Tag: alcoholism

I Blame Alcohol

Posted on by Lisa

Dedicated to T, J, B, C, and L. xo

Last night I went to a local restaurant with some friends. We were shown to our table, next to a large party of fourteen or more. I recognized the group and hurried to greet my surprised old friends. Well, they’re not old, the relationship is.

We’ve known one another for years; our children grew up together. In fact, two of our three kiddos were born within a month or so in the same years. We both were stay-at-home moms, sometimes struggling to make all the ends meet, and raising our families.

We were friends when the days were long, and the years short.

After appropriate hugs all around, I returned to my table. As I sat, perusing the menu, I had full view of my friend’s table. And I watched this couple, who were married the same year as me and my ex-husband. Their laughs sounded the same, and I still recognized their shared ‘knowing’ glances passing in between.

Our children have grown up! Their middle son looked like a man – with a full beard! When did that happen? Could this really be that chubby, chatty, little guy I used to know? Where does the time go?

My friends were aging. Like me. And fairly well I’d say, about us all.  We have some gray hair, and carry our weight in different places, but we look pretty good for our ages. And in the face, we look just the same. The eyes reveal the familiar souls within. It was nice to see them as a family.

A family. I had one of those once.

“Poor, poor pitiful me, poor poor pitiful me.” (Linda Ronstadt)

My pleasant reminiscences quickly turned sour with regret, and I started feeling sad and left out. Then I started feeling sorry for myself. I could hear my sister’s words in my ear, taunting me, “Poor pitiful me, poor pitiful Lisa, stop feeling sorry for yourself.” But she’s not here, so I will feel sorry for myself. I have something to feel sorry for; something to mourn and grieve.

Fortunately, it’s not every day, but it is some days, and this is one of those days.

I used to have that very life I’m seeing here in front of me. I lived it when I was growing up, then I planned it for myself. I fell in love, got married, and started a family. A family just like this one here.

Not a perfect family by any stretch, but a solid family. A stable and sturdy family that nurtured, laughed, fought, protected, and loved. And I was a founding member.

A family; I had one of those once.

I started reminiscing. How many restaurants, just like this one, had we sat in together with our children at various ages from infant, to elementary school age, to high school?

How many conversations about the challenges, events, frustration, and joyful moments of raising children had we had over the years past? Many.

How many celebrations, milestones, and anniversaries had we honored together?

How many dreams had we confided on the golf course and in the kitchen? Many.

What happened to my family?

Alcohol.

Alcohol happened. I became an alcoholic. I chose it over this, and now I live with that decision; if you can call it that. This is one of those times when I hate alcohol, because if I don’t hate it, I have to hate myself. And I’ve done that enough. Doesn’t bring back the past.

Addiction demands to be served; just as “pain demands to be felt”*

I finished out dinner with as much gusto as I could muster, said my goodbyes, and started walking home. I was grateful for the setting sun, because a block down the sidewalk, they started. The tears. Streaming. Unabashedly making tracks down my cheeks. I let them. What else can I do?

“How do you handle the regret?”, someone asked me one time. I thought about it and went within. And there it was. It’s still there, and sometimes, like right now, it handles me.

“The Eye” (Brandi Carlile)

As I passed by a restaurant, I heard one of my favorite songs playing. I stopped at the corner to listen to a few lines. “It really breaks my heart to see a dear old friend, go down to that worn out place again.” . . . “And did you think the bottle would ever ease your pain?” . . . “Did you find someone else to take the blame?” . . . “Do you know the sound of a closing door? Have you heard that sound somewhere before?”

How do they do that? Singers, song writers — they know life. They feel it, and they describe it so well, don’t they? Then they put a lovely melody to your life that gets stuck in your head. This song writer, was spot on for me. And yes, I have found something to blame, and as you know; I blame alcohol.

But finally in this song, Brandi Carlile reminds me, “I am a sturdy soul, and there ain’t no shame in lying down in the bed you made.” But there is sorrow in lying down in my bed at times, and that’s just the way it is, no matter who made the damn thing.

It wasn’t the only reason we divorced, but it was huge, as I’m sure you could imagine. Twenty plus years of alcoholic drama and bullshit. You can’t always recover from that, even if you can recover from drinking.

“Envy, after all, comes from wanting something that isn’t yours. But grief comes from losing something you’ve already had.” **

And as far as my friends go, it’s not like I think they’re perfect or don’t struggle. I knew their struggles — intimately once upon a time, and I know they still have them. In fact, they have real life and death struggles. But they weathered the storms, and stayed with it. And I’m glad they did.

