BEHIND THE BLONDE: GOODBYE, MY LOVER — A YEAR WITHOUT BOOZE

“Who could you be if you just stopped?” I asked myself this question more times than I can recall. At first, it was more of a curiosity — who could this person looking in the mirror grow to be? Then, as time passed, it became a nightly anguish. A reflection in the glass staring back at me — after steam-showering off the stench of booze and cigarettes and aggressively brushing my teeth before crawling into bed — a woman I no longer knew. A woman I didn’t want to be. I needed to stop. 

I just celebrated a year without alcohol or cigarettes. I quit them together, at the exact same moment, because, well, for me, they were like peanut butter and jelly. They simply went together. It was a torrid love affair, really. In public, I was really good at showing off the fun, good kind of love. And when it was just me, my drink and my ashtray alone on my porch, it was the dark, desperate kind, begging for the relationship to be over, but unable to walk away.  

I knew what must be done, but the act of doing it just felt so out of reach. So I spent hours, days and months that turned into years, pondering what life would be like if I actually did it. And I know I don’t get any of those moments back. I’ve made peace with that (for the most part) because I have no choice. What I do have now is time. And the beauty is that time now has seemed to slow down. It’s as if there are more hours in the day, likely because I’m not wading through it with a head heavy with anxiety and exhaustion. Before I stopped, it seemed as if the clock was always slowly trudging toward 6 p.m., when it felt appropriate to start drinking again. 

I remember being little and having big, wild, beautiful dreams about the life I would live and things I would do when I grew up. I remember having endless energy, a mighty spirit and a sincere desire for growth. Now, I feel that again, deep in my bones. Also, similar to feeling childlike, I have needed comfort more than ever. I find I have needed a figurative hand to hold as I navigate the way back to the woman I had always been. I’ve learned there is no singular path to recovery, and that it’s OK to appreciate, yet decline, avenues that don’t work for you. Most importantly I need the woman I would look for in the bathroom mirror every night, the one who now has her eyes fully open, reminding me with her vibrant smile, that she is fully present and finally home. 

Getting sober in your mid-30s is a funny thing — it’s almost like learning how to walk all over again. How do I go to dinner with friends and not order a drink? How do I go to this wedding and be the total dance machine that I am (questionable moves and all) without a few glasses of bubbly first? And OH MY GOD, how the hell do I celebrate my birthday sober?! At some point during adulthood, it becomes rooted in our brain that alcohol and fun are synonymous. But it’s not all fun, is it?

Over the last year, there were times I just stayed home. There were times I sobbed and screamed on my knees. There were times I just went and breathed through it. And there were many, many long walks. But I did get through it, an entire year of zero hangovers. Damn, it feels good. Now 365 days later, I’m convinced I’m having the most fun of all.

Kirby Myers is a busy mom, radio personality and writer who's not afraid to write what many of us are thinking.