For years, I was a daily drinker - a busy, sometimes frazzled professional women, with a son, a dog and an ex-husband, who would rush in with the groceries at the end of a long day and yes, sometimes pour myself a glass of wine before my coat was off. Pinot grigio: this was my drink. Icy cold, soothing, in a pretty glass. It made the next shift of chopping vegetables and overseeing homework seem less like drudgery. It made the day go away. It shifted me into the evening mode. One glass to relax, another with dinner. Tea before bed. This was my routine.
Until it shifted. Sometime around the time when my son went off to university, when the house became deathly quiet and the loneliness set in, I began to drink three glasses instead of two. Not always - but occasionally. And yes, over time, it could shift to four: on a Friday or Saturday night, or when something difficult had happened. Over a period of 10 or 12 years, my drinking went from minor to major. Six years ago, I knew I had a problem. Five years ago, I went to rehab. Next month, I will celebrate five years of sobriety.
As a journalist, I decided to use my profession to research just how common my story was. In 2010, I won a major fellowship to investigate women and alcohol use, and spent a year reporting on the subject. The reality? I am far from alone. In the developed world, women are closing the gender gap on risky drinking. In fact, the richer the country, the narrower the gap between women and men. The new face of risky drinking looks like me: professional, well educated. In fact, I am the poster child, just as my mother was in the Sixties: a stay-at-home mum mixing cocktails with Valium.
My fellowship research appeared in 14-part series in Canada’s largest newspaper, the Toronto Star - and it elicited overwhelming response. Emails poured in from women across the country, sharing their stories of risky drinking. The only fact I had failed to mention in the series: my own problems with drinking. I kept that a secret after a kindly editor warned me against sharing my story: “Do you need to work after this?” she asked. “Yes,” I replied. “Then don’t reveal you have a drinking problem.”
I followed my editor’s advice: I kept quiet in that news paper series. But a year later, the story burned inside me. I knew I had to share it. The result is Drink: The Intimate Relationship Between Women and Drinking, a book that struck a chord as soon as it was published last week in Canada: it went into reprint the day it was published.
Once again, my inbox is overflowing, with women sharing their stories of drinking and recovery. The question I get asked most often is a simple one: How do I know if I am an alcoholic? How do I know if I have a problem.
For those who want answers, there are numerous online quizzes you can take. I proffer these simple questions for any who have doubts:
- Have you tried to cut back and failed?
- Do you drink to forget, to numb, to not be you?
- Do you find that you want to continue drinking after your friends say they have had enough?
- Do you sneak extra alcohol when your partner is out of the room?
- Have your partner or friends expressed concern about your drinking?
Personally, I did all of the above. Near the end of my drinking career, I kept a drinking diary, rewarding myself with a sticker each time I was able to keep my promises to myself. The stickers were monkeys—as in, “Let’s get this monkey off my back.” When the stickers failed to accumulate at the rate I knew they should, I knew there was no choice to take more drastic steps.
Five years later, without alcohol in my life, I am a much happier person, free from shame and self-recrimination. I am not alone. Each Thursday night, as I take my seat in a brightly lit church basement, I am surrounded by a sea of professional women: lawyers, teachers, bank executives, all recovering from their dependence on alcohol. There’s a lot of laughter in the room.
There are some downsides to the story. I lost a major love in sobriety. The first year was hard: I had to deal with the depression and anxiety I was self-medicating with alcohol. But the gains have outstripped the losses: I have won back the respect of my son, the admiration of my sister, the trust of my friends. I have started a National Roundtable on Girls, Women and Alcohol. And I have returned to my first love - writing. The rewards of sobriety are daily and rich.
Am I a “grateful alcoholic,” as they say in the rooms? Most days, I am. For several years now, I have begun each morning with a gratitude list, one that lists my challenges as well as my blessings - especially my broken heart, which reminds me how much I loved and was loved. There is some strange alchemy associated with gratitude. Somewhere along the way of doing these lists, I fell in love with my life again.
Most of all, I have learned that the addict’s lie is just that: an untruth. It goes like this: “I will always feel this way—therefore, I might as well drink.” And as long as you keep drinking, that lie keeps you stuck. The world does not improve: it’s a self-fulfilling promise. Stop drinking, and there’s no telling what will happen. Stop drinking, and you can begin the process of loving yourself back into being. For some of us, it’s the only route forward. Personally, I wouldn’t have it any other way.
