Tag: addiction

Can We Have a Relationship with Alcohol?

Posted on by Lisa

Relationships are important. So important, in fact, that there’s a fascinating TED talk by Susan Pinker, called “The Secret to Living Longer May be Your Social Life” (2017), explaining just how important relationships are to the longevity of life itself.

Pinker set out to determine the most important factors for living a longer life. Her research took her to an island off the coast of Italy where, compared to the rest of mainland Italy, a larger percentage of its population lives to 100+ years old. Initially, she conjectured that diet, fitness level, and genetype would rank highest in determining why these people lived so much longer. Her conclusions were so surprising, they inspired a TED Talk.

Drum roll, please. . .

Our relationships help determine how long we live.

Pinker found that relationships are the most important determiner for living a long life.   This talk about relationships made me reflect on my own, especially the one I had with alcohol. I had first heard this concept years ago in marriage counseling. The therapist referred to “my relationship with alcohol.”  This was new to me, and I remember being somewhat offended.  

A relationship with alcohol? That was stupid. You couldn’t have a relationship with a substance. I pushed back inside, I don’t know why. It sounded too immature, and intimate, too serious and committed. I wouldn’t even consider it. That would be giving alcohol far more importance than I believed it held for me.

A relationship with alcohol? That’s stupid!

Fast forward to now, and if you’ve read anything of mine, you’ll now know I’ve changed my tune – and how!  I did indeed have a relationship with alcohol. It was long, sordid, and abusive. That relationship was really difficult to end, but it did serve a purpose, and it took a long time for me to see it.

The benefits of some relationships are obvious; some not so much.

So, How do you define relationships?

That’s where I started, and it was more difficult to do than I had anticipated. There are so many more categories of relationships than I realized.

Some relationships we choose – like partners and friends; some we do not – like relatives and employers.

Some we see daily, for hours — like family members, co-workers, and partners; some, only occasionally or much less – like members of teams, friends, or neighbors. See? It gets complicated doesn’t it?   

Relationship defined.

I started by examining some positive relationships I have with people, to narrow down what’s important to me. I came up with things like:

  • Someone I know/am associated with; and/or
  • I spend time with them, and I look forward to being with them; and/or
  • Get something from them or they get something from me

Can you have a relationship with inanimate objects?

Because so many of these begin with “someone” the assumption is that it is a person. But could it be a thing? Hmm… 

I put this to the test with some other inanimate objects most of us probably own. A computer, a vehicle, or a home. They all work for this simple test.

Can I apply the statements above to any of these inanimate objects?

And yes, I can. I recognize my computer, car, or home a part from others like it, so I am familiar with it, in particular. I do spend time on my computer, in/around my car or home as well.

It’s obvious what I get from each, and while it’s not overtly stated, these things do require maintenance from me to keep them working. So, relationship defined.

Having determined that I can, indeed, have a relationship with an inanimate object, such as a substance, now what?

Based on the characteristics of relationships I say I value, where does alcohol stand?

Oh man! this is where the rubber hits the road. I almost didn’t want to do this exercise. I almost already knew.

  • Obviously, I’m familiar with it. I even had my favorite variety or brand.
  • And unfortunately, it’s alarming how much time I gave alcohol. Considering all the time spent, it was like a part-time job:
    • Obsessing about it/looking forward to it/planning getting it
    • Logistics acquiring it
    • Consuming it
    • Hiding/protecting it
    • Actually inebriated — awake and passed out
    • Recovering from it
    • Repairing damage as a result of all of the above
    • Dwelling on what had happened/ruminating/thinking/blaming and hating myself
  • Ahh. . . but this one is the kicker: What did I get from it? That’s the magic question; or should I clarify and say the answer to that is magic!

What do I really get from alcohol?

  • It changed the way I felt and was dependable for that, at first;
  • Booze gave me courage/nerve/confidence;
  • It stopped the voices in my head;
  • However, it also made me feel ashamed and weak;
  • Alcohol made me sick often — physically, emotionally,and mentally.

I looked at this and decided that I needed to get to the bottom of a couple of things. First, there’s a lot in here about the way I feel. Read over them: “Changed the way I felt”; “confidence, brave, ashamed, weak, and sick” – all about feelings. Hmm.

We are actually addicted to the way we feel.

Through my research and over my years of life experiences, I’ve come to realize that we do almost everything for the way it makes us feel. If you remember nothing else from this entire site, the big take-away is: EVERYTHING WE DO IS FOR THE WAY WE FEEL. (For emphasis only.) We are basically addicted to our feelings.

When I was drinking heavily, and everyone knew it, if someone asked me why I drank, I never could articulate or understand why, exactly. But after the acceptable answers like, “It helps me relax”, “takes the edge off”, or “I’m addicted to it”; I often just said with obvious puzzlement, “I don’t know. It just makes me feel better.” And for me, that was probably as close to the truth as I could get at the time.

So, now that I knew the primary reason I drank – to feel better or to change my state of mind – I had to figure out where the negative feelings about myself came from. This was the beginning of understanding and change for me.

Maybe it’s not the alcohol at all. Maybe if I could change the way I felt about myself, I wouldn’t need or want alcohol. I mean, without this feeling/belief of not being good enough or okay as I am (in social situations, in intimate situations, or in comparisons, for example) would I even want alcohol?

If you were incapable of experiencing negative feelings about yourself/your life, would you need alcohol?

Ask yourself that question, seriously. As you sit, right here reading, if you were incapable of experiencing negative beliefs about yourself/your life, would you need alcohol?

For just a few seconds, suspend the barrage of thoughts. You are incapable of feeling them.

Aren’t you okay? Right here right now? Really? You are.

The second thing I noticed about this list is that alcohol sucks as a friend, man! I don’t know if you saw the video, but dude, alcohol does not make you a better dancer!

Alcohol lies. And it eventually takes more than it gives.

Likely, it doesn’t make you appear smarter or funnier either. When’s the last time you were impressed or entertained by an obnoxious rambling drunk?

And that boost of confidence? Quickly turned into some seriously poor decision-making for me — recklessness, embarrassment, “drunk mouth”, two DUI’s, a lot of money/time lost, and a world of shame, grief, and regret.

Dependable becomes dependent; and that would be me on it.

And toward the end, alcohol wasn’t very dependable. I required more and more to get even marginal effect. Before I knew it, I was hooked in a terrible drinking cycle that spun out of control for years.

Quitting drinking didn’t mean quitting wanting or needing it.

Aha! And there it is. There is the true problem. Because even after I had quit drinking for an entire year, I realized the need was still there, deep down, and I was afraid it could bite me at any time.

Relapse city for me, until I figured this part out as well. And this is where you’ve found me and this website: smack dab in the middle of the purpose alcohol served in my life. It made me feel better about myself. It changed my state of mind like nothing ever had before, and that’s why giving it up is so hard to do.

