How Much of Our Lives Are We Giving to Alcohol?

I've been wanting to write about alcohol for a while, but I've hesitated because I don't want this to sound preachy.

I'm not here to tell anyone they shouldn't drink. I'm not here to label anyone's drinking or tell you that having a few drinks means you have a problem.

But I've seen alcohol destroy too many lives. I've seen relationships damaged by it. Families affected by it. And I've lost people because of it.

I've also had my own complicated relationship with alcohol.

So I feel like I need to talk about it.

Not necessarily about alcoholism.

About awareness.

Because alcohol is so incredibly normalized that sometimes I wonder if we ever stop to think about how much of our lives we're actually giving to it.

How Many "I'm Never Drinking Again" Days Have You Had?

If you've ever questioned your drinking, you probably know this day.

You wake up hungover.

Your head hurts. You're exhausted. You're anxious. Maybe you're trying to remember everything you said the night before.

You feel like absolute garbage and think:

I'm never drinking again.

And you mean it.

At least in that moment.

You waste most of the day on the couch. You order food. You cancel whatever you were supposed to do. Maybe you feel better by that evening. Definitely by the next day.

And eventually the memory of how awful you felt fades.

Then another weekend comes.

Another dinner.

Another party.

Another stressful day.

And you drink again.

Until eventually there's another:

I'm never drinking again.

I had plenty of those days.

But here's what I didn't realize at the time:

Those days were adding up.

One hungover Sunday doesn't seem like a big deal.

But add up all of them.

Then add the nights you don't completely remember.

The mornings you woke up anxious.

The plans you canceled.

The days you weren't fully present with your kids or the people you love.

The conversations you had but barely remember.

The hours spent recovering.

The things you might have done if you had felt good that day.

At some point I had to wonder:

How much of my actual life had I spent either drinking, recovering from drinking, thinking about drinking, or regretting drinking?

That's uncomfortable for me to think about.

Because we don't get those days back.

Drinking Is So Normal We Rarely Question It

Our culture connects alcohol to almost everything.

Weddings. Vacations. Football games. Concerts. Date nights. Girls' nights. Holidays.

Good day? Let's have a drink.

Bad day? You need a drink.

Celebrating? Champagne.

Stressed? Wine.

Going out? Drinks.

It's actually interesting that you can go to a bar and order several drinks and nobody asks why you're drinking.

But order a Diet Coke and suddenly:

"You're not drinking?"

"Why?"

"Come on, have one!"

I don't think people mean anything bad by it.

That's actually my point.

We've normalized alcohol so much that sometimes not drinking requires more explanation than drinking does.

And when something becomes that normal, it's really easy to stop consciously choosing it.

We just do what we do.

But Why Do We Drink?

This is where I think things get interesting.

Maybe you genuinely enjoy having a drink occasionally.

Okay.

But what about when we say:

"I need a drink to relax."

"I'm way more social after a couple drinks."

"I need something to take the edge off."

I've been there.

Alcohol really can make you feel more relaxed temporarily. It changes activity in brain systems involved in inhibition, anxiety and stress. That's why you may become less self-conscious, more talkative and less worried about what everyone thinks.

But temporarily turning down anxiety isn't the same thing as actually learning how to regulate it.

And that made me start asking different questions.

If I need alcohol to feel comfortable in a room... why am I uncomfortable?

Am I afraid people won't like me?

Am I afraid I'll be awkward?

Am I worried about being judged?

Do I actually feel safe with these people?

Where did that fear come from?

Alcohol can make those feelings quieter for a few hours.

But it can't answer those questions for us.

What Are We Making Easier?

Maybe that's the question I've become most interested in.

What am I using alcohol to make easier?

Socializing?

Stress?

Loneliness?

Grief?

Anxiety?

Boredom?

Being vulnerable?

Being myself?

There's no shame in the answer.

But I think there's tremendous value in knowing it.

Because if every uncomfortable feeling immediately becomes something we need to escape, numb or make easier, we never get the opportunity to learn:

I can actually handle this feeling.

I can be uncomfortable at a party.

I can survive a terrible day.

I can grieve.

I can feel anxious.

I can be bored.

I can sit with myself.

And the feeling will eventually change.

What If We Lived More Intentionally?

This is bigger than alcohol for me now.

I look back at certain periods of my life and realize how unconsciously I was living.

Not because I was drinking every second.

I wasn't.

But there was a cycle.

Drink.

Recover.

Feel guilty.

Say I wasn't going to do it again.

Feel better.

Forget.

Repeat.

And when you compile enough of those days together... that's your life.

That's the part that gets me.

We think about our lives in years.

But we're actually living them in ordinary Tuesdays and Saturdays and Sunday mornings.

Those days count.

And I don't want to casually give mine away anymore.

I want to be here for them.

Even the uncomfortable ones.

That's what intentional living means to me.

Not being perfect.

Just being awake enough to ask: Why am I doing this? Is this something I actually want? Or is this just what I've always done?

What Happened When I Finally Stopped

December 25, 2020 was the last time I drank alcohol.

I wish I could say I immediately knew exactly what I was doing.

I didn't.

I just started.

Sometimes it was one day at a time.

Sometimes one hour.

Sometimes it was simply deciding: I'm not drinking right now.

Because my mind and body had to learn that I didn't need alcohol to make everything easier.

And slowly, I started collecting different kinds of days.

Days I remembered.

Mornings I felt good.

Events I experienced completely sober.

Hard conversations I actually worked through.

Grief I actually felt.

Anxiety I learned to sit with.

Memories I was completely present for.

My life isn't perfect now.

I still get anxious. I still have bad days. I still get overwhelmed. I still have things I'm working through.

But I'm here for my life now.

That's probably the biggest difference.

If You've Ever Wondered About Your Own Drinking...

You don't have to call yourself an alcoholic.

You don't have to decide you'll never drink again.

You don't have to wait until alcohol takes something enormous from you before you're allowed to question what it's already taking.

Just get curious.

How do I feel after I drink?

How often do I lose the next day?

Do I use alcohol to make certain feelings easier?

Could I enjoy this event without drinking?

Do I like who I am when I drink?

Is alcohol adding something to my life, or quietly taking something from it?

Only you can answer that.

But if you've already had a few of those "I'm never drinking again" mornings...

maybe there's a reason some part of you keeps asking the question.

Listen to it.

I eventually did.

And stopping drinking is one of the best decisions I've ever made.

That's part of why I feel compelled to talk about it now.

I've seen what alcohol can take.

I've watched it hurt people I love.

I've watched lives be changed and lives be lost.

And I know how easily we can convince ourselves that everything is fine because what we're doing looks completely normal.

So this isn't judgment.

It's an invitation to pay attention.

Because those days add up.

And they become months.

Then years.

And ultimately... they become our life.

I want to live mine intentionally.

I want to remember it.

I want to be present for it.

And if you've been thinking about changing your relationship with alcohol and don't know where to start, you're not alone! I'm here.

With love, always,

Michele