From the outside I seemed like an accomplished, successful, happy person. A cool job, a home with a view, lots of friends, a beautiful wife. I was active, playing tennis, golfing, running marathons, finishing a 70mile ironman, even club champ at the local country Club. 40 years old and moving on just fine. Seemed idealistic really.
But inside, I was struggling. I was struggling with life. With myself. My mind and my self-control. I had shame and guilt. Then depression. Anxiety and even some weird phobias. This turned into conflict with my wife. Irritable behavior and a ton of stress. Then with my career, not achieving what I wanted. Not growing. Not evolving. I was fucking stuck. And it wasn’t getting better. Only worse.
Then life threw me some extra complexities that didn’t help. We all have our challenges. Family issues, health concerns, financial worry all played a part. Its part of life. We tried to support each other, at times we did. But the added stress became extra trying.
Adding to it all, I was getting deeper in a struggle that had been gaining on me for a sometime. Drinking…
Our social, fun drinking days had turned on us, particularly on me. At 40, I started feeling really bad after a night of drinking. The hangovers were becoming unbearable. I didn’t drink every day. More like 3 maybe 4 times a week. But when I did, it led to more than what I consider appropriate. Followed by a few smokes on the deck. A secret vice my wife and i shared. I could feel the effects getting worse.
I began trying to stop drinking. Maybe a 10-day stretch or dry Jan. Or only drink on the weekends. But that just seemed to add to my stress. I started looking forward to the days I could drink and dread the days I couldn’t. Then on the days I could, I was stoked to hammer a few beers, and some cigs. Only to wake up feeling terrible about myself.
Often sleeping in, but with horrible sleep. Then eating poorly. Then feeling a dull headache, an ugly guilt and subtle shame. This over and over, the insanity cycle as I call it. Each weekend. Or maybe an added day of the week (Sunday fun day, or a random Tuesday, it didn’t take much to get us to drink). Weeks past. Months past. Years past.
Once a professional athlete, I had gained some serious lbs. I avoided mirrors; I didn’t like seeing a swollen face, puffy eyes and the sad look of disapproval from me.
I stopped evolving. Or maybe I stopped many years back. I was just there. Frozen. Life seemed to revolve around drinks. Our next social event. Then less about social and more about our next opportunity to just drink. Nice dinners turned more into sitting at bars ordering off bar menus and drinking. The craft beer scene hit hard and I went from drinking normal beers, to beers that had more then double the alcohol content, and huge calories. That shit snuck up on me fast. Now drinking 3 beers was like drinking 6 of what I was used too. Add some whiskey as a sidecar to that hoppy IPA. Yikes. I was getting pickled.
As I tried to back off or go through one of my dry weeks or months. I would get pressure from others to drink. Often from my wife, our relationship had evolved into drinking buddies. Even stranger, friends and family often thought I was making too big deal about it. I wasn’t in their words an alcoholic. I didn’t drink every day. I didn’t drink in the morning. I didn’t drive drunk. I wasn’t violent.
I just didn’t feel good about myself. I hated me.
Not feeling good about myself was the start. We used to call bad hangovers, the I HATE ME’s. Hate me for the amount I drank the night before. For the cigs. For the dry mouth. For the dehydration, for the pulsing in my head. For the obnoxious behavior or for the lazy unhealthy person I was becoming. I hated me in the morning. Then hated me most of the day. Until, I had a drink. Then I started to like me, secretly hating me more for continuing the cycle. The cognitive dissonance was building in my mind.
Next up and not a shocker in these terms. But a shocker to others around us, my wife decided she was not happy in our marriage. I was selfish and going through hell in my mind. Becoming extremely negative. All stemming from my self hate, reflecting out. On the flip side, she was drinking too much as well. So it was double trouble. Her having some of the same issues but in different ways. A perfect blend, life complexity, challenges, career frustrations, drinking too much, and then marriage difficulties. So after 10 years of marriage she left me. I was officially broken.
What was happening? Like I mentioned from the outside it all looked so good. Casual, easy and loving. Inside, I was screaming for help. The irony, I was the one who could actually help, I needed to help me.
