Why mummy gave up drinking

Day 182. I am officially six months sober. I had fully expected to be celebrating this week with a fancy dinner and relaxing spa weekend – what I got was a eulogy and newfound singledom. Oh Lord. I’ll explain shortly. It’s been a long week to say the least, and I certainly wouldn’t wish it on anyone, but what I can tell you is that how I have dealt with the difficulties of the past seven days is a far cry from how I would have dealt with them has I still been drinking. I’ve learned that after six months of being alcohol free, I’ve not only gained sobriety, but I’ve also discovered self-respect, self-worth and the importance of living authentically. I no longer try to silence the voice in my head with wine – instead I’m listening to it – and when you live truthfully, you no longer need to hide from or numb out the negative emotions.

If you’ve read my previous blogs, you’ll know that I’ve been dating an Italian man for the past year and my relationship has been pretty close to perfect – or at least it has on a surface level. We never argue, we have lots in common and there is a crazy physical attraction there, but this week has tested our relationship and sadly, it failed epically. I left the Italian a few days ago and whilst I feel sad and disappointed, I’ve not reached the epic lows of hungover depressive misery. I’m doing ok. I made the right decision. A decision I know for certain that I wouldn’t have made, if I was still smashing through bottles of Pinot.

It all started a month ago when I asked my partner for a big favour. It’s actually the first favour I’ve asked for in the year we have been together. On a weekend where he was due to have his children, I asked him to get a baby-sitter arranged for the day so he could be with me. I wouldn’t have asked unless it was something important – and it really was. On December 23^rd last year, my dear friend of 20 years, Sara-Michelle, was shot and killed in a case of mistaken identity. She was just 40 years old and left behind her husband and beautiful 3 year old little girl, Avery. I’m not sure if it will ever truly sink in, but the loss of my beautiful friend is chasmic. She was a true force of nature, and I could easily write my next 10 blogs with content just on how wonderful and life-changing this woman was for me.

I was recently contacted by Sara’s dad, and he asked me to speak at her memorial. I really didn’t want to do this, not because I didn’t want to talk about her, but because I really didn’t think I could hold it together in front of a room full of her friends and family. I agreed to speak but I knew I would need support, so I asked my partner to be there, to drive to the synagogue and to hold my hand. His reaction made me nervous. He said he would ‘try’ to organise a baby-sitter and he couldn’t confirm yet. I couldn’t understand how anyone would need to ‘try’ to get a sitter with one month notice. In my gut, I felt that he wouldn’t be there on the day; the tone of his voice and the words he used made me feel uneasy. I knew something was off.

I spoke to my dad and my friends about the conversation I had with the Italian, and they all assured me that my nervousness was in my head, and as long as I made it clear to him how important this day was to me, he would be there. So, I carried on as normal and we enjoyed each other’s company like always. The week of the funeral I asked the Italian if he had sorted out childcare. He replied ‘not yet.’ It was evident in his nonchalance that he had no intention of arranging this at all. It was only a few days away. He didn’t clarify this comment and I was too scared to ask why I was so unimportant to him.

I felt destroyed. How could this man, who claimed to love me, not feel the need to support me? I’d run to him at 3am if he needed me. I was so sure we would stay together and that he truly cared about me. I thought about this non-stop for an entire day and decided that if he couldn’t support me when it was most important – I couldn’t be with him. When I talked to my friends, they naturally offered to drop everything to be at the memorial. I’ve very lucky to have an amazing tribe of women around me who love fiercely. Of course, it was my partner that I really needed there – but just the offers to find last minute child-care to be by my side, I’ll forever be grateful for.

For two days there was no contact from the Italian, and then a couple of days before the memorial, he contacted me to say I was right, he was sorry and that he would sort out childcare so he could attend. I was relieved, but still sore that he hadn’t arranged this of his own accord, and it really made me question how he felt about me.

On the same day, I got a call from Alfie’s (my 5 year old son) school saying he ‘had run into a brick wall, smashed his head, and had an injury worthy of a trip to hospital.’ I frantically drove to school, saw an ambulance driving in on blue lights, and my blood ran cold. As I sprinted to Alfie’s class there were teachers running towards me, shouting not to panic as the ambulance was for another child. Honestly, you couldn’t write it. Alfie emerged with an ice-pack on his head, a bemused look on his face and said ‘mummy, look at all the blood! I ruined my shirt! I was playing Pac Man and I was chased.’

‘Didn’t you see the wall baby?’

‘No! How could I when I was looking backwards at who was chasing me?! Silly mummy.’ Mmmmm.

Thank God. He was fine. Boys! I need my own loyalty card for A & E I think. I’d definitely be at the free gift stage by now. I rushed Alfie off to hospital to get the hole in his head glued back together and called the Italian.

I don’t remember much of the conversation we had. I just remember that I told him I hadn’t yet found anyone to collect my eldest son from school yet and he didn’t offer to come and be with me to help. This was the second occasion in one week where he let me down, and I started to feel an impending sense of doom. Does this man actually love me at all? I buried my feelings and focussed on distracting Alfie with promises of cake and ice-cream (‘yes of course that will fix your head darling!’) and then I started to write the eulogy.

On the day of the memorial, I gave my speech. I managed to get the whole thing out until the last few lines when I broke down in front of a crowd of people. I was grateful the Italian was stood next to me, for what was an extremely painful day. I held onto Sara’s mum and we cried together, bonded in the loss of our dear person. Friends and family exchanged words of comfort and we told many stories about this amazing woman who was so cruelly taken from this world.

