Today’s blog entry is from Jamie Riel. Jamie is a member of Café RE Blue.
Hope Rising: The First 30 Days of Sobriety
By: Jamie Riel
The first thirty days of sobriety began where the fifty years of drinking left off. It’s not my first attempt at being sober—far from it! There had been many first days and several short stints with sobriety, but the myth of moderation was powerful – a relentless false god. Of course I can control it. Of course I can drink responsibly.
Of course, I couldn’t.
The last binge began shortly after my wife left for an overnight visit for a baby shower. My moderation plan listed 2 drinks. In retrospect, a 2-drink limit on an overnight alone is downright cute. A sober joke. I mean, I’m staring at hours of blissful alone time. I put up a front of confident self-restraint all morning, even as the tiny voice inside laughs and knows what is to come. By midnight, the counter is littered with empty beer cans, scotch nips, a pinot grigio bottle. Shame rushes in. The self-loathing of failure. The lie is revealed again.
It is time. I haven’t reached bottom because I know I can go deeper and I sense how ugly that would be. This is as deep into the ugly that I dare go!
There is nothing fun about these first 30 days. I constantly vacillate between rising hope, ecstatic relief, and naked fear. Though I am certain sobriety is the right decision, a driving inner force screams there is no way in hell I am going to do this.
Emotions flitter in and out like backyard birds to the feeder.
This is the most surprising element in these first days. I have used alcohol for decades to mask or manipulate my emotions. Now, with the booze gone, they appear at unpredictable times, and engulf me. At times I am overwhelmed with feeling vulnerable. Fragile. Untethered. But, I strive to be more mindful and eventually can watch my emotions pass as clouds in the sky, rather than as storms I need to shelter from or trudge through.
Fear sits on my shoulder every moment, sometimes just quietly resting, sometimes whispering in my ear, sometimes screaming! Fear of drinking again. Fear of not drinking again. Fear that I am actually going to do this! Fear that I can’t! I keep going.
Regret visits me more and more.
The realization that I took my first drink 50 years ago is staggering. The poor decisions I made, the people I hurt, the self-loathing I nurtured that dragged me down during those many years. The time and energy and opportunities squandered. The money wasted. What have I done? Pushing down the regret is like trying to keep water from overflowing from a bucket with my hands.
But there is much relief in letting go of my near constant obsession with planning the drinking day, letting go of the constant schemes of keeping the drinking evidence hidden, the determination to keep the buzz under control. Relief in no more nursing hangovers so I can feel good enough to drink again in the evening. The mornings become heavenly.
I burn ships.
I tell people that I am no longer drinking, but that is not the hard part. The challenge is in sharing the why, and though I don’t need to share that with everyone, I do need to share it with those closest to me. I know it keeps me accountable, that there is now no going back without people noticing. I fear that when I tell them, they will be disgusted with me. They are not. They ask how they can help. They say they admire my decision. My hope rises.
I tell them I am not drinking because I can’t. For me, moderation is a myth. One, two, three drinks is simply never enough. I share that I have been drinking for decades and that it has always been an integral part of my life. I tell them I binge when I am alone:
“Ah, yes, I see,” they say. “I never knew.”
“I know,” I respond. “You weren’t supposed to.”
“Ah,” they say quietly. They smile.
I don’t.
Joy and shame walk this new path hand in hand. There is joy in the realization that I won’t be lying about my drinking anymore, and shame in the amount of lying I have done. The shame is as bright as a desert sun in June, and though I shelter from its powerful heat, it is always there. I realize the impact of adopting honesty with myself and others is a magnificent gift of sobriety, and the fact that I am forgiven for the lies by those who love me is a gift beyond measure. It helps dilute the shame. I begin to forgive myself.
Sobriety is my priority.
I visit the Café RE platform several times a day, attending chats and sharing – though it is scary as hell. The support of these people is amazing! I am not alone. I listen to RE podcasts for the stories of others – “look for the similarities” – and there are many. I read “Quit Lit.” I create and listen to a sobriety playlist.
I develop a Relapse Prevention Plan which proves to be so important. Pushes me to put into words the naked truth about me as a drinker. I read it every 10 days or so as a reminder. I tweak it to make it a truer reflection of my present place and purpose. I share it with my sobriety team. They say they are honored to be there for me. My hope rises.
I talk to my wife every day about how I am doing. Share the darkest secrets. Explain what addiction feels like until she finally realizes that she will never fully understand, and that seems to free her to love and support me even more. I realize how much my actions have hurt her. She has been waiting for the true me for a long time. Maybe our love will grow stronger. My hope rises.
I fight cravings with focus.
Sometimes I write. Sometimes, physical activity like walks and hikes. Work on our land. Listening to podcasts and music. I align the activity with the force of the craving. Deep desires to drink require hikes on forest trails or chopping firewood. The witching hours of 4:00 – 7:00 are never left to chance. RE podcasts, chores, physical and/or mental exertion and focus.
I always loved the ritual of drinking. Creating mocktails in elegant glasses has redefined the ritual and does not trigger me, but rather adds a comfort to my palate and mind. An NA IPA at “beer-o’clock,” an old ritual redesigned for a new life. A dealcoholized cabernet with several splashes of non-alcoholic bitters give it the oaky-edge on the palate. Spritzers of all kinds.
I embrace mindfulness meditation and return to writing to revisit and restore my inner self. I begin building a new life that has no room for alcohol.
I believe that giving up alcohol is not a burden to live with for the rest of my life, but an opportunity to live my life more fully. This focus is my mantra.
I am living under no illusion. Things are getting easier, but the cliff to that ugly bottom is never far away. At this writing I am 60 days in. Sobriety remains a major focus. It will continue to be. It must be. As long as it is, hope rises in me every day.