But not impossible. It is possible to change this, and I did fairly quickly too. That’s a whole other article though, so keep reading, and I’ll keep explaining.

To wrap this up, Susan Pinker’s research did show that alcohol consumption does effect your life expectancy, for what that’s worth. But it was only the fourth most important factor out of 10, with number 10 — (social engagement) being the most important. Interesting.

When Do You First Feel Alcohol?

Posted on by Lisa

This sounds like a dumb question, but when do you first feel alcohol? When do you feel what  you’re drinking? Back when I was drinking, I’m sure I would have answered this question with: “When I drink, of course.” But is that really when you start to feel a little better?

For me, I often started feeling a little better even before I took the first drink. But how could that be? Isn’t it the alcohol that gives us the good feeling we’re looking for? Maybe. Or maybe not.

In last week’s post, I talked about how putting off drinking used to give me a little bit of a reprieve from the obsession. You can read it here. I also challenged you to “Intentionally Procrastinate” drinking to see if you feel a little relief too.

Procrastination you can be proud of – Procrastinators rejoice!

To recap the story from last week, I described an incident from my past when I put off drinking. I did “secure” the goods, however. That means I decided I was going to drink later, and I even went to the liquor store right away to make sure I had it when I needed it. This week, I’d like to take it a step further.

What I didn’t describe in last week’s post, is how I felt on the way to the liquor store to get my “stash”. And I’m gonna be honest, I feel a little weird about writing this, because it feels so extreme and embarrassing.

Maybe I was simply a really desperate “addict”, but I remember how excited I would often get on the way to the liquor store. How pathetic is that?! I have a hard time admitting this, but I really did. Sometimes, I even felt . . .  giddy. I had a little spring in my step, my thoughts seemed already lighter, and I felt more at ease just knowing I was going to get that magic elixir. I was going to feel better soon.

How do you feel when you know you’re going to drink?

Have you ever felt that way?  I used to think to myself, Man, how pathetic am I that just going to the liquor store would make me happier? (Ya gotta know I wasn’t thinking then about writing articles and posting them for all to see. No sir, I was keeping that desperation undercover.)

But now I’m thinking that maybe we need to explore it a little, and maybe it’s something we can work with in sobriety.

So back to my original question: when do you feel the alcohol you drink? Maybe you aren’t even aware that your mood is changing before you even start drinking. It’s worth looking into, don’t you think? Especially if drinking is a problem for you like it was for me.

My take, from a physiological standpoint:

Dopamine is one of the brain chemicals responsible for craving alcohol. It causes obsessive thoughts and uncomfortable restlessness, among other symptoms, until – and this is very important – you secure the alcohol. 

Obsessive thoughts and restlessness are so hard to ignore, because dopamine has a really strong motivation component, which urges us to take physical action or movement. In fact, dopamine imbalances cause the physical tremors and/or uncontrollable movement in patients with Parkinson’s Disease and Tourette’s syndrome. (“What Is Dopamine And How Does It Affect The Brain And The Body?” written by Sarah Fader, May 2019, BetterHelp.com)

What does this have to do with alcoholism? you may be wondering. A lot. Dopamine is behind the obsessive drive to get alcohol, so the acquisition of it actually relieves your symptoms. Dopamine is your brain’s way of urging you to physically go get booze. It’s behind the fidgeting and ill-at-ease feelings we have when we want to drink. Therefore, those symptoms are somewhat alleviated by “securing” our beverage of choice.

In fact, we now know that dopamine is as much about the motivation — the getting of alcohol — as it is about the pleasure of drinking it. Surprising as it may sound, dopamine is motivating you to go get alcohol possibly more than it is urging you to drink it.

And you can learn this by paying really close attention and comparing how you feel before and after you “secure” your liquor.

I started feeling better even before I start drinking, so it’s not only the alcohol that makes us feel better.

Dopamine is the reason for the giddiness, excitement, dare I even say euphoria (?), on the way to the liquor store (or on the way to the refrigerator, or on the way home where you plan to be drinking, or while the bartender is making your drink, etc.)

Think about it. If you’re like me, and you start feeling significantly better while “securing” alcohol, that feeling isn’t coming from the alcohol because you haven’t even started drinking it yet! It’s coming from your brain; it’s coming from you. And that’s the big take away of this article.

Try this simple experiment.

Okay, so this realization may not stop you dead in your tracks and make you never want to pick up another drink, but it is worth considering. If you can become more aware of when you start to actually feel the effects of drinking, and if you’re findings are the same as mine, as you realize the relief is coming from within you, maybe you can take more control of your drinking. It’s worth a try, right?

What to do to become more aware:

As you’re feeling the urge to drink or planning your next drinking episode, rate the desire on a scale of 1 to 10. Then secure your drink of choice, and rate the desire again, before you pop the cork. Is it lower, higher, or the same? Did simply securing your alcohol, make you feel a tad bit better? Now go to my Facebook Page and share your results. And keep reading my blogs, because I’m going to continue to explain what’s going on with you, physiologically.

In Every ‘Addict’* there is a Super Hero

Posted on by Lisa

We all know how our culture views ‘addicts’. Just watch television or movies — diseased, weak, immoral, impoverished, struggling, pathetic.

Well, I see us differently, especially those of us who keep trying to find the solution. To me, we are super heroes, and by the end of this article, see if you don’t agree.

I’m pretty smart, I think; not overly, but just enough. Yet, when I was actively drinking, I could do some pretty illogical (okay, stupid) things.

For example, I used to listen to my drinking buddies who’d jokingly say, “Never mess up a good buzz with a meal”. Ever hear that? Ever follow that advice? Not smart.

Yet, I did it often. In fact, I’m embarrassed to write this, but during the time when I was actively drinking, I regularly chose alcohol over food.

I drank instead of eating. Yet, I love food. I love cooking, eating, recipes, food presentation – all of it. Yes, I’m a foodie.  Food is a joy of mine.

Nourishment is a basic survival need, right? So, how could I have given up my love, and overridden a survival instinct, for alcohol? That doesn’t sound normal or logical.

There was a time when alcohol was more important to me than eating food. This is not normal! Or is it?

As crazy and unhealthy as it sounds, I used to go for days eating very little, but drinking alcohol because alcohol had become more important to me than food.  I remember when feeling hunger pangs, and a part of me knew I needed to eat, yet another part of me said, “You need a drink.” And as if on cue, I drank.

By the time I entered the last rehab, I was a good twenty pounds underweight, and I am not a big person to begin with. I wasn’t only unhealthily thin, but I seemed to be starving myself. Why? How did that happen? I’m a fairly smart person, remember?

Starving myself seems contrary to how we’re wired as a surviving species, doesn’t it?

I’ve always thought that certain survival instincts were hard-wired and dominant. The need for nourishment is an instinct, among others, which we couldn’t override. And thankfully so, otherwise, we would not survive. Yet there I was, consciously doing something I could potentially die from. What is that all about?