I really am so happy for them, sincerely, I am. Because, think about it — when you’re envious, you don’t want others NOT to have; you just want to have too. Right along with ’em; that’s where I should be. But I’m not, and I blame alcohol.

That could have still been me right now. I could still be a part of an intact, stable, committed “little unit”, as my ex-husband, ex-soldier used to call our family. But the deception and manipulation that alcohol caused in me stole it away. Bottle by bottle.

If only I had the knowledge then, that I have now.

By the time I arrived home last night, I was angry at myself, my genes, my weakness, and my inability to understand or change before it was too late. I should have tried harder. I should have been more focused and diligent. I should have found other treatments, paid whatever price, and by whatever means necessary, as they say.

I deserve that simple mundane life with the three bratty (at times) kids, the dog and cat that acts like a dog, and the average, three-bedroom house; with the bills, the headaches, and the in-laws. Because they were my tribe, and I miss it. All of it, that’s what I miss right now. (Well, maybe not the in-laws, really.)

It should still be us together with no alcohol to tear asunder. But it didn’t happen that way.

What happened and why it’s important to you.

It happened this way. We divorced. And we created a monstrous crevice in the collective trajectory of five people, bound at one time by love, commitment, and the same last name.

I remained drunk for a few more years, until I wasn’t anymore; and they watched, waited, gave up, went on without me, then came back again.

Now I’m sober. And yes, sometimes, better than sober. But today? Not so much. There are days like these now too, in sobriety. It is the way of it.

I have a good relationship with my ex-husband and my children. They are adults now and adjusting fine. People are resilient, man! We are all so damned resilient. We have to be. But sometimes, it’s tough, I’m gonna be honest; it is hard to be human.

Change it while you still can.

This is why you can’t give up. If you’re drinking, and you hate it or you hate yourself, I get it. You think I didn’t hate myself? You think I still don’t morn my loss because I’m sober now, and can write these eloquent words about sobriety? You think I don’t have some miserably bleak memories, regret, and shame for my choices? Now you know the truth.

*”pain demands to be felt” is from The Fault in Our Stars, by John Green, 2012; ** “Envy, after all, comes from wanting something that isn’t yours. But grief comes from losing something you’ve already had.” is from Perfect Match, by Jodi Picoult, 2002.

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.

An Old Dog Taught Me a New Trick

Posted on by Lisa

The other day, I needed a pick-me-up, so I went to “dog hill”, a long gently sloping area in a park near where I live, to watch the dogs play.

There’s something comforting about dogs. Don’t know what it is exactly, all I do know is that it makes me smile when I see them interact with other dogs and their humans. What does this have to do with alcoholism, you ask? I’m getting to that.

When I see dogs – especially Beagles — memories come to me about the dog I had when I was drinking. She was very special, and our relationship exemplifies just how desperate addicted people can be for connection. And to what extremes I went to “punish” myself for being addicted.

When we can’t explain or understand, we blame ourselves.

I loathed and blamed myself for alcoholism, and I put myself through agony because of the belief that I was indeed to blame. On example is the situation surrounding my dog, ‘Baby’.

She was a tri-colored Beagle. We got her when she was just a puppy. Our children were eight, five, and four. One day while leaving the kid’s elementary school, we encountered a friend with a puppy.

The backstory is that my husband and I had just made a difficult downsizing move to a smaller house for financial reasons, and we were all trying to adjust. Maybe a puppy for the new house would be just the ticket.

I know all puppies are cute, but Beagle puppies — they’re some of the most irresistible of the puppy kingdom. And there was a whole litter of them for free!

Beagle puppies are the cutest!

This article is dedicated to ‘Baby’

Well, it wouldn’t hurt to look, would it? Now you know very well the rest of this story, don’t you?

Baby was a wonderful dog with our kiddos. She was cute and cuddly at first, like all puppies, and the kids couldn’t get enough of her. She was smart, and house trained quickly. And best of all, she was patient, predictable, and even-tempered with young children, even when they dressed her up, grabbed her in the wrong places, and pulled her around in a wagon. Never a growl or a snap came from our Baby. Yes, she became a gentle and integral part of our family, as dogs often do.

Eventually, however, the novelty wore off, and she became my dog. That was fine. I had wanted her as much as the kids had, and Baby gave me something I find difficult to explain; a tiny part of a need was filled which requires a living creature, I guess. A steady, predictable, unconditional love when I needed it most.

