changing how I see alcohol

There is a great power that each of us have, and that is our freedom to choose. Free will is our birthright, however there is a lot of deception in our world. We are told what is good (and not good) for us. We are told what we “should” and “shouldn’t” do and social acceptance plays a role in our lives to some degree, whether we like it or not.

Sometimes it’s more than a question of “do I value myself enough to quit this behaviour.”

Sometimes there is an abundance of brainwashing we must unpack before it is just a simple choice.

Some changes don’t just require our knowledge; they require our unconscious beliefs too. Changing beliefs is not impossible, but it does take awareness of what is true.

It is not a fair world that we live in. People with money, power, psychological understanding and marketing degrees prey on those without it to send us a message that we, without even realising, will start to subconsciously absorb and believe as truth. We might wonder why we can’t stick at a change we are trying to make, all the while we are victims to the cognitive dissonance caused by our unconscious and conscious minds working against one another.

Guess who wins? The conscious (thinking) mind gets tired, and we inevitably fall into the patterns which are supported by our deep-seated beliefs. The conditioning from marketing, habit, and cultural pressure is so powerful that it’s not always easy for us to keep up.

I read Annie Graces’ This Naked Mind and reflected on my relationship with alcohol as an Australian woman. This is my story.

I remember the first time I took a sip of beer from my dad’s VB can as this fresh, cold, newly opened beverage sat on the coffee table while he disappeared to go to the bathroom. It looked like a delicious cool drink. I wondered if it would taste like Kole beer (my favourite soft drink). It had to be good, I thought, he drinks multiple every day. So, I curiously took a little sip. UGH! It was the most disgusting, bitter bevvy I’ve ever tasted. Hmm, I can see why they call this “piss” I thought to myself.

I wondered if my mum’s cask wine that lived in the fridge “fruity lexia” would be any better. NOPE. It was like they’d mixed sugar with piss, put some bubbles in it and served it cold as if that would somehow make it better. I even tried the tonic water and panicked because I thought it was poison that had been put in the fridge when it should have been in with the cleaning stuff – probably because there’s no sugar in that one.

“I’m NEVER drinking or smoking when I grow up,” I proclaimed as I sat at the outside table with my dad and siblings. I don’t remember what was said, but I think my dad said something along the lines of “that’s what they all say” or “wait ‘til you grow up, it’s an acquired taste.”

In year five we had a class party where we got to try non-alcoholic sparkling as part of the end of year festive celebration. It was still gross without the alcohol but not as fiercely feral as I found the alcoholic version. Looking back, I find it funny that we felt all “grown up” at ten years old because we had little plastic cups with a stem filled with bubbling stuff like our parents.

A thousand advertisements later flooding my brain with how refreshing alcohol is; TV shows where characters had wine or beer in their hand; The messaging of a hangover as a clear rite of passage; and Restricted adult areas at bars that seemed to glorify alcohol as a treat for adults that offered a good time, had had me looking forward to when I could legally go out and drink.

Vodka and orange juice. One of the only things that tasted any good at first because I covered up the poison taste with juice. Midori or malibu and coke. Yay now I have a new melon or coconut coke flavour. Jager bombs! You skulled them quickly so we wouldn’t taste how utterly disgusting they were. Shots! Quick, warming, socially fun. “I need a drink” so I can dance and keep up with my friends in this horrible, smelly, dingy hole we call a nightclub. Yeah, so fun (when it was just fun to be with my people). But I’d be home trying to sleep at 3am with my ears ringing, waking up tired, sometimes sick, or at least nauseated. We made so may midnight Maccas trips to “absorb the alcohol” and God only knows how much money we wasted. Hundreds of dollars a night on club entry fees and drinks around $10 each that we required more of as we built tolerance.

We’d often have more fun getting ready to go out with pre-drinks than we would when we were out (for me, always). Yet we would still drink every week. I put on weight at this time in my life from all the extra, unnecessary calories. Funnily enough, I never really questioned what I was doing. We were all doing it. My family, my friends, acquaintances, strangers, people on TV.

The only person I knew not to drink was my grandad and once when asked why, he told us a story of being the designated driver for his dad and brothers and how the change he saw in them as they "lost their senses" and "made fools of themselves" horrified him. He never wanted to lose control of himself like that. He found clubbing ridiculous and often referred to the way people are jam packed into them like sardines in a can bopping up and down. My nanna would have a very occasional drink like Baileys at Christmas, but I saw alcohol as a part of everyday life in my parents’ homes and that of most other people I know. The conception seemed to be that not drinking meant you would not have fun or fit in.

At 19, after a year of having experienced the clubbing scene I saw myself as a “bar girl”. I much preferred having a proper conversation with someone and the personal space it offers. No sticky floors, random hands grabbing and slapping at you, non-comprehendible words, yelling to be heard, having to rely solely on lip reading and body language, nothing to do but drink for fun/to numb, being stared at and touched by creeps… need I go on? I found nothing nice about the scene other than sometimes the music, but even that got repetitive.