In a nutshell, what I’ve learned is how addiction effects brain chemistry, and subsequent behavior – especially when that behavior seems illogical and counterproductive to life itself. And while it doesn’t make sense at first glance, once you learn a little about how our brains work, it actually does make a lot of sense.

Note: For a more detailed account, view the documentary by Dr. Kevin McCauley called “Pleasure Unwoven” ( 2012).

Alcohol triggers the release of many brain chemicals. The important one for this discussion is dopamine – the chemical of pleasure and motivation. Dopamine comes from the same part of the brain where our instincts live – the older mid-brain, sometimes called the “first brain”.

The part of the brain impacted by alcohol is the “first brain” and where our instincts live.

Because this part of the brain is ancient, it operates more like an unconscious instinct. It assigns value to experiences, in a split second, based on a simple criterion: Does this feel good or bad? For this part of the brain, good equals survival; and bad means the opposite.

Consider this example: Neanderthal runs across a tasty new food source, dense in calories, hence valuable for survival, and the brain codes it as good. With subsequent encounters, the brain remembers it and reminds Neanderthal with dopamine, which says, “Go get that.” The first brain rewards her with pleasure each time, which solidifies the association, and the experience is reinforced time and time again. This is a simplified example, but it pretty much works the same way with alcohol.

Because alcohol causes so much dopamine to be released, the brain says “WOW! This must be very important to survival”, and assigns it a high value rating, based on the feeling.

In my brain, after doing that time and time again, alcohol climbed the hierarchy of human survival needs, and moved into a position higher than food. Again, unconsciously, of course.

Alcohol sometimes felt like survival to me – like an instinct. It’s almost like I had to have it!

Remember, this is the best thing we’ve ever felt, right? It’s a “high” like we’ve never known before. It makes us say, “Where have you been all my life?!” (It’s no coincidence that these are exactly the words many alcoholics use to describe their first encounter with alcohol.  I’ve heard some alcoholics say it was like a spiritual experience.)

Excessive dopamine “tricks” your brain.

So, this flood of feel-good chemicals sort of “tricks” the older brain into moving this experience above others. It eventually moves alcohol ahead of food, sex, and personal safety, among other survival instincts.

And that’s why, in advanced stages of continued use, many of us forego eating, intimacy, and physical protection (we don’t take proper safety precautions, or we recklessly put ourselves in danger) for alcohol.

Now, on the outside, and from a modern perspective, this doesn’t make logical sense, does it? I know. I used to say to myself, “Lisa, alcohol cannot be more important than eating.” Yet, it did feel that way. I just didn’t understand why. Now, I do.

From a physiological standpoint, this is perfectly normal and how your brain is supposed to work.

There it is! There’s nothing wrong with us, even though and even when we’ve made seemingly illogical and disastrous decisions, even in the face of potentially very negative consequences.

Congratulations, ‘addict’*, you’re normal.

This is the mid-brain doing its thing. Does this make more sense to you now? I’m not saying it’s easy or even okay, I’m just saying, it’s the way we’re wired and now it’s understandable.

This information also explains why it’s so hard to quit this substance. We must overcome millions of years of evolution. A biological imperative built into our ancient brains must be interrupted and changed. Wow!

Enter: Our super hero.

To understand enough about what’s happening in the brain, and to be able to interrupt an ancient pattern, designed to keep an entire species on the course of survival, sounds super daunting, doesn’t it? (It’s actually easier than you think, but that’s another article.)

We are actually the ‘Super Humans’ among us, because we overcome ancient patterns of survival. Who knew?

I can guide you to Super Human Hero status.

So, in my book, those of us who do it are super humans! And that feels a lot better than being labeled “addicts”, defective, diseased, immoral, and weak-willed. See it now?

We are actually the strongest, most aware, most resilient, and resourceful among us! And all of that can be learned and cultivated.

It’s time for a new empowering view of yourself.

And this feeling, my Friend, is the very opposite of embarrassment, shame, frustration, and helplessness you feel when at the mercy of alcohol. Believe me, I know.

And here’s the real good news: because our brains are changing all the time, it’s possible to refocus that older part of the brain from alcohol to sobriety, when you know how. Stick with me, I’ll be your guide.

* I’m not a fan of the term ‘addict’, as I feel it is stigmatized in our modern society. I do use it here (taken out of cultural context with single apostrophes) for impact.

Full Circle for Clarity

Posted on by Lisa

I walked into the medical arts building for the last time, I hoped. Finally, after more than two thousand dollars and one full year of weekly, boring, and ineffective alcohol education classes (and I use that term loosely, as I was teacher once, and this was like no class I’d ever known), I would get my driver’s license back.

The irony is that almost forty years prior, I had walked proudly into this very building after having just received my driver’s license at seventeen years old. Full circle in so many ways, and with all the history in between, it hit me how long I’ve been struggling being myself – my entire life.

When I was fifteen years old, my teachers and guidance counselor at my all-girls high school contacted my parents because they believed I was depressed and in need of counseling. I remember my parents discussing it, and disagreeing. I think my mom was legitimately concerned about me, and while my dad undoubtedly was also, he didn’t believe in counseling. I think he thought I was simply lazy.

Was I depressed or lazy?

I slept a lot. I dozed during classes, then I went home from school and slept on the couch, got up to eat dinner and do homework, then went to bed. I don’t remember thinking it was odd or that I should be more motivated; I just wasn’t.

I do remember feeling like I didn’t belong where I was, which sounds weird to me now because it was the only place I’d ever been or known. I also remember telling my mother that I felt I needed something of my own, something dear to me, and that I felt something was missing. That was the extent of my ability to describe what I was feeling at the time.

My mother took this to mean that I might become sexually active and get pregnant. I’m not entirely sure where that came from, but being a good Catholic family, an out-of-wedlock child would be the most disastrous thing that could happen, so that motivated her argument to get me into counseling. I didn’t even date yet, so that concern seemed to come out of left field.

I had a motive for wanting to go to therapy as a teenager.

At any rate, after a lot of debate, my mother finally won out, and I started seeing a therapist. For the initial appointment, my parents were present. I don’t remember much of what was said in the office, but I do recall, afterwards, my parents discussing what a waste of time and money it was; at least that was my father’s view. He couldn’t understand how people made a living talking to other people about their problems. I don’t remember feeling like I had any specific problem. I wanted to go to counseling because it would be an opportunity for me to use the car.

The next week, my mom let me drive her 1979 Buick Skylark by myself to the therapist’s office. This was a big deal because my parents had just recently allowed me to get my driver’s license (later than my sisters who, I was told, were more mature), and this is one of the few times I’d been able to drive myself anywhere.

I went on Tuesdays after school. The therapist’s name was Carol and she was very interesting to me. She had curly wild hair, wore colorful flowing skirts and big jewelry — very different from my parents and other adults I knew. I think she was more cosmopolitan than anyone I’d ever known. I liked her.

