I wouldn’t say I’m the biggest failure on the planet, but I was certainly on my way there. Addiction doesn’t start with chaos; it creeps in slowly, often appearing harmless at first before spiraling into risky behavior.
For two and a half years, I drank every single day. I sipped through colds and even timed my drinking around feeding my baby. I drank on vacations, when I was alone, and even in bed. I’d pour myself a glass when I didn’t want to drink, convincing myself that my alcohol consumption was okay since I wasn’t harming anyone. I thought I had it under control because I avoided drinking during the day. It’s easy to dodge uncomfortable truths when you’re not quite ready to confront them.
When I reached the depths of my addiction, I felt it deep in my bones. It was a moment that pushed me into sobriety, though I didn’t realize it at the time. The morning I hit rock bottom, my eyes shot open as if someone had yanked up the blinds. I bolted upright from my bed, my feet hitting the floor with an urgency that left my head spinning.
The room around me spun, and I tilted my head to steady my dizzy brain. This wasn’t just vertigo; it came with nausea and a heavy dose of regret—an ugly hangover. My alarm clock blared 7:45 AM, 15 minutes past when I intended to wake up. My partner, Mark, sat up in bed, startled by my sudden movements.
“Camp, camp, camp,” I muttered to myself, hoping that focusing on getting my child to camp would make the chaos of the morning smoother. I desperately didn’t want to trip and embarrass myself by being sick from the expensive wine I had consumed the night before. How many bottles had I had, one or two? I pushed that thought aside and rushed to the bathroom, hoping to wash away the evidence of my night before my kids noticed something was off.
The shower didn’t save me. I steadied myself against the wall, just trying to keep my balance while I washed my hair. That frantic morning paled in comparison to the agony I felt throughout the day. Managing nausea and dizziness while wrangling two preschoolers was a monumental task. For reasons I still can’t wrap my head around, I let them persuade me to take a trip to Walmart for a toy. I felt like I was still intoxicated while driving there, but my body should have metabolized the alcohol by then. Yet, I struggled to keep my focus on the road, realizing I had become a danger.
That afternoon, I had a surgery scheduled to remove some tissue from my back, which could potentially turn cancerous. I contemplated canceling, but I knew that would only extend my anxiety and my drinking. So, I forged ahead, arranging childcare and having a friend accompany me for support during the procedure. I was sick and dazed, grappling with disappointment in myself for entering surgery with the hangover of a rookie party-goer.
According to Mark’s account of the previous night, I hadn’t consumed enough wine to be that hungover. We had shared three bottles with friends, and I had been the life of the party—chatty, friendly, and charming. What a relief! It felt good to know I hadn’t been an embarrassment. I can’t express how terrible it was to wake up each day dreading my phone notifications.
I’d drink late into the night, keeping a glass by my bedside, my phone glued to my hand until midnight. I rarely remembered the emails I sent or the comments I posted on social media. I didn’t think I had ruined my reputation, just came off as chatty and a little quirky. But it was getting risky; I needed more drinks to reach that happy buzz and was staying up later each night. I was running regularly, logging four miles a day, only to come home and indulge in wine until I crashed at midnight.
I had made so many impulsive purchases on Amazon that Mark eventually had to change the account info and hide the credit cards. Packages started arriving that I had no recollection of ordering.
So how much was I drinking? Honestly, I lost track. I had my rehearsed answer for doctor visits, always expecting that question. “Oh, I usually have a glass of wine with dinner. Maybe 7 to 10 drinks a week.” I’d make eye contact and then look away, avoiding any deeper conversations about my consumption. I just didn’t want to face it, let alone seek help.
In reality, I was likely downing two boxes of wine a week. They don’t come with health warnings, so I was left guessing. I estimate I was consuming over a bottle a day, racking up an extra thousand calories. After my daughter was born, I started opting for boxes of wine since they were cheaper and my standards had dropped. By the time I decided to quit, I had a box of low-quality wine on the counter that I forced myself to finish because I couldn’t bear to waste it.
“I’ll quit when this box is gone,” I’d tell myself, but I never actually ran out. “I’ll quit after this holiday or that birthday,” and there was always some occasion to celebrate.
The absurdity of my situation is that I knew better. Growing up in an alcoholic home, I made daily choices to prioritize my health. I exercise regularly and take pride in my physical accomplishments, yet I treated my body like a dumpster for my emotions.
I began examining my guilt and curiosity about quitting by searching for addiction symptoms. The DSM-5 has altered the definition of problem drinking, and I resonated with several of the criteria. If you’re curious about it, check out the DSM-5.
Part of addiction is ritual. I loved waiting until my kids were asleep to drink, shielded from their eyes as I transitioned from bubbly to wobbly to passed out. By the time I reached my fifth glass, I’d head to bed, often falling asleep with the glass still in my hand. I’d wake up to find three glasses on my nightstand, their contents souring overnight. Twice, I spilled on our mattress, soaking Mark.
The most telling sign of addiction: wanting to quit but feeling powerless to do so. I wanted to stop even when I wasn’t drinking. I’d be on the treadmill, knowing there was no wine at home, telling myself, “Just don’t stop and buy wine on the way back.” Yet, I always did. That is addiction in its purest form.
I struggled to define what addiction truly meant. I made excuses and found myself fitting into the “at-risk but not really a problem” category. I scoured the internet, looking for information that would justify my denial. Denial is easy to fall into, especially in a culture that glorifies drinking. Beers adorn fitness advertisements, portraying the notion that you can be athletic and an alcoholic. I thought I had it all together.
As a mother, I convinced myself that I needed wine to cope with the stress of raising children. Have you met my kids? They’re loud and messy, and they still need me despite their rebellious moments. I’ve endured three pregnancies, leaving me with little body confidence. Drinking became a way to escape the discomfort of being seen.
Mark didn’t even realize I had a problem. He believed I was just on a health kick or making temporary changes. I hid my buzz, my urge to drink, and the constant thoughts swirling around in my mind about alcohol. He had no idea how close I came to collapsing during my runs. Alcohol was propping me up, but I lacked the stamina of someone truly healthy.
Once I exposed my raw nerves, hiding became impossible. I was done drinking to escape from my emotions—my decisions, my grief, and the haunting fear of losing someone to cancer, like my brother just months prior.
After my surgery, I returned home to a house full of alcohol, ready to drown out the pain. But I didn’t touch a drop. I couldn’t bring myself to relapse after the chaos I had just experienced. I had driven my children while impaired and undergone surgery with a hangover. There’s nothing temporary about being an alcoholic; this journey will involve everyone in my life.
Now, I’m ten days sober.
In Summary
Addiction is a slow creep that can lead to devastating consequences, often unseen until you hit rock bottom. The journey to sobriety is fraught with challenges, but acknowledging the issue is the first step toward recovery. If you’re interested in learning more about the process of home insemination and its resources, check out sites like Make a Mom and Healthline.
Keyphrase: Alcoholism and Recovery
Tags: [“home insemination kit”, “home insemination syringe”, “self insemination”]