Simply BE
“A man takes a drink. A drink takes a drink. A drink takes a man.” Unknown
It took years for me to finally accept that I did not drink like other people. Years of agonizing over it, trying new ways to drink, constantly asking myself why I was the way I was. There was always a nagging in the back of my brain saying “Ellen, something is wrong here.” The serenity prayer has been my favorite prayer long before I got sober. But I was never ready to have the “courage to change the things I can.”
I would say the prayer often. “God, Grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.” I would say to myself, “crap, you have to accept that you cannot change the way you drink. Accept that you have a drinking problem. And then stop drinking.” But then I would convince myself, “nah right now you have the wisdom to know you are going to keep drinking.” Haha- that always worked well.
I didn’t always drink alcoholically. There are still so many times I try to convince myself that I’m not really an alcoholic. And let’s be honest, labeling ourselves doesn’t always help anything. The stigma and shame that comes with labeling oneself is often the reason we don’t get sober in the first place. “I’m functioning just fine- alcoholics are homeless and desperate. They get fired and get DUIs. They are in jail. I’m not one of those.” But then 5:00 would come around, and I was off to the races once again. The anticipation of the first drink kept me going throughout each day. The excitement of pulling up to the liquor store, walking in and getting my usual to hide, then also getting whatever my husband would see at home. The secrets kept me wanting more, knowing I was getting away with it. But then, my little shoulder angle was always there. Every time I was in line, she whispered, “Ellen- you can’t do this anymore. When will enough be enough?!” Then my little devil came out on the other side and convinced me it was OK; “we will worry about the repercussions another day- you can stop drinking tomorrow maybe…”
Years of this. I never stopped drinking tomorrow like I said I would.
Until I did. Then, I finally understood the quote above. I take a drink until the drink finally takes me. It only takes one. It is that first drink that essentially got me drunk every night. Because the first led to the second, third, fourth, and so on. If I had not stopped, the drink would have eventually taken me. Not necessarily killed me, but taken me from my family, from my friends, from my life I knew, and ultimately, yes, taken me to my grave. It’s not really me taking the drink. The drink takes over me, in every way, whether I want it to or not. I do not have the capability to have one drink, and the drink does not have the capability to tell me to stop. When I used to live at my parents house about 10 miles south of town, I would always set an alarm when I was out at the clubs/bars - it was for around 11:30 or 12am to “stop drinking” so that I could sober up and drive home by the time the bars closed. I was too poor to pay the $50 cab fare each night I was out (uber didn’t exist yet!) Guess what- I NEVER did that. I would always find a friend to crash with, but would always remember at least to text my parents and let them know. Even when I tried my hardest to stop drinking after a certain amount, I never could. I was lucky that I never did get a DUI, or arrested for something alcohol or drug related. I could have easily been the stereotype I was so hell bent on not becoming.
The twins are almost two- which means many things, haha, but right now it means they are going through a sleep regression. Instead of falling right asleep like they usually do, Noah is screaming his face off until we come back into the room to cuddle or sing or do whatever he demands. We let him cry it out most nights, but the other night, I wanted to cuddle. I was doing it for me- not for him. I miss the stage where they were babies and just laid on my chest, wrapped like little burritos. Both snuggled up comfortably on me. I got Noah out of his crib and he immediately settled. When I sat down, I saw another little human staring at me. Bella was also awake (she normally is pretty good and tuning out Noah’s screams). She was standing in her crib quietly watching us. “Of course baby girl- you can cuddle too.” I maneuvered her out of her crib while still holding onto Noah in my other arm. They are both about 26-28 pounds, so it is not as easy as it used to be. We sat in the rocker, and all cuddled up on my chest just like we used to…only slightly more crammed.
Sitting there, I realized I left my phone in the other room. I had nothing to look at or scroll through. I also realized I left the ice cream out thawing downstairs and that it was likely going to melt into a puddle by the time I got there. At first I was slightly panicked about being bored…not having anything to look at. I couldn’t even find a nursery rhyme to play. But then I realized, this is what women used to fucking do all the time before we were so dependent upon technology and phones. This is how people used to parent- this used to be normal. To actually be PRESENT with your children when they need you. Not to simply be there physically but completely tuned into other things. I had to embrace the moment and really allow myself to be there, even though I didn’t have my usual crutch. I had to let go of the fact that the ice cream wasn’t going to be good anymore by the time I got downstairs. I had to remind myself that the dirty dishes could wait, and I would do them later. It was crazy to me, as I sat there humming to my beautiful, now sleepy, children, that I had to cognitively tell myself to be present in this moment instead of just doing it naturally. This is what we have become as a society- unable to be present even for something so easy as sitting and cuddling with adorable babies.
So I sat there. I was ready to sit there all night if that’s what was going to happen. I was ready to sleep with the babies on me until Ian got home to help me get up from the chair. But I had to talk myself into it…isn’t that strange? I felt so alone, like I needed my phone in order to get through the snuggle session just because I no longer know how to sit by myself (even with two little humans with me). And it takes me back to how unpresent and uninvolved I was when I was drinking. Not only do I have that addiction, but it seems we all have addictions to other material things as well. When was the last time you didn’t think about your phone, what you were missing on it, if you had new messages, or who was posting on social media? When was the last time you sat with your children WITHOUT the distraction of a cell phone, tablet, iPad, TV, or book? When did it become so hard for us to just BE?
It seems like you can add anything to that quote.
“A man takes a drug. A drug takes a drug. A drug takes a man.”
“A man takes a phone. A phone takes a phone. A phone takes a man.”
We can be addicted to anything. I know I became more present when I quit drinking. I am now also less judgmental, I am more honest with others, but also with myself. I can do hard things sober. But am I really there? I guess I’m realizing that I’m not always, and that is something I will definitely be adding to my toolbox. How to simply BE. I don’t want to be taken away by anything else. Drugs and alcohol already took enough away from me…and now I am fighting back.