I don’t remember much of what we talked about, but what made the biggest impression was her explanation of how my childhood was an important time for development. This was the first time I’d ever heard this. Maybe it explained some things.

Early experiences may have contributed to my drinking problem as an adult.

My parents had described to her some unique circumstances surrounding my infancy, which she thought may have contributed to the problem, which I still didn’t understand that I had.  This was my first encounter with the notion that patterns develop during childhood, then go with us into adulthood.

My mother was under a lot of stress when she was pregnant with me. My parents had only been married for a few years, had relocated twice already, and she was expecting her third child. I was undoubtedly an accident, and heard this often growing up.

I was “proof” that the rhythm method of birth control was not always effective. (This was the only method of birth control condoned by the Catholic Church, however, and clearly my parents were trying it when they conceived me.)

A perfect emotional storm, felt only by me.

Before I was born, my sister, who was less than one year old, severely injured her head and eye. As a precaution, she had to be carefully and continuously monitored so as not to re-injure herself. Another injury could cause complete blindness. So, just after birth, I went to an aunt’s home to be cared for, since my mom already had another three-year-old to attend to, in addition to the injured sister.  I was returned to my family later, after the threat to my sister’s sight diminished, and life continued as normal.

Rarely does one specific event or person create the problem; it is more likely a gradual process.

Other events/circumstances helped contribute to a perfect storm of mal-adaptive patterns which developed in my psyche. I had a speech impediment, which at that time was thought to be an intelligence indicator; my mother was overworked and probably couldn’t give me all the attention I required; I attended six schools in twelve years, which was a lot of change for an insecure child needing stability; and I internalized negative messages conveyed through influential adults, like my dad, grandparents, teachers, and the Catholic Church.

 My childhood wasn’t bad by any means, and I always had all the necessary things for development. So why did I become an alcoholic?

The answer to that question, as with anyone who becomes addicted to alcohol, is very complicated. There’s rarely one simple explanation.

Alcoholism is complicated, and there isn’t usually one clear issue, but a combination of factors.

But what I have discovered recently is that there were signs of mal-adjustment from when I was very young. It’s no one’s fault, but negative subconscious thought patterns developed which caused me a lot of difficulty.

When I discovered alcohol, those difficulties were relieved for the first time in my life, and I felt much better. So, alcohol slowly became a way for me to handle life, especially when life got rough or stressful.

And what I’ve learned is that the cause of my need to drink had been with me my whole life. It has a name, and a neuro-structure. Once named, it can be understood. Once understood, it can be changed. Then, my life changes, and that is the goal, right?

The cost of my new life was my old one. Indeed, and the cost of the new one necessarily means examining the old one.

Walking into the same medical building, which I walked into years ago, trying to find answers when I was only seventeen, was a perfect and powerful metaphor for continuing my search for my drinking problem at fifty, with much more clarity than ever before. And this site is a chronicle of that very journey.

Is Alcoholism a Matter of Will Power?

Posted on by Lisa

During my long, dark road to sobriety, I tried many things to control my drinking. My first attempts were geared toward harnessing willpower.

Many seemed to believe that quitting drinking was similar to stopping smoking–just a question of being strong-willed enough, right? Just make up your mind to do it and do it.

Okay. So, it was time to set a goal: either stop completely, or cut waaay back.

I wrote a contract for myself and signed it. It was official. I wrote it, signed it, and promised myself that I would not drink.

Tactics like that would work for a week or so, but when they stopped working, I would revise them to read “drink only two glasses” or “only two glasses after 5:00 pm” or “only beer”. 

Needless to say, I didn’t keep those promises to myself either.

So even though I didn’t stop drinking, I didn’t let myself get off easy. When I failed to meet my promises, I implemented harsh punishments.  Here is my list of penances (a throw back to my Catholic upbringing):

  • Drink only water for five days; no tea, coffee, soft drinks, etc.
  • And no “treats” – sweets or pleasurable food for five days;
  • No socializing with friends/family for five days;
  • No sex or intimacy for five days;
  • Only work, clean, exercise, and journal for five days;
  • And, of course, NO ALCOHOL.

My commitment lasted for a while, but soon I was back at it. It was a familiar refrain that was repeated several times. I was at my wit’s end. Time to turn to try something different.

Maybe hypnosis is the answer

My mother-in-law had quit smoking through hypnosis, so why not try it? I went to a professional hypnotherapist for six sessions.

Each time, with my eyes closed and my body relaxed, she would describe disgusting images surrounding alcohol, trying to connect negative associations.

Moldy wine grapes, with flies swarming around them and oozing smelly rotten juice.

The acrid taste of bile, acid, and alcohol in the mouth from vomiting.

The fowl odor of beer, vomit, and diarrhea.

A vision of me outside in the middle of the night in the cold, puking over the deck so my children and husband couldn’t hear me in the bathroom.

Every hair follicle on my head hurting with an excruciating pounding headache.

Or the gag-inducing texture of chewed food in your throat from throwing up after drinking too much.

She would record these descriptions and I took them home with me. I fell asleep listening to them every night for a while. That was effective. Temporarily.

Counseling, Religion, and Alcoholics Anonymous

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It shouldn’t be surprising that I tried counseling. Did I ever get counseling! To date, just off the top of my head, 12 professionals over the course of 20 plus years.

Religious counselors, secular counselors, Cognitive Behavior Therapists, AA therapists, addiction specialists, EMDR, Regression therapy, schema therapy–you name it, I’ve tried it.

Some have been a waste of time, some have been effective for some things; and finally, fortunately, one was enlightening. We’ll get to that.

As far as religion goes, I was raised Catholic and now consider myself in religious “recovery”, thank you very much, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. I did get counseling from a Methodist minister once whom I liked very much (though it didn’t keep me from drinking).

And I’ve frequented a contemporary Christian mega-church where I was baptized (again), in an effort to stop drinking.

My personal favorite is a non-denominational church that teaches positive universal spiritual principles.

However, in the end, it has not mattered one bit if or where  I worship. Religion is not the answer for me and drinking. Period.

And as far as Alcoholics Anonymous is concerned, I’ve had a love-hate relationship with it. AA is woven throughout the fabric of my recovery, mostly because it was the only structured treatment option available to me.  

All of these attempts to stop drinking have one thing in common – will. But our will isn’t the issue. In my experience, even alcoholics exercise positive will over other areas in their lives. They can be disciplined when they need to be, therefore, there’s more to alcoholism than self-will. What more that is, I did not discover until much later.

Alone Time can be an Alcoholic’s Best (or worst) Time

Posted on by Lisa

I recently spent an entire weekend alone. My fiance went out of town, and I chose not to go, with the intention of getting a lot of writing done. This is the first time I’ve spent this much time at home alone since I’d quit drinking. And I’ll admit, I was a little concerned.

