Oof, this has been so easy all week, but Friday afternoon hits at work + uber-stress over the amount of work I have to do + exhausted from the work week = I would normally go buy a bottle of wine and quit working for the day. Of course, that would do nothing to reduce my stress, only provide a place to hide.
I work at a university. They say academics are particularly prone to substance-abuse problems. Partly it’s the I-want-tenure-stress. I think also it’s because we spend a lot of time alone with very little supervision…no one knows or cares if I’m working/productive on a given day. Oh they will when I come up for review next Fall but academic productivity is so hard to measure that it’s possible to spend half your time hiding behind wine with no one the wiser.
Anyways, a compromise: going home to put on a pair of sweatpants, crack open a bottle of sparkling water, and wrap up some work while hanging out with my puppies. See, no wine required.
Oof. Are we there yet?
I’ve heard blogging helps in the early days of this sober journey.
Today is Day 4. This is my second Day 4. Last time was November–I cracked on Day 8. I think I’m ready this time. Fed up, sick of the hangovers, guilt, sick feeling, loss of productivity, self-hatred…
Last week on a long plane ride (with a glass of wine in my hand), I read Belle‘s blog of her entire first year of sobriety.
I hate the word sobriety. I don’t like “recovery” or “alcoholic” either. I do like that I’m not drinking today, or this week. Or next week. I’ve committed to a month–to myself, and my husband. I hope it will become 100 days. And then….maybe a year….and so on…
I was wondering today how we end up in this position. My husband drinks (almost) as much as me when we are together but he doesn’t care one way or another if he has alcohol. Why did I become dependent on alcohol to such an extent? While I was running tonight, I was thinking about whether we chose at some point to go down this road, consciously or sub-consciously. I know that I got here through a multi-year (decade-plus) sequence of “fuck-it”s.
In the past 4 days, I’ve slept better than I have in months, actually exercised (what, when you don’t grab the wine bottle at 5pm when you get home from work, you can actually do useful activities at night?). I colored drew (ok, traced) and colored a butterfly.
My (now) husband gave me the nickname “Tough Cupcake” 5 years ago right after we just met and I was training for an Ironman triathlon (while drinking…moderately-ish). I’m trying to find that girl again…the one who wasn’t wrought with anxiety and self-doubt. Hmmm…let’s go.