I’ll always remember the last time I woke up with a hangover. It was a Sunday in April. As I slowly opened my bleary eyes, I took a moment to orient myself. I was back in my own bed, yet the details of how I arrived there eluded me. I recalled starting a movie but everything else was a blur. Somehow, I had downed an entire bottle of wine before crawling into bed. My mouth felt dry, my throat scratched, my heart raced, and my head throbbed mercilessly. I swore to myself, “Never again!”—a promise I had made countless times before.
As Sunday passed, I held true to my vow. The discomfort I felt made it easy to resist temptation. All I craved was water and rest, but life doesn’t pause for a hangover. My daughter and I had tickets to a play, and her hopeful eyes wouldn’t allow me to bail. So, I forced myself into the sunlight.
Ah, the sunlight. For someone like me, it felt like the enemy. In darkness, I could hide my flaws and failures, but the bright light exposed everything. It was as if the universe was mocking me, reminding me that I didn’t belong. The sun became my kryptonite.
I managed to stay away from alcohol that day, but by the following evening, the memories of my hangover faded, and I found myself once again pouring a glass of wine. I felt justified; my uncle had just passed away, and I had just attended his funeral. Returning home, I switched on the TV and saw news of a bombing at the Boston Marathon. The images were shocking and filled me with despair. I was sad, overwhelmed, and desperately seeking to numb myself. As I downed my second glass, I heard it—a voice. Was it God? My conscience? Perhaps I was losing my mind? Regardless, what mattered was its message.
“This isn’t helping. This won’t bring your uncle back. This won’t erase the pain in Boston. This won’t solve anything, but it is making you disappear. Come back.”
For a fleeting moment, clarity broke through the haze, and I recognized the person I was becoming. I was a dedicated professional, a mother to two wonderful kids, a spouse, a sister, a daughter, and a friend. Yet, all of that was slipping away. Initially, alcohol was my way to unwind or celebrate, but soon it became my escape from feelings altogether. I managed to keep it together during the day, but at night, I was lost, unable to find the switch to turn off my chaotic mind. Alcohol felt like the only answer.
The trouble was, when I shut myself off, I missed out on life. By avoiding feelings—both good and bad—I was losing the ability to truly experience life. Even when I was physically present, I felt like a ghost, perpetually running without a finish line, always on the verge of drowning.
Isolation consumed me; it felt as though I was carrying a massive burden alone. I was ashamed and frightened. How did I let it spiral so far? What would others think if they knew? The other moms? My boss? My family? I realized I couldn’t continue down this path, yet I had no idea how to break free. Wine had become my go-to for every emotion—celebration, sorrow, relaxation. But I understood that I needed to stop before things worsened. As long as I continued drinking, I wouldn’t find a way up.
The day I chose to stop drinking was the most isolating moment of my life. I felt like the only woman who had failed at living. Back then, I didn’t comprehend what I know now—the antidote to addiction is connection. The only reason I could seek the help I desperately needed was that other women had bravely shared their stories. There’s genuine strength in revealing that this issue can affect anyone, regardless of age, gender, or background. Recovery is indeed possible, and it’s a remarkable way to live.
Over the last few years, my life has transformed in unimaginable ways. Rewiring my brain and learning a new approach to life wasn’t easy—it was the toughest challenge I’ve ever faced. But with persistence, I find my journey increasingly fulfilling. Today, I’m thriving. My depression has lifted, I’ve lost 30 pounds, and I even started my own business, aligning my passion with my work. I’m healthier than ever, and I’m a happier mother, wife, and friend. Life is so much richer now.
Even on my toughest days of recovery, I feel infinitely better than I ever did while drinking. I once believed that putting down the wine glass would mean the end of excitement, that I’d be boring and that people would think I was strange. But it was when I tossed that last bottle that my true life began. Now I can be the mother and woman I’ve always aspired to be. I may not be perfect, but I’m doing my best. Some days are still challenging, yet each time I confront life head-on rather than numbing it with a bottle, the path ahead becomes more beautiful. It might not be easy, but it’s always worthwhile.
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Summary
This piece reflects on a personal journey of overcoming alcohol addiction and the path to recovery. The author shares the struggles of grappling with hangovers, the pressure of daily life, and the isolation that accompanies addiction. Through moments of clarity and connection with others, she discovers the strength to change her life. The narrative emphasizes the importance of facing life authentically and the fulfillment that comes from recovery.