Drinking alone was what I did regularly in the last several years of my drinking experience, because drinking in the company of others had become too contentious, inexplicable, and embarrassing.  Plus I was supposed to be working on that problem, right?
But when I was alone, the voices started:

The unrelenting voices in the head:

  • No one’s here. Perfect! No one will know.
  • You’ll be more relaxed and patient when they get home.
  • This is just who you are. This is what you do.
  • We’ll quit tomorrow.

See how this used to go?  I realize now, in retrospect, that I had been steadily and unconsciously establishing a life to facilitate that drinking alone goal. Got the kids to almost 18 alive, got divorced, and created a situation where I could drink whenever I wanted.

A part of me thought I would be perfectly happy being a lone drunk.

Perfect. This is what I had been waiting for was it not? I fantasized about this when I lived among people who needed me or triggered me. This is what I’d dreamed of secretly, but another part of me wasn’t completely happy with this arrangement.

I was a drunk. And I knew in my heart of hearts that there was more to me, and that there should be more to life.

But I wasn’t perfectly content, so now what?

Fast-forward, and obviously I’ve learned the trick to quitting the drinking thing, but what about this being with myself situation?

I didn’t know what to do with myself when I was sober. Especially when I was alone. When I was alone was really when I struggled the most with myself.

Social settings gave me plenty of anxiety, don’t get me wrong, but there were also distractions with others which seemed to help.

I could focus on the conversations, ask a lot of questions, and listen. Plus there were plenty of suggestions from recovery experts for how to handle common social situations, with regards to drinking, so I struggled a little less with what to do with myself.

I don’t think I like myself. Are we supposed to?

Not only did I not know myself, I didn’t particularly want to be alone with me. I wasn’t very pleasant. Other people seemed to like me okay, but they didn’t have to live in my head 24/7/365. It was no picnic in there. In fact, sometimes it was toxic.

The constant thoughts of:

  • There’s something fundamentally wrong with me.
  • I’m a fraud, or at the very least a chameleon who changes to suit the situation/person.
  • I’m not truly a good person/sister/daughter/mother/mate, and when they find out, they’re not going to stay with/accept me.
  • It’s just a matter of time before the other shoe drops.

These ruminations when I was alone and unoccupied were constant, and for no reason, they just seemed to pop up.

My brain supplied plenty of proof to validate every negative thought too. Remember when . . .

  • I’ll recall something from the past when I did something stupid or embarrassing, and the feelings from it are just like I’m back there.
  • How could you have been so careless, hurtful, stupid, etc.?
  • If only you would have done X instead.
  • I wonder if so-and-so still remembers that?
  • Etcetera, etcetera, etcetera, . . . if you have a brain like mine, you know the etc. part.

The other thing I do a lot of is comparisons with other people, even when I’m not in their presence.

Out of the blue, I’ll have a thought about so-and-so, which triggers the comparison thoughts.

I rarely seem to measure up.

Comparison thoughts are so big for me, I’ve written a separate article about it here. But the gist is that I rarely measure up.

So, when I used to be alone, bombarded with all these random negative thoughts, some sneaky ideas would come into my head, such as:

  • You could have a drink.
  • That would feel better.
  • No one’s here. No one will know. This is perfect!

Wherever I go, there I am.

What I’ve learned is that choosing to drink speaks to my inability or unwillingness to be with myself sober. And that will always be a problem because wherever I go, there I am, and it’s not feasible to be drunk all the time. (Believe me, I tried it.)

So the way I see it, the only option I have is to create a different version of myself.

There is the belief that you need a group or support network, like AA, to stay sober. And while I do think AA/12-Steps does a great job with the connection thing, I know that ultimately it comes down to me, myself and I, and what I do when I’m alone.

I have to be able to be alone with myself – preferably content and sober, because I’ve spent the better part of my adult life unhappy and drunk. And I don’t like her.

I liken my relationship with my sober self to a budding intimate relationship.

It is, after all the most intimate and personal relationship I have, is it not? Who else knows all my thoughts — good and bad? Who else has as much to lose or gain? Who am I listening to 24/7/365? See what I mean.

So, at first we were just “talking”. We have a lot in common. Then, we started getting to know one another better — the good and the bad. The “shadow self” as it’s been called by some.

And now, while we don’t always get along very well, we’re trying. We try to compromise, empathize, and offer a little grace, because life is tough. It’s hard to be human!

Very often, unfortunately, we are at odds, and when we are, I’m very hard on myself, as we all are. Everyone seems to think that because we know better, we should do better.
But knowing and doing are two very different states.

We are ultimately on the same side — me, myself, and I; it just doesn’t usually feel like it.

But we have gotten on the same page with this drinking thing, and we’ve nailed it! We lost some battles over the years, but now we’re winning the war, and it feels good. It feels empowering. It feels like agency for myself; like I can take action and I can change things.

I feel confident, to be alone with myself, for the first time in my life that I remember. I can talk myself down and lift myself up. I can catch myself going sideways, and get back on course.

I don’t love myself yet, but I’m open to liking myself until a time when I might. This is my sober self, a work in progress, and worth the work, most days. What other choice do I have?

There is a sober self in every drunk.

It was finding my sober self which saved my life from alcohol. And cultivating my sober self is saving me from myself. Does that make sense?

I believe there is a sober self in every drunk, when the effort is taken to find him or her.

The weekend alone went off without a hitch. I did the same things I do when my fiancé is home. I did what people do when their minds aren’t obsessing about the next drink; when they aren’t manipulating and planning; when they aren’t hiding, hurting, and hating themselves, then passing out.

I got a lot of writing done – like this piece. (And I want to write something cheesy, like I got to know myself better, but that sounds so melo-dramatic.) Let’s just say I was alone with myself and content enough; not perfect but typically human, and sober.

The Cost of Your New Life is Your Old One

Posted on by Lisa

I remember the moment I decided that I had to quit drinking – for real this time. My sister had come to the house I was renting and let herself into my bedroom. I had been there for days without communicating, showering, eating much, or going out except to the liquor store. I had been journaling some, trying to figure out what the hell was wrong with me, so by the dates in my notebook, I knew this had been going on for almost a month. That’s hard to believe now. But it was winter, and my work is seasonal, so I didn’t have many daily obligations at the time. Perfect for drinking myself into oblivion.

She came in, started tidying up, and talking to me about how I had to “do something” with myself.  I was so ashamed for my sister to see me like this. I knew she was right, but I didn’t know what or how I could change it.

A familiar prison

As I looked around, I realized that my world had become as small as the area around me. Because of my profound need for alcohol, and my belief that I should hide that need from everyone in my life as best I could, my world had shrunk to the size of this room. I was trapped.

At least my prison was familiar, though, so my warped brain reasoned. I had stayed close to comfort and withdrew further and further into it every day.

What started out in my twenties as a way of connecting with people, had become a shameful and regular dependence I now had to hide from them. And the shame of it, the shame of my weakness for it, had reduced my world to this small room; at the point at which my sister entered, it had become as small as my bed. This was a problem, indeed.

