I had my first drink as a sophomore in college, delayed mostly by the all too present reminders of my alcoholic father. And since then, I've been an extremely controlled social drinker.
In fact, I can count the times I've been drunk on my one hand.
So when I decided to kick the booze for the entire month of January, I didn't really think too much of it. A little post-holiday detox would do my liver and let's face it, my ass, a lot of good.
Plus, I've cut out booze for a total of 27 months (give or take a few days for those third trimester weak moments). Heck, I even ate nothing but a combination of five foods in one form or another for an entire year.
I can resist the glass of wine with dinner. The beer during Monday night football. The weird rum "with whatever kid's juice I have laying around" drink.
Suddenly, the list went on, and I realized I had become a bit more than a social drinker.
I didn't think much of it, really, until about a week into January when I felt like my body was screaming and I wanted to rip a Bud Light out of my husband's hands.
I'm quite aware that I've got addictive tendencies, which makes doing anything in moderation quite a challenge for me.
It's great for the 30 Day Shred.
And work.
But other parts of life that require moderation require a bit more of an effort.
So either I drink when I want and how I want because I CAN DRINK DAMNIT.
Or I don't do it at all.
And when it functions as a drug for me, and not as just an excellent pairing with a pasta dish, I had to wonder if I just shouldn't do it.
And so I did, well, save a few days in Puerto Rico when I sucked down a few mojitos and couple of free Margaritas (Embassy Suites Free Happy Hour FTW!), for the entire month of January.
Wouldn't you know that life was better. Sleep was better. Sex was BETTER.
Ahem.
*****
I've watched motherhood take a lot of victims - good women, awesome marriages - drowned without any chance of resuscitation. Even good swimmers, some extra prepared with lessons and life jackets, can't stay afloat when they're tossed into freezing cold water.
That's not the case for all of us.
The water is warmer, or we're fortunate to have someone toss us a lifeline and pull us in, even if it's by our hair.
But others aren't as lucky, and they grasp at what they can to keep their heads afloat.
*****
The first time I stood up to my father, he took away my car. He grabbed the keys away from me as I screamed in his face about the time he was too drunk to pick me up from youth group and left me there mortified trying to explain to my boyfriend why were were still sitting there 45 minutes after it was over.
The time he broke into our basement after being taken away by the police and screamed at us into the wee hours of the morning about how my sister's death was my mom's fault.
I raised my hand at him and he flinched. "Are you afraid I'm going to hit you?" I asked. "How does it feel?" I remember saying, my heart racing out of my chest.
He laughed, staring at the keys in his hand. "You have nothing now," he said to me. "You'll end up alone. Miserable."
*****
Life was never hard enough for me to drink.
And then I had a kid, and got married again, and attempted to be married with kids.
That's the short story.
And all that shit is pretty fucking hard.
I don't think I have a problem. But I also know I just don't do moderation well.
So instead of risk it, I'm going to enjoy the bliss and heartache of being present in my own daily existence. And I'm filling my flask with nothing else but hope.
For my kids, for my husband, and for my dad.