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Life's short, just write. Gratitude for a good year.

I’ve come to dislike the image of a blinking cursor on a blank Word document. Write. Write. Write , it taunts me. It’s those blank Word documents where inspiration goes to die, sucked away bit by bit with that blinking of the cursor. I am exaggerating, of course. There are days where that blank document is a thrilling opportunity, the blinking cursor disappearing as words flow from my fingertips. In those moments, writing is such a joy. My husband edits a lot of my writing (at my request, he wants me to add). We’ve spent many a Saturday morning on the couch with me side-eyeing him while he clacks away on his laptop, chewing on his shirt collar, offering suggestions in a shared Google Doc. Despite our different styles—he’s more direct, I’m “flowery”—I find that my writing ultimately ends up better for it. And I have to begrudgingly admit that some of my sentences are stronger when reduced from 25 words to 10.  Nonetheless, writer’s block continues to be maddening, and you are kind of on

Breaking Up with Booze


I stood leaning over the open fridge staring down a can of Bud Light seltzer. I guess this is what my life had come to, having staring contests with inanimate objects. On Saturday, I woke up feeling truly awful. Hungover from ringing in the 2022 New Year with too many glasses of red wine and battling a cold on top of it, I vowed that I would spend the week not drinking to get better. But now it was Tuesday, and Tuesday me wanted a drink.

The seltzer continued to stare back at me. I could almost feel it, the stress relief. I’d find my favorite corner of the couch, crack open the can, feel the carbonation tickle the back of my throat, and wait for the relief to kick in. But then something different happened. There are times where it feels like life randomly decides to hand you moments of clarity. I don’t question its timing because it’s usually only to my benefit. But it was almost as if I stepped outside of my body at that moment, saw myself struggling and thought, “Why do I let this have so much power over me?” I slammed the fridge door shut and decided to sweat it out with an exercise routine in the basement.

For the next couple weeks, instead of drinking, I devoted myself to exercising as soon as I got home from work. I knew going into it that this was not a permanent solution, but those two weeks gave me some much-needed space from what was increasingly feeling like an unhealthy relationship with alcohol. I gained some clarity and was able to be honest with myself. My drinking was becoming problematic, and I was tired of pretending that it wasn’t. But how did I even get here?

Growing up in a small town doesn’t always lend itself to developing healthy drinking habits. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not trying to equate growing up in a small town with drinking problems. But if you’re going to drink underage, it usually involves a fire out in the woods and drinking until you can’t stand up anymore. It’s not the greatest starting point for developing a healthy relationship with alcohol. I was a shy and awkward kid and drinking was an easy way to loosen up, have fun, and feel accepted. 

As a young adult, I didn't spend much time questioning my drinking habits. Truthfully, I had a lot of fun. But as time went on, I began to notice that I was struggling when it came to moderating my intake. It wasn’t so much that I was becoming a sloppy drinker or frequently blacking out. My family and friends didn’t have to sit me down and plan an intervention. But when I did drink, I wanted to keep drinking. Stopping at one or two required a lot of mental energy and will power that made me feel exhausted. The type of drinking I had become accustomed to in high school and college had created pathways in my brain that equated drinking with drinking excessively. I was having a hard time finding the off switch.

The pandemic was difficult in many ways, and it felt like I arrived at an especially low point when it came to my relationship with alcohol. As a coping mechanism, I developed a daily drinking habit to unwind at the end of each day. One per day became two, and weekends were an excuse to indulge in three, four, sometimes five. I started sleeping poorly and waking up with anxiety in the middle of the night. I felt dehydrated and bloated all the time. I developed a chronic headache and felt like I couldn’t handle stress or my emotions particularly well. I was aware of the change in my drinking habits and made attempts to cut back or moderate. But moderating took up so much mental energy that I didn’t even feel like I was having fun anymore. No matter what I was doing or who I was spending time with, I was always thinking about how many drinks I’d consumed, how many more I could have and still be able to drive, or how much I could drink without people thinking I had a problem. Once social events slowly started to become acceptable again, I would often try to sneak in a drink before attending to take the edge off or leave early so I could have a couple more at home before bed. Outwardly, I was trying so hard to appear as if I had a normal relationship with alcohol that I was ignoring my own internal chaos.

It feels a bit dramatic to say a book changed my life, but Annie Grace’s This Naked Mind: Control Alcohol: Find Freedom, Rediscover Happiness & Change Your Life fundamentally changed the way I viewed my relationship with alcohol. After that, I bought a number of books on sobriety, I downloaded podcasts, joined a 30-Day alcohol experiment, and sought out various online communities. In doing so, I opened myself to a world of people who had similar experiences to mine. I didn’t identify as an alcoholic. I couldn’t envision myself attending an AA meeting. I was in this weird gray area where I didn’t want to label myself with something I didn’t identify with but also being quite certain I would ruin my life if I continued drinking. But here it was, this welcoming space with thousands of people who wanted to change their relationship with alcohol and wanted to do so in a different way. It truly felt like the greatest gift.

I feel a little vulnerable in sharing all of this. But I know that hearing other’s stories is a large part of what helped me get where I am today in terms of my relationship (or lack thereof) with alcohol. I feel grateful that my drinking didn’t get to a point where it felt like it was destructive or required intervention, because I can see how it happens, that slow downward spiral, and why it wouldn’t have taken much for me to inevitably arrive at that point. I've tried incredibly hard this past year to not sound sanctimonious about not drinking. Everyone has their own experience, and my intent is not to shame those who do drink by sharing my story. That being said, I do think it is helpful to frequently check in, analyze your relationship with alcohol, and allow yourself to be honest. Is this really working? If you are currently struggling with how much you are drinking or are curious about an alcohol-free lifestyle, give it a try. Maybe you won’t quit drinking forever, but I’m certain you’ll learn something valuable. And I will happily be your sober buddy, cheering you on, sharing my favorite NA beverages, and supporting you as you navigate your journey.

New Year’s Day 2023 marked one year since breaking up with booze. I felt almost giddy waking up without a hangover. The physical improvements I've experienced - deep restorative sleep, finding healthier outlets for stress, clearer skin, less bloat - are just one of many reasons I've concluded that my life is better when I don't drink.

I’ve learned so much about alcohol, the damage it does to our minds and bodies, and why it often becomes a slippery slope even when we start with the best of intentions. But most importantly, I’ve learned so much about myself. Change is possible. Walking away from alcohol allowed me to experience the life I have always wanted to live. I am better for it.


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