But how could I give up the only thing that seemed to help me survive? It didn’t make sense. This substance helped me get through life. And now, I needed it more than ever. How could I just drop it? It didn’t seem possible.

The relationship I had with alcohol had become the most important and dependable of my life.

Our relationship with alcohol is, for some of us, more important and predictable than any other relationship we’ve ever had – especially with human beings. How is that? And what’s wrong with me that it was true?

What I’ve come to discover is that there isn’t anything fundamentally wrong with me. Alcohol became so important because somewhere in my very early years, I didn’t get the security I needed. It was no one’s fault, it just happened that way. And so my little girl brain developed patterns, beliefs, and behaviors to try to compensate –to get needs met, and not feel pain.

I became other-centered, as many alcoholics do.

My brain, at that early stage of development, told me that there must be something wrong with me, because some emotional needs were going unmet. So I learned how to please. That led to the belief that I wasn’t worthy of real love and attention unless I behaved in certain ways, and so I started behaving in the ways that I perceived others wanted.

A voice developed inside me making sure I “did this” or “didn’t do that”; “should” and “shouldn’t”.  The problem is that that critical voice changed its instruction with every relationship or person I met, so eventually I was trying to jump through all kinds of hoops, changing myself to suit the situation. With every year of life, I lost more and more of my true self, until I didn’t feel I had an authentic self.

Who would want to have a relationship with a fraud?

No one wants to have a relationship with a fraud, so how does she come clean? She doesn’t. She just keeps pretending, covering up, and pleasing; fearful of being found out, dishonest and manipulative to keep the whole necessary charade going. It’s exhausting and stressful. It’s a terrible way to live.

Who was I? No one knew, not even me; especially me.

Then alcohol came along and seemed to “fix” everything. It changed my state of mind, numbed the pain, guilt, and shame — filled the void and offered the delusion of connection, while providing the illusion of confidence and strength I was lacking. It was perfect! Alcohol propped me up and saw me through.

It was security, familiarity, and I attached to it for connection. We need it. We need other people, of course, but they aren’t nearly as predictable as alcohol, now are they?

Alcohol is predictable compared to people.

People may reject us. Perhaps our experiences have shown that people have indeed rejected us. They may judge us, find us unworthy, and abandon us. They may become angry because we can’t stop drinking and threaten us or give us an ultimatum.

And that’s really a terribly uncomfortable place to be – talk about a rock and a hard place. To have to choose, on the one hand, an unpredictable relationship with people; or on the other hand, a substance that seems reliable. That’s too hard a decision for us to make sometimes. The challenge is to find enough of an inner self and courage to pull it off.

I had to face that challenge, and at the worst possible time in my life. My husband of 23 years, and with whom I’d had three children said, “enough”. I will never forget how that felt. I’m balling my eyes out right this minute writing these words. It was July 13, 2012.

Yet, I chose alcohol.

It looked so awful of me on the outside, I know it did, and it felt awful on the inside. That decision brought on much negative judgment. Friends and relatives said “how could she do that?” And I really don’t know how I could have. At the time, I figured I was just a really terrible wife and mother and an “addict”; and we do things we don’t understand, and can’t explain.

It was an excruciating decision to make. So painful to give them up on the one hand, yet too difficult at the time to accept the unknown, the unfamiliar; to live life without the emotional security I had come to know.

I relied on alcohol, and in my warped weird way, I knew that when I was sad and alone, feeling dejected and judged, I could go to it, and it would comfort me. How could I handle all of this messy life I’d created without it? I couldn’t then. I just couldn’t. Not then.

And so, for a while, I didn’t. But when my sister found me in the state she did – at just that moment — the pain of the life I was living was greater than the fear of the unknown, the unfamiliar. I had to take the leap of faith. I had to.

The cost of a different life was the old one. And some are worth giving up. The price I had to pay was to give up that tiny, familiar and comfortable prison. I’m so so glad I did, but at the time, it was the hardest thing I’d ever done; bar none.

The Two Wolves Within

Posted on by Lisa

When I was in my worst years of drinking, I felt like it was all my fault. Drinking felt like it should be within my control, because it was a behavior, but I could not control it. And worst yet, I couldn’t explain it or my actions.

And I did such bad things around drinking which I hated about myself – manipulating, lying, and hiding.

Once indulging, I often became a totally different person – an obnoxious, disgusting, and/or belligerent person I didn’t like. And the thing is that I knew this behavior wasn’t really who I was — that was the kicker! But it was how I was behaving.

Often, I drank to stop ruminating on what I’d done while drunk. That, my friend, is a destructive and perpetuating cycle.

I couldn’t understand or explain why I did what I did.

Since I’ve sobered up, one of the toughest things I’ve had to reconcile is my drunk self with my sober self, with regard to puzzling and regrettable behavior.  How could I explain this? Did I just lose all sense of my true personality and character and transform into someone else? It seemed that way.

They’re such different people, my drunk and sober selves; difficult to believe they come from the same body.

There’s a Native American legend which helps me get some clarity around this dichotomy of character. It’s called “The Wolves Within” or “The Two Wolves”, and it goes something like this:

A wise Cherokee is teaching his grandson about an ongoing battle inside between two wolves. There is an evil wolf, and “he is anger, envy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority, and ego.” And there is the good wolf – pretty much the opposite.  When the boy asks which one wins, the grandfather responds with, “the one you feed”.  (www.firstpeople.us)

Maybe we all struggle with the opposing “wolves” within.

This makes sense to me, and it also speaks to the point that perhaps this is a human trait, and not solely a drinking human trait. Maybe all humans struggle with these two internal “wolves”.

In fact, I’m pretty sure of it, because I’m also reminded that both Jesus Christ (for some, the actual Son of God) and Paul (one of his disciples and primary author of the New Testament) both spoke to this issue. Jesus says, “The spirit is willing but the flesh is weak,” (Matthew 26:41); while Paul writes in Romans 7:15, “I do not understand what I do; for I don’t do what I would like to do, but instead I do what I hate.” 

Does that sound like you? I mean seriously, it sounded like me every day — I do not understand why I do this! What I would like to do is not get drunk; yet, here I am, getting drunk — again. And I hate it! Especially the next morning, yet I would do it time and time again.

The problem is exacerbated because both voices are a part of the whole: me. And they’re largely unconscious and automatic, which makes it so confounding, frustrating, and nearly impossible to recognize, much less to change. And so, lost in that mysterious cycle of self-perpetuated destructive behavior we remain.

Would the real me please stand up?

There’s the voice tempting me to drink one day, then kicking me in the teeth the next morning for getting drunk again. The voice I hear first is “one won’t hurt” at 5 o’clock the day before, (which we all know is never only one); then I’m awakened by a different voice the next morning saying, “OMG! You did it again! What were you thinking?” Am I right?

