I will always remember the last time I awoke with a hangover. It was a Sunday in April. As I opened my bleary eyes, I scanned the room, struggling to piece together the events that led me here. I was in my own bed, yet the memories were hazy. I recalled turning on the television to watch a film, but that was about it. Somehow, I had finished a bottle of wine and crawled into bed, but the specifics escaped me. My mouth felt parched, my throat was rough, my heart raced, and a relentless headache throbbed. In that moment, I made yet another promise to myself: “No more!”
The day passed, and I managed to keep that promise, albeit easily due to the overwhelming discomfort I felt. All I craved was water and rest, but life doesn’t pause for those nursing a hangover. My daughter and I had tickets to a play, and her eager little face implored me not to disappoint her. So, I mustered the strength to leave the house and step into the sunlight.
Ah, the sunlight. It can feel like an adversary to someone struggling with addiction. In darkness, we can hide our flaws and mistakes, but under bright light, nothing is concealed. It’s as if the universe is mocking us with its radiance, reminding us of our incongruity. On that day, I managed to resist the temptation of alcohol, but by the following evening, the painful memories began to fade, leading me back to an open bottle of wine. I justified it to myself: my uncle had passed away, and I had just attended his funeral. Returning home, I turned on the news to see coverage of a bombing at the Boston Marathon—graphic and distressing images that weighed heavily on my heart. In my sadness and despair, I sought solace in a glass of wine.
As I poured my second glass, a voice broke through the fog. Was it God? My conscience? Perhaps I was losing my mind? The identity of the voice didn’t matter as much as its message: “This isn’t helping. This won’t bring your uncle back. This won’t alleviate the pain in Boston. This won’t erase anything, but it is making you fade away. Come back.”
For a fleeting moment, clarity returned, and I recognized the person I was becoming. I was a career woman, a mother to two wonderful children, a wife, a sister, a daughter, a friend. Yet, all of that was slipping through my fingers. Initially, I had turned to alcohol to unwind or celebrate, but now, I no longer needed a reason. I simply wanted to escape feeling anything at all. During the day, I maintained a semblance of normalcy, but once the sun set, I struggled to silence my overactive, restless mind. Alcohol had become my escape.
However, turning off my emotions came at a cost. By shutting out both joy and sorrow, I lost the essence of truly living. I felt invisible, even when I was physically present. It was as if I was sprinting through life without a finish line, struggling to keep my head above water. I felt overwhelmed, as if I were carrying a colossal burden alone. The shame and fear were suffocating. How had I let things spiral out of control? What would others think if they knew? The other mothers? My employer? My family? I understood that I could not continue down this path, yet I felt powerless to stop. I had no coping mechanisms without wine. Wine had been my companion for celebrations, tears, and relaxation. But I knew it had to end, or my situation would only deteriorate further.
When I finally decided to stop drinking, loneliness enveloped me. I thought I was the only woman in the world who had so profoundly failed at life. Little did I know then what I know now: the antidote to addiction is connection. My path to recovery began when I listened to other women share their stories. There’s immense strength in revealing that this issue can touch anyone, irrespective of age, gender, or background. Addiction does not discriminate, but recovery is attainable. It truly is, and it’s an extraordinary way to live.
Over the past few years, my life has transformed in countless ways. Reprogramming my brain and learning new coping strategies was the most challenging endeavor I’ve ever undertaken. But with perseverance, my journey becomes increasingly rewarding. Today, I am flourishing. My depression has lifted, I lost 30 pounds, and I started a business that aligns with my passions. My health has never been better, and I’m a more present mother, wife, and friend. My life is infinitely improved.
Even on my toughest days of recovery, I feel a million times better than I ever did while drinking. I once believed that abandoning wine meant my life would end, that I would become dull and be perceived as odd. But when I finally discarded that last bottle, it marked the true beginning of my life. Now, I can be the mother and woman I always aspired to be. I may not be perfect, but I am committed to doing my best. Some days remain challenging, yet I recognize that each time I confront life directly rather than surrendering to a bottle, the journey becomes more beautiful. It’s not easy, but it’s always worth it.
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In summary, the journey from addiction to recovery is filled with challenges, but it is also a path toward a vibrant and fulfilling life. By connecting with others and confronting feelings instead of numbing them, one can rediscover the joy and purpose that life has to offer.