And the more I drank, the more I needed her. There were times when I felt like she was the only support I had, frankly. The more I drank, and tried to hide it – but didn’t very well – the more I retreated into a dysfunctional cocoon, which often only included me and her.

Baby didn’t judge me, or remember the last bad drunk, or threaten to leave me if I didn’t stop.

I remember laying on the bathroom floor many times, after throwing up all night from drinking, and Baby would use her nose to push open the door and come in to lay beside me. She’d lick my face then plop down heavily. (By this time, she was advanced middle-aged and had the Beagle’s propensity to become almost as wide as she was long.) But there was something so necessary and satisfying about her heavy sigh in my ear, as she made herself comfortable beside me.

There was something reassuring about her presence. No matter what I’d done — drinking after promising not to, hiding it, manipulating people, getting “drunk mouth” and starting arguments, or getting obnoxiously emotional, even with (I’m sure) intolerable liquor breath – she was there. And I was still okay to her; I was acceptable right there as I lay, half-drunk. I needed that, for I was not acceptable to anyone else – especially to myself.

When my husband and children were justifiably too disgusted to be with me, there was Baby, between my feet, at the foot of the bed, every single night for so many years.

I loved her ears; Beagles have ears like warm velvet.

After divorcing, I took Baby with me. She was 13 or so, very heavy, incontinent, arthritic, and now uncharacteristically cantankerous, especially towards active children.  That was problematic.

At the time, I was drinking a lot and sort of couch surfing. I was also self-employed, and my work required frequent travel. There wasn’t a great deal of stability, and having a geriatric dog was not ideal. I felt I had few options, so I decided to put her down.

Each time I got her into the car and started in the direction of the vet’s office, she would put her head out of the window (she loved riding in the car), her ears “flying” in the wind.  She looked so happy. I just couldn’t do it to her, so I’d keep her a while longer.

But then, I would have to travel again and would convince someone to keep her for me. It was a challenge. She growled or snapped at the neighbor kid. Or she got into a fracas with another dog. No one wanted to contend with an old, cranky, incontinent, over-weight dog.

I made the appointment several times before actually going through with it.

The truth is that her owner didn’t want to contend with her anymore either. I had become so focused on staying drunk, I’d not only chosen alcohol over my marriage and family, but I had chosen it over my unconditional best friend. Nothing was more important to me than what I got from alcohol. And that was the sad truth.

Heavily burdened with this realization, I did it. I put my ‘Baby’ down.

I made the decision alone. And I said good-bye to her alone. I cried for a long time in the car that day, watching my tears drip onto her velvety ears, and she comforted me even then, until the very end, unaware of what was to come.

I did this excruciating act alone, because I believed that I was too terrible a person, because I could not stop drinking. I am crying now just typing this, it was so difficult.

Looking into her droopy brown eyes, I apologized to a dog for what I was – for not being strong enough to keep her alive until she was ready to die – because I couldn’t stop drinking, and I believed that that made me an awful person.

The actual event was surprisingly quick, easy, and humane for her; so I tell myself. And I did get help digging a hole from a friend.  She was buried on the shady bank of a lovely brook with dog biscuits.

What’s the point in this now? Where’s the lesson?

While this makes for something of a heart-warming story, I suppose, considering how much comfort she gave me; and considering that she did live a long, full, and happy life; and considering I’m now sober and fully recovered from alcoholism. Seems to be a happy ending, right? So why am I going into all this now?

Because it exemplifies something really damaging and dysfunctional that we do to ourselves because we truly believe there’s something so wrong with us for being addicted to an addictive substance. We punish ourselves in unimaginably difficult ways, because we feel like we truly deserve it. And all the suffering we’re experiencing is the price we must pay to get the comfort we need from alcohol.

But we don’t deserve it. I didn’t deserve this, or anything else I put myself through, and neither do you. You do deserve to learn more about why you do what you do, and how to help yourself when no one else can.

This is courage, my friend, and this is what “Baby” taught me. This is resilience. And, if you are addicted to alcohol, this is what you are – courageous, resilient, strong, normal, and misunderstood. But close to the end of it, if you want to be. Let me guide you out of the hell in your head; it’s easier than you think when you know what’s going on in there.

Dogs still bring me joy. There is joy in sobriety, I promise. And the good thing? You’ll remember it tomorrow.

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.