I heard a quote as I started doing anything I could to correct my direction. Listening to podcasts, self help books and this resonated with me. “Your life is, of course how you spend your days…” I was spending my days waking up hating myself. Hung over. Then thinking about when I could or could not drink. Then drinking and getting drunk. What a fucking shitty life I was building.
So after many, many attempts at quitting, throttling back, taking months off, weekends only, all that bullshit. I decided I had enough. Inspired by a few buddies that took a year off and huge life success, I decided I was going to take a year off of drinking myself. In attempt to save my marriage, save my career, save my life and correct my mind.
Additionally, I was seeing a therapist for depression and all the other things people see therapists for. And at one point, he matter a fact told me that it’s really not good to drink when you are depressed. Reminding me that alcohol is a depressant.
Everything seemed to be telling me this might be a good decision. It all made sense, I just couldn’t seem to actually do it.
Until the night before my 42nd Bday. I had been preparing myself that I was going to stop. I had to stop. I needed to stop. I so desperately wanted to stop. I finished one of my favorite Dave’s beer, a raspy, hoppy, tangy Pale Ale. Leaving one in the fridge. Maybe to test me (or just in case I couldn’t). That was it. I was going to take on 42 sober and like they say, one day at a time, I stopped drinking.
My goal was for a year. But that was way too big for me to think of at first. Instead of a year goal. My goal was for that day. That night. That weekend. That next social event. That evening by myself. Day by day.
And each day, started to add up. The classic example of small goals adding up to big accomplishments. A weekend, a week, a month. It was extremely difficult at times, but it was happening.
A few things I started doing to help. I discovered podcasts. Specifically podcasts pertaining to the sober culture. These were amazing! I wasn’t the only person dealing with this. So many options and I could listen any time I wanted. My favorites started with Recovery Elevator, Anna David’s Recovery Girl, Shair, and Sober Guy. I loved these. It seemed I had my headphones on all the time. Plus it was nice to hear someone talk to me. Like a friend, with similar struggles.
Then journaling. I started journaling every morning. Reminding myself about why I quit drinking. What I hated from it, the hangovers, being fat, spending money, and depression. I wrote about daily insights from being sober. Like how nice mornings are, or feeling leaner from the lack of empty calories, a restful, peaceful sleep, and acknowledging genuine feelings.
Exercise. I always liked being active. But in part as a punishment for the hangovers. Now I was thoroughly enjoying my workouts. Running (with podcast playing) became fun. Weight workouts pushed my energy to endorphin filled, confidence-building moments where I actually started to look at myself in the mirror again. Hey I had some muscles under that soft fat…
Yoga, I know its so cliché but I started to love it. The smooth motions and body movements seemed to calm me. I did a hot hour flow class once a week. I wasn’t one of the guys that could pull the no shirt thing and I swear I sweated twice as much as any other person there, but I was doing it and felt pretty cool about that.
Reading. I read more then I did in high school and college combined. Going back and reading classics, or a thriller, combined with a ton of self-help everything. This was becoming my new drug. Self help. Finding solace in others having struggled with life issues and turned it around. Specifically with Alcohol and drugs, but deeper with depression and anxiety. I read This Naked Mind, early on. I really liked the concept. About the drinking culture and ways to look at it from another angle.
Meditation. I read the Power of Now. A great book about mindfulness and living in the right now. It was powerful. I also started with a 10-minute meditation app called Calm. It’s been awesome.
Non-Alcohol Beer. Yep, Near Beer. I dove into this forgotten segment of beer. Many nights having a NA beer (and a nasty cig), to get through the craving times. I know others frown on this but fuck it. I wasn’t drinking alcohol. That was my goal. Do what ever I had to do to start. I’ll admit it’s a not a great habit. But it helped. Instead of 3 to 6 beers a night. I had one NA beer. And woke up Hangover free, with my goal still in tack.
So, there you go… I’d like to dive in more on this blog. But this was my start to taking a year off drinking. The best decision I’ve ever made.