But it doesn’t end there, because once the drinking starts, then there’s the whole Dr. Jekyll & Mr. Hyde thing going on, where I turn into someone really different than my sober, more acceptable self. So what gives? What’s going on?

From a physiology standpoint, there is an explanation for our two selves.

Today what I know is this: very simply, we have two parts to our brain. One part is all about drinking and one part is not. (Of course, both parts have myriad desires and functions, but we’re only looking at how we handle alcohol for this discussion.)

The good wolf and the bad wolf. Which one are you feeding?

The one that’s all about drinking is the one that is responsible for urges/craving. It’s present-moment oriented and very powerful. It is responsible for the thought “just one”. Meet the “evil wolf”.

The other part of our brain is future-oriented, logical, and “knows better”.  It’s the one who wakes us up the next morning or in the middle of the night with, “What were you thinking?” It is also very powerful.

These two voices are clearly not on the same page when it comes to alcohol consumption, even though they share the same head – yours.

They need to get on the same page, and until they do, there seems to be a constant battle raging within you. Like you need that, right?

The first step is recognizing these two exist. Because when you aren’t aware of them both, you’re at the mercy of whichever one speaks the loudest at the moment when you’re deciding to drink or not drink.

Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde

These two parts of your brain are also responsible for the opposing behaviors once you’ve started drinking. The part of your brain which sent out the craving chemicals and got you to take the first drink is also the one which has no regard for future consequences. So, you take risks, say hurtful things you don’t mean, and generally do some foolish things you may not normally do.

And as inconvenient as it is, this part of your brain which “knows better”, also is highly effected by alcohol. The minute you start drinking, it goes “offline”, so to speak, until you come to or sober up.

Phenomenon explained. Now if you’d like to try a free tip to help curb the urge to drink using this idea of the two parts of your brain, I’ve created a tool that may help. Click here to get the download.

You don’t know what you don’t know.

With this new knowledge, I’ve been able to let go of the guilt, shame, regret, and self-loathing. It does not serve me to remind myself of the many deplorable things I did around drinking alcohol. It simply doesn’t.

I remind myself of these two parts of my brain and how they were functioning against one another and against me, but within me. And I remind myself that until I got them on the same page, I was simply at the mercy of the “bad wolf” very often. And I just didn’t know what I didn’t know. Now I do.

The “bad wolf” doesn’t bite me anymore, when it comes to alcohol. He still shows up in other ways in my life/personality, but not around drinking. I’d love to help you with this too. Get my free download, and silence your howling wolf.

Before and After: An Alcoholic Makeover

Posted on by Lisa

You know how some families are ‘kitchen people’? That’s my family. Extended family too. We’re all casual ‘kitchen people’, hanging out in the kitchen whether we’re eating or not.

The other day I was at my parents, sitting at their kitchen table, talking with my father. As we were talking, I noticed my dad sort of edging near me trying not to look suspicious. I didn’t know what he was up to, but I could sense his unease, so I got up and left the table to give him the opportunity to do whatever he was trying to do. I saw from the corner of my eye, as I was pretending to look through a magazine, that he was removing a bottle of bourbon from the table next to where I had been sitting.

“Gonna start happy hour early, dad?” I joked, catching him in mid-action with the bottle in hand.

“Naw, I just didn’t want you to have to sit there looking at a bourbon bottle. Darn stuff isn’t any good anyway. So-and-so gave it to me, but it’s not worth a darn.” And he stashed it safely out of sight.

What’s so very interesting and enlightening to me is that I had not even noticed it. Honestly, I had not. As I was driving home, I tried to think back to when I first sat down at the table. Was it there? I guess so, but I truly didn’t remember. This strikes me as quite remarkable.

I am no longer aware of all things related to alcohol.

Because I was a serious alcoholic for more than twenty years, there was a time in the not too distant past, when I would have been squirming in my seat because of that bottle of booze.

This is the absolute beauty of where I am now in sobriety. Actually, I don’t even feel like I’m “in sobriety”. I feel like I’m normal. A bourbon bottle is just a glass bottle with amber-colored liquid in it. It really is nothing more to me than that. It could have been tea, juice, milk, or water. This is such an awesome and unexpected reality for me.

I’ll juxtapose that to a scenario a couple of years ago, when I was struggling to remain sober.  I was sitting in my sister’s kitchen (told ya, kitchen peeps). It was a casual family gathering, and her husband opened a bottle of wine at the bar behind me. (An aside is that I never expected anyone to behave differently around me just because I had a drinking problem. My family was sensitive to it, but I didn’t feel comfortable being the reason my brother-in-law couldn’t enjoy a glass of wine in his own home.)

Even though I had stopped drinking, my brain was doing its thing.

The pop of the cork sounded so familiar, like home, and something in me perked up like a puppy waiting for table scraps. I heard the wine pour into the glass, and I could imagine the smell of it. I glanced around, and saw that it was red; my preferred vice for a long time.  As he poured a couple of beautiful glasses full – not those wimpy 5-oz restaurant pours — it was all I could do not to drool. My mouth literally watered.

I imagined the warmth as it hit my belly, then gently and predictably traveling through my bloodstream, softening the edges as it went. After those initial moments of relief and comfort, a sigh would follow. “Ah”. . . and everything would feel better.

I had a drink in my hand, but not the one I wanted.

He poured some for himself and a nephew, then he left the opened bottle there on the counter. This counter was large, occupying more than half the kitchen, and everyone, including me, was circulating all around it chatting, snacking, and sipping whatever.

The entire time I was there, I was keenly aware of all things alcohol. Who was drinking, when they got another bottle, white or red, when a glass was left half drunk, where the bottles were around the room, what type of beer they had – all of it. I was terribly preoccupied. I tried to talk and distract myself, but it was no use.

My mind was racing and spinning. How could I get some?!

It was like a part of me had been activated, and it was going crazy yelling in my head: GO GET THAT! GET IT! NOW!

I started having manipulative thoughts about getting some. I could go into the dining room, and if no one was there, and someone had left a glass half-full, I could sneak into the bathroom. No one would notice. In large gatherings people are always misplacing their glasses, right?

And I started feeling a little energy and excitement around that notion. Hmm, how could I manage this?

No! Stop this Lisa. You don’t want this. You don’t need this. But I did. I still felt like I did. I could imagine how much better I would feel if I could just have a glass or two. What’s wrong with me? Why can’t I just have a glass or two? Why do I have this stupid, uncontrollable, unfair disease? Why me?

Why me? Why do I have this problem? It’s not fair!

Then I started getting really perturbed and resentful and it was aimed at them – the drinkers. It wasn’t fair that I couldn’t drink too! Why would they do this to me? I was getting pissed. So, I left as soon as I could and drove home irritated and grouchy.

I’m not even drinking it and this fucking alcohol ruined my night! The unfulfilled desire stayed with me. This a crude analogy, but it’s like when you have sex, but don’t have an orgasm, ya know? And the lack of release leaves you feeling, well, unrelieved.