The Italian and I left the memorial – then everything changed. On the way home, he was standoffish, cold, unfriendly and very stressed about getting back on time to the babysitter – despite her saying it was fine if we ran late. I couldn’t understand it. He had never been anything other than super positive and loving. What I did understand, very clearly, is that I felt guilty. Guilt for asking him to be there. It clearly wasn’t what he wanted to do – and he was making damn sure I knew it.

The next few days, the fear in my head was confirmed. My partner was cold. No messages of support. No messages of ‘I love you’. Promises he would call and then not bothering. Finally, I started to listen to the voice in my head. The one telling me I was being punished for making him do something he didn’t want to do. I didn’t want to listen to myself. Who wants to believe that they are unloved? If I listened to myself, it only meant one thing – I had to end it. I’d invested a year of time with this man – who I loved deeply. I didn’t want to believe that he didn’t really love me – but now I’m sober, I’m not squashing those negative emotions. And I couldn’t ignore them. They were too loud.

I told my partner I was done. His response? Telling me that I clearly wanted different things to him, and a message saying ‘I obviously don’t love you enough. That’s the only explanation.’ Wow. That is some sucker punch right there. This is really not my week – but it has highlighted something so significant to me that I’d like to share with you. On the day I asked the Italian to be there for me, I knew that there was a problem. I knew the truth. I just didn’t want to believe it. I lied to myself.

It got me thinking about truth, authenticity and how our emotions are there for a very good reason – they are a warning. A bit like an internal fire alarm. Our emotions tell us when we’re in the danger zone. I knew in the pit of my stomach that he didn’t want to support me on that day – my emotions told me so and in my past near forty years on this planet, I’ve never known my gut to be wrong. When we drink alcohol, we anesthetise our emotions. We block out the painful thoughts because we don’t want to know or feel the truth – because often, it’s bloody unpleasant. In the words of Carrie Bradshaw, ‘I couldn’t help but wonder’ if I’d been avoiding the truth in all of my relationships. And I had. Every. Single. One.

For my entire relationship with the Italian, I’d tried so bloody hard to be perfect. I didn’t nag. I didn’t expect anything. I gave him total space and freedom to be who he was. I always looked my best, I cooked for him, I ‘put out’ (a lot!), complimented him and pretty much went along with whatever he wanted to do. I lost my voice trying to be perfect – at my expense. I wasn’t honest with myself. A couple of months ago the Italian told me that he had booked a three-week holiday with his children. He chose dates that meant he would be away for my 40^th birthday this July. I was really hurt that he didn’t ask if that was ok – of course I would have said it was fine, but to not be considered was upsetting. But I didn’t tell him this! Why? Because bringing it up would have made me less than perfect – I’d be the nag – I wouldn’t be the ‘awesome chilled out girlfriend’ that he described to his friends. He might even leave me. I didn’t want to be alone again. So, I hid the truth and stayed silent, desperate to still be ‘cool’ girl.

When we aren’t truthful with ourselves, when we don’t listen to that internal voice saying ‘not this’ (Thank you Glennon Doyle – Untamed – for the use of this phrase), we steal from our future. We aren’t authentic. We live for other people. How many of you do this? How many of you go along with the flow of the group? Say ‘yes’ when you really mean ‘no’? Go out with people you don’t even really like, just for fear of being viewed as anti-social? Deny your own happiness to ensure someone else gets theirs? Put up with being treated terribly, because you’d rather have the certainty of misery than take the risk of changing the status quo to get someone who actually deserves you?  

Now I am sober, I am finally starting to see my self-worth. I cannot be with a man who doesn’t support me when it counts – even if that means spending some time feeling lonely. The more I think about it, I’ve never spent any length of time single. I stayed in a 10 year marriage I was unhappy in. I had no attraction to my ex-husband. So rather than listening to myself, I drank. I drank to block out the thoughts that said, ‘if you change things, your life could be better.’ I blocked out the voice that said ‘not this’. I stayed in misery for fear of listening to those warning signals. My emotions have always held the answers. I just chose to ignore them, and drinking alcohol was a huge part of this.

I once told a therapist that I was severely anxious, but that I had no idea why. He responded ‘ A lot of clients tell me this, but actually, finding the answer is really easy. What do you think about, more than anything else?’ The answer at the time was obvious, my failing marriage. I just wasn’t ready to leave, be single, and break up our family unit – so I drank. And I stayed. And I squashed that nagging internal voice in my head. Now, I can’t silence that voice. Now I’m sober, that voice gets louder and louder until it’s screaming at me to make better choices. Right now, that voice is telling me no to go back on dating sites. It’s telling me focus on what I really want, which right now, is to work on my business to help mum’s get sober. I need time on my own to work out what and who it is that I really need.

The next time you feel like picking up a glass ask yourself the question ‘what is this really about?’ Yes, some of it could be physical addiction, some of it could be triggers, but I guarantee, there is a reason why you’re blocking out your emotions and you don’t want to feel them – you’re trying to block out the truth. Try listening to yourself. Really listening. Feel the uncomfortable emotion and ask yourself what your natural warning system is telling you. Alcohol stops you facing the truth. Quitting allows you to lift the smoke screen and make better decisions. I’ve felt quite low and generally sad this week, but I’ve learned that I’ve got more self-respect for myself now, and I’d rather be alone than be in a relationship and still feel lonely. I’d rather listen to and feel my emotions than live for someone else and shut them out.

And to the Italian, if he ever decides to stalk my blogs – go fuck yourself. (I said I was learning to listen to myself and grow, I didn’t say I’d matured!)

This blog is dedicated to my dear friend Sara-Michelle, the most authentic, truthful woman I knew and who would never put up with shit from a man, I will miss you forever. See you on the other side darling. Say ‘hi’ to my mum for me.

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