head gear for 3 years. I always thought that contacts and my braces being removed would magically make me beautiful. It didn’t.  At least in my eyes. Teasing in high school was merciless and I can only thank God that at least I didn’t ride a bus but walked to school each day.  There was this horrible ritual of guys standing at the entrance of the cafeteria holding up numbers (remember Bo Derek and “10”?). There was nothing more painful than walking into that cafeteria and hoping they didn’t notice me to assign a dreaded number.  

I remember freshman year at Cornell in isolated upstate New York.  The drinking age was 18 at the time which wasn’t helpful.  Going to the Thirsty Bear which was an on-campus bar a short 200 yards from my freshman dorm room made drinking so convenient. I worked at an on-campus restaurant called “Noyes Lodge” (aka Pancake House) and the crew that worked there became lifelong friends as well as drinking buddies. We created a group called the PHD’s or Pancake House Drunks.  We went drinking every Thursday night, complete with white lab coats and only went to bars that had tables big enough for our group (some nights up to 30 people), beer by the pitcher and Mack the Knife on the jukebox. We had countless drinking games.  Instead of drinking to numb out, I drank to have fun.

My first job out of college (yes, I even graduated), was in Midtown Manhattan.  I remember initially feeling incredibly lonely on the 11th floor of the Hotel Lucerne on 77th street. It was summer and no air-conditioning and I didn’t know a soul. I worked at the west side location of the catering company but once they moved me to manage the east side location, I fell into a group of actors, dancers and musicians.  We spent Monday mornings reviewing where we had brunched the previous day and who had the best Bloody Mary’s and which bar had the best happy hour.  Alcohol was now a revered art. 

My first husband and I moved to San Francisco where, as always in the restaurant business, everything was permeated with alcohol.  I was a cocktail waitress at the San Francisco Airport and there were bartenders who would pour Kahlua into my coffee on the day shift. I didn’t object. Eventually I was a restaurant manager for a Sizzler franchise in Sonoma County and I’d always pour a glass of wine or two at the end of the night to take the edge off and relax.  By now alcohol was a way to try and get to sleep after a twelve- or thirteen-hour shift. There were only two times that I was sober for an extended period of time, when I was pregnant with my two kids.  It’s remarkable because, I was concerned about their health and welfare but not my own.  Within a few months of giving birth, I would be having that crisp Chardonnay at the end of the day.

Eventually, I divorced and changed careers to Human Resources.  You would think that getting out of the alcohol centered hospitality business would help me reduce my two glass of wine drinking habit.  I remember my first mass layoff of some 40 manufacturing workers.  The stress of taking someone’s livelihood from folks who were mostly immigrants was devastating. I remember thinking that the owners should pay for the case of Chardonnay that it was going to take to get me past the nightmares. Alcohol was now my eraser.  

I moved back to the east coast with my second husband and my two kids about 20 years ago.  We lived in a lovely lakeside home that was walking distance to the country club. Pretty soon the bartender knew my name and which Chardonnay I wanted.  We took up golfing and an enormous Styrofoam cup filled to the brim with Gin and Tonic was a great way to float through the afternoon. When my second husband started working for a distillery, I realized that my drinking habit now had an endless supply of gin and whiskey.  All our friends were based around the distillery and brewery. It was nothing to drink several stiff glasses of gin and I remember rarely making it past 8 PM without falling asleep on the couch.  I can remember saying to my husband that we were drinking too much.  In retrospect, what was he going to do? He loved his work, his product and his friends, you can’t distill gin without tasting it. Hurricane Matthew didn’t help when our house was flooded by that beautiful lake.  During the stress of living in a temporary situation, the stress of the remodel of the house and the ever present demon alcohol which was always plentiful;  he left.  I fell into a deep bucket of Chardonnay.  Within two months, I realized that I needed a reengineering of my life and that sobriety was the only choice. 

I couldn’t have done it without my dear friend Sandy mentioning a book on my 56th birthday.  The 30-Day Sobriety Challenge.  I took my last drink 10 days later.  Another great book is Quit Like a Woman.  I’m so grateful for not being dependent on a substance to take the edge off. I’ve learned to embrace being truly present for each moment.  Nothing is hazy anymore. I’m so much better at rolling with the punches and feeling through the pain and joy of each and every moment. It was one of the best decisions I’ve ever made.