For a while I worked at a liquor store where I met my best friend and together through the select tastings we were given as staff to be able to provide recommendations for customers, we learned to appreciate the taste of a wide range of alcohol. We enjoyed sharing wine together every so often when we hung out, but it was never more than one bottle we shared followed by coffee or tea and enjoying each other’s company.

I got a job working at a bar where I met my now husband. At the beginning of our relationship, we drank together every few days before I soon started having other issues which made me change my diet and cleansed. For four months I had zero alcohol, but the first red wine I had tasted like the most delicious treat ever and before long, I was a moderate drinker and would have one or two a fortnight with my hubby when I felt like one.  It was not until recently that I read Annie Grace’s “This Naked Mind” and heard that it’s the withdrawal of alcohol that makes the alcohol taste good which made me really wonder differently about that first drink after a period with none… “you take the first drink, the alcohol takes the next one… Alcohol craves itself…” OMG seriously ? Is that the only reason it ever started tasting good?

I didn’t feel like I ever really craved a drink until I went through intense stress after my first child with the loss of a close relationship. I started drinking daily to cope and putting on weight around my belly and thighs - which I hated - so made it my mission to stop and did not have a problem saying goodbye to the stuff. Temporarily anyway.

While reading the book, I reflected on times past where I thought alcohol meant a good time or that it would make things easier and realised it never actually did. I remember the fun we had at the neighbour’s place with so much to talk and laugh about and vomiting in the shower that night, ruining my entire next day recovering on the lounge with plain crackers. That is one of a few boozy nights where I thought I had a great time and ended up spending the next day (or two) ill, remorseful and ashamed. There were no “good nights” that did not end with sickness, regret and shame.

Was it worth it? Could we not have had that much fun chatting, playing, eating, dancing and sharing in the joy of life without it? If it did give me something special, I certainly paid for it with my wellbeing. It was never the alcohol itself that made me happy or made things better. Alcohol just made me numb and tired.

Alcohol took the edge off my pain, but it gave me more the next day.

Alcohol helped me shut down anxiety, but only temporarily and then added to it.

Alcohol surrounded me with connection but made it shallow and hollow.

Alcohol gave me a good time, but I don’t remember it.

Alcohol let me loosen up by shutting down my filter, but that filter is there to keep me safe.

Alcohol quenched my thirst and dehydrated me.

Alcohol made me relax and sleep but stole its restorative nature.

Alcohol gave me a high and then dropped me even lower.

Alcohol took twice as much as it ever gave and all the while I thought I was receiving something. It reminds me of what a deal with the devil would look like. We sell ourselves to the high and we sell ourselves short. We lose not once or twice but multiple times over and in a multitude of ways.

I once passed out to sleep at night after alcohol, when I’d only had a couple of gin and pink grapefruit sodas, and my hubby told me in the morning that I didn’t wake to my baby’s cries (thankfully he did). This was a massive red flag to me. I knew I had to do better, and I stopped drinking spirits after that.

My occasional wine was well tolerated, I knew my limit, 1-2 standard drinks a fortnight. I knew I could handle three glasses, but a fourth would have made me nauseous the next day. However, lately, I found it creeping in more regularly with a weekly social mum group wine and something in me felt wrong – hmm… I didn’t really want that, why did I feel internally pressured to join the group? I wondered. And always the next day I’d be tempted by 5pm to have the rest or open another while cooking dinner to cope with the last few hours of the intensity of mum life and justified that I wanted to use up what’s left in the bottle or cook with it.

But I could not deny the clear difference between my desire for alcohol coming from a place of choice or emotional dependency. Was I more anxious because of the extra alcohol now? Was I wanting it more because I was consuming it more? Was I on the slippery slope to addiction and the effects of the accumulation of alcohol on my body?

The new drink wise advert now playing in my mind “what’s your poison?” initially gave me a feeling of tension as my knowing it’s bad for me and feeling that emotionally/socially it’s good for me, since makes me feel good about my choice to stop. I have nerves about missing a wine with friends, but how can I miss what doesn’t really serve me at all?

How can I miss the oh so fleeting high that is quickly followed by extra drowsiness and dehydration. How can I miss the extra toilet trips, calories and deep, low-quality sleep that follows? How can I miss waking with aches and pains, nausea, guilt, low energy and fatigue? How can I miss the extra stress and dependency it gives me? How can I miss the slurred, vaguely remembered and repetitive conversations that don’t go anywhere? How can I miss the drug that only takes and never gives? Addiction. And like any addiction, that shit must be nipped in the bud and thrown away before it takes your whole life and everything in it. 

The end.

<3

NEXT STEPS:

If you feel curious, inspired or interested, I recommend that you:

Read This Naked Mind by Annie Grace. You might find yourself reflecting and writing about your own experience with alcohol.

Listen to my Nourish & Beam podcast ep with Ellie Nova – Sobriety As Self Care.

Reflect on your own unconscious beliefs about alcohol.

Reach out for some coaching or join an online or in person community for support on your journey.

Share this information and share your story.