I remember telling myself, “I’ll quit enjoying alcohol when….” fill in the blank. I had, and still have, every common reason to drink. Let’s start the list:
- I’m Single
- I’m in my 50’s and have earned it
- I’m stressed
- I’m happy
- My adult children never check in with me
- I can finally have a margarita with my adult children
- I’m a Woman, dang it!
- The Sun is Out
- It’s Saturday
- It’s Monday
- Life’s a b!#@%
- Life is Precious
- I’m bored
- I’m scared
- Blah, blah, blah…..
You can see where this is going. Mostly, however, I had convinced myself that I would quit when “things a settled down a little.”. Those exact words. No parameters. No clear definition of what those ‘things’ were-that need settling. Just a big wet blanket over Life’s general struggles.
In fact, when I made the decision to quit drinking in January, my life was in a bit of chaos. A schedule I’d kept for over three years had, abruptly, come to an end. There were a lot of adjustments that I was forced to make. And then more. And then still more concessions. Lastly, reluctant compromise would be the final push that would move me into a new phase. And, if I’m honest, I was not entirely happy at the outcome. But I’m never one to throw my hands-all the way up. I’m patient. I always give things time and a chance to settle into a ‘groove’.
In fact, the last 90 days, May through July, has tested me beyond some personal, emotional and psychological limits. The old Me would have cleared a few large bottles by now. I am astounded at my own resolve.
That’s not a brag. I am humbled. What I realized, throughout this firing period, is how mad I am that alcohol actually ISN’T the soother or comforter I once thought it to be. That even though, in the past, I would have wanted a drink…I finally know, now, that a cocktail won’t change a damn thing about my circumstances. Not. One. Damn. Thing.
I’m hurting as I make this entry. Not-curled up in a corner of my bed- hurting. But working-crying in between clients-hurting. Driving-crying behind the wheel-hurting. And finally-reaching out to my parents-hurting. They’re older and I didn’t want to burden them, but I needed that Mom & Pop sage advice. And bless them for knowing how bad it must be for ME…the proverbial Lone Wolf/Black Sheep of the family…to cry on the other end of the line in need of comfort. And comfort me they did. No alcohol required.
So, No…there is no right time to quit. No ‘better’ time to quit. No rock bottom–rock sideways–or bottoms up time to quit. Which means there’s also no wrong time to quit. Good times or Crap times…just quit.
That is All.