I wouldn’t say I was the worst person in the world, but I was certainly on my way there. Addiction doesn’t start with chaos; it begins subtly, often disguised as harmless fun, only to spiral into more dangerous territory.
For two and a half years, I drank every single day. Whether I was battling a cold or juggling the demands of motherhood, alcohol became my constant companion. I found myself drinking during trips, when others weren’t around, and often alone in bed. I even drank when I didn’t want to. My reasoning? I wasn’t a danger to anyone; I thought I had it under control because I limited my drinking to the evenings. It’s astonishing how easy it is to convince yourself of comforting lies when you’re not prepared to confront the truth.
When I finally hit rock bottom, I felt it in my bones. That morning was a wake-up call like no other. My eyes shot open as if propelled by an unseen force, and I bolted upright in bed. The room spun around me, and I fought to steady myself. I was familiar with hangovers, but this was different—this was a brutal mixture of regret and sickness. The clock read 7:45 AM, a full 15 minutes later than my intended wake-up time. My husband stirred, confused by my frantic movements.
“Camp, camp, camp,” I repeated in my mind, hoping to focus on getting my kids ready for the day. My head throbbed, and I desperately tried to outrun the nausea. I needed to shower before my children noticed that I was in no condition to be their mother.
But the shower didn’t offer any relief. I had to brace myself against the wall just to wash my hair. That frantic morning was nothing compared to the struggle I faced throughout the day. Juggling nausea and dizziness while caring for two preschoolers was nearly impossible, yet for some inexplicable reason, I allowed them to convince me to go to Walmart for a new toy. I thought I was still inebriated while driving, but somehow, I managed to get us there without an incident. I had officially crossed into dangerous territory.
On that same day, I had a scheduled surgery. I was having tissue removed from my back due to a potential cancer risk, and even though I considered canceling, I knew that prolonging my anxiety would only drive me deeper into my drinking habits. So I went ahead with it, dragging my exhausted self into the operating room, feeling ashamed of my condition.
As my husband later recounted the previous night, I hadn’t consumed enough wine to warrant such a horrific hangover. We had shared three bottles among friends, and I had been the life of the party, not a drunken mess. What a relief to know that I hadn’t made a fool of myself. But, the dread of waking up to notifications on my phone filled me with anxiety.
I would drink heavily every night, often bringing a glass to bed. I barely remembered the messages I sent or the posts I made online. My purchasing habits had spiraled out of control; I ordered so much online that my husband had to change the account details and hide the credit cards. I was living in a haze, functioning solely on alcohol, yet I would convince myself I was fine.
When it came to discussing my drinking habits with doctors, I always had an answer ready. “Oh, I just have a glass of wine with dinner most nights; maybe 7 to 10 drinks a week.” I would look down, avoiding the conversation. The truth was far more alarming. I now realize I was likely consuming over a bottle of wine daily, equating to more than a thousand calories—a shocking revelation.
I was raised in an environment where alcoholism was prevalent, yet I made choices every day to be healthy. I exercised regularly, yet I treated my body like a vessel for my suppressed emotions. The absurdity of my situation hit hard as I started to research addiction symptoms. I found many that resonated with me, and I discovered the DSM-5 had updated its criteria for problem drinking.
Part of my addiction was ritualistic. I waited until my kids were asleep to drink, hiding the evidence of my behavior. I often fell asleep with a glass in hand, waking to messy reminders of my choices. The most painful realization? I desperately wanted to quit but felt powerless to do so. I would tell myself not to stop for wine on the way home from the gym, but I always did.
Denial is a slippery slope, especially in a society that glorifies drinking. I was a mother who “needed” wine to cope with the endless stresses of raising my children. I told myself I had reasons to celebrate, and there was never a good time to quit.
Eventually, I underwent surgery, returning to a house filled with alcohol, prepared to drown my sorrows. But I didn’t touch a drop. After the harrowing experience of drinking myself sick and driving my children, I couldn’t bear to go back to that life. There’s nothing temporary about being an alcoholic; it’s a journey that affects everyone around you.
Now, ten days sober, I’m beginning to confront the reality I’ve avoided for so long. For more insights on home insemination, check out this post. Additionally, if you’re interested in understanding more about fertility, this resource on treating infertility is excellent.
Addiction is a heavy burden to carry, but confronting it can lead to newfound strength and clarity. I’m taking it one day at a time, ready to face the challenges ahead.
Summary:
Emma Carter shares her candid journey through alcoholism, detailing her descent into addiction, the moments leading to her rock bottom, and her commitment to sobriety. She reflects on the denial surrounding her drinking habits, the impact on her family, and the stark reality of confronting her addiction. Now ten days sober, Emma is focused on healing and rebuilding her life.