I still felt unfulfilled

On the way home, I called my sponsor, and drove through Krispy Kreme for doughnuts. When I got home, I did some recovery reading, and watched television to distract myself. But the next day, I remember feeling like this isn’t over. I’m not done with this drinking thing. I’ve not gotten control of it. Maybe the “one-size-fits-all” approach is not my gig.

I did eventually relapse. Again. And that’s when I began the quest for why I drank, which has led me to what you’re reading. This site chronicles my undoing of alcoholism, and how I’ve gone about it.

It’s literally like a switch has been turned off.

Through research, I’ve learned that it is possible to retrain your brain to stop craving alcohol. It is, after all, the organ effected by alcohol and in control of the behavior. And it’s now fairly common knowledge that our brains are changing all the time.

This process is called neuroplasticity. “Neuro” – brain related; and “plasticity” – plastic like, as in pliable, changeable. It is truly incredible! Indifference to alcohol. Who knew it was possible?

I truly didn’t, but now I’m living it every day. A few years ago, you never could have convinced me that I would ever be so disinterested in having a drink, yet here I am. Indifferent to alcohol. It no longer controls my thoughts or rules my emotions. Alcohol does not dictate my behavior or impact my relationships. I can’t describe how liberating this has been for me. This knowledge and process has truly changed my life.

Stick with me, and keep reading. I can guide you through your own sobriety journey.

When do you Decide to Drink?

Posted on by Lisa

For the past couple of weeks, I’ve been discussing “Intentional Procrastination” with regards to drinking alcohol, to help become aware of when you first start to feel whatever you’re after when you drink.

The minute I used to put off drinking for a bit, because I had to for whatever reason, I got a little relief from the craving symptoms – obsessive thoughts, restlessness, anxiety, etc. I used the example of when you just cannot drink for whatever reason, but you need to, so you’re feeling all the crap that goes with the need. But when you decide you’re going to drink, and even take steps to acquire your stash, you feel a little better before you even drink alcohol. Or at least, I did.

A good first question: What experience are you after?

And when you’re trying to quit drinking, that’s something you can work with, right? Because what are we trying to do when we drink every day anyway? Have you ever asked yourself the question? Try it. And try a couple of these too:

  • What experience do you actually want?
  • What do you want to change?
  • Is it (that which you want to change) on the inside or external to you?

I just wanted to feel better, or even okay, would do.

All we’re doing when we drink daily is trying to regulate or maintain a more comfortable existence, right? I mean, no one wakes up saying, “All I want to do is drink myself into oblivion again today and pass out so I’ll be unconscious for another 12 hours”. But none of us really want that because that’s not living.

If that was your actual goal, you’d be doing it now and not reading blogs like mine. I mean, friend, that’s an option, right? In all reality, it truly is. There are plenty of people doing it every day, all day, 24/7/365, then they die. Happens all the time. If that’s your true goal – have at it! What’s stopping you?

You want more; you know you do. You just need to feel better, I get it. (This is as tough as my “tough love” gets.)

Back to the experience of feeling. For me, that’s really why I drank – for the feeling. Is there another reason? I suppose there are lots, but you know we could poke holes in all of them, when it comes right down to it.

Don’t you get a little sigh of relief when you decide to drink, even if it’s not going to happen until later?

The question of the month around here is: When do you feel the alcohol? When do you actually feel what you’re drinking? Do you know? And this sounds like a dumb question, I know, but I realized that I actually starting feeling a little better before I even started drinking the alcohol. Do you?

Security. Comfort.

Last week, I had you take a look at how you feel while in the process of “securing” your alcohol. And I’d like to digress long enough to say, if you’re still with me this week, I use the word “secure” and in quotes, because for me, this is how alcohol felt. Security. Comfort. Feeling better, or even feeling okay. So knowing I was on the way to getting alcohol, made the better feeling kick in before I even started drinking it.

But today, I want a step even further backward to when you first made the decision to drink. Making the decision is key, and it’s also unconscious.

So much of what we do is unconscious, it’s hard to become aware.

The more I became aware of my internal self, the earlier I was able to recognize when relief actually came. And it was not usually when I started drinking; sometimes, I felt better just making the decision to drink. Giving myself permission to drink later, made me feel better in the moment of making the decision, even though I wouldn’t be ingesting alcohol for hours.

If I already had liquor at my disposal, then it was only a matter of time, right? So, then the emphasis shifts from if to when. And that’s actually when the brain dials down the craving chemicals.

Once I made the decision to drink, and I knew it was in my nearly immediate future, I was home free. Then it became a simple waiting game, and I could be a little patient. (Not too patient, don’t get crazy, like I couldn’t wait until tomorrow.)

But making the decision was very important. And once I did, there was nothing and no one stopping me. Making the decision flipped a switch in my brain quicker than anything. I felt it immediately. “I’m doing it. I’m going to drink.” There was power in that decision; actually, there was relief and security in it.

 And that’s one reason I think AA/Twelve Steps Program protocol of calling your sponsor didn’t help me much. Once I had already made the decision in my mind. It was a done deal, and there wasn’t anything anyone could say to me that could change my mind.

For me, at the end of the day, it all came down to what I chose to do when I was alone.

I’m ashamed to admit it, but I used to call my sponsor after I’d already decided to drink, just because I was supposed to, and later I could truly say “I did what I was supposed to do. I called you.” Only, I didn’t hear a word she said.

Sometimes, I was already drinking, because I had made up my mind, and drinking is what helped me; not her words. She couldn’t make me feel better about myself; and that’s why I drank. Her words made little difference.

Back to making the decision. This week, the challenge is to see if you also get a small sigh of relief when you simply make the decision to drink. I don’t have a tool for this though, this is all you.

Just become really aware over the next few days when you feel a tiny bit of relief from planning your drinking. You know what it feels like — something somewhere deep inside sighs, and relaxes a little. (Oh, one caveat, you have to make this awareness before you start drinking. After the first drink, you lose self-awareness.)

It’s okay if you’ve already made the decision.

If you’ve already made the decision to drink, it’s okay. It’s only me and you; and I did it too; every day for a long time.  I don’t judge. I know you’re trying to feel better, and you truly are suffering and this just eases the pain. It’s okay, though. You’re okay. I promise. Don’t worry about trying to change it right now, just become aware of it. Nothing else you have to do.

Maybe you’re at work, and you’re miserable, and all you want to do is have that first drink or two to unwind, take the edge off, get comfortable and warm, slow down your thoughts and slip into a gentler, safer place. Don’t you feel a tiny bit better just deciding you’re going to drink? I did! It got me through the afternoon, so no judgement here.

Seriously, play around with this. It’s very interesting when you start using your mind to examine your brain; or vise-versa because I don’t know which is doing which, but together they’re running your body, your behaviors, and your life. May as well take a peek inside your own head; never know what you’ll learn.