BREAKING THE HABIT

“I don’t know what’s worth fighting for, Or why I have to scream

I don’t know why I instigate, And say what I don’t mean

I don’t know how I got this way, I know it’s not alright

So, I’m breaking the habit, I’m breaking the habit tonigh”

LINKIN PARK

We broke up. It was not amicable. It was gut wrenching. You know the kind of break up I am talking about — painful, ugly, sobbing, snotty. Truthfully, I didn’t think it would last. In the past, when we broke up, we always found our way back to one another. A few weeks or months would pass and then there would be that one weak moment, and we would pick up exactly where we left off. I didn’t know this time would be different. I didn’t know that I would have the strength and courage to stay away from the toxicity of it all. We have been together for over 20 years. You were a hard habit to break.

I can’t say why I stayed so long. It was a million different things. I was too scared of who I would be without you. Over the years, you chipped away at my self-esteem and perhaps I deluded myself into believing that it would be easier to stay in an unhealthy, dysfunctional relationship for the rest of my life than to end it and make a clean break. But I stayed. Willingly. Thinking that I could perhaps shift our dynamic and not let it overpower me. It was ruining all my other relationships that were and are so important to me. It was one of those relationships that brought out the absolute worst in me and always left me feeling bereft and devoid of compassion, kindness and love for myself and those around me.

The red flags you have read about in every woman’s magazine were all present. The chronic emotional and mental stress of being with you made me feel isolated, sad, stressed, not good enough, worthless. I could go through the list and find so many more examples but truthfully what is the point? You were bad for me. But maybe not always?

In the beginning it all seemed so perfect. It seemed to me, at least, that you gave me courage, you made me laugh out loud, you made me feel included, you saw me. I can’t pinpoint the moment where it started to go so wrong. I was unhappy in your presence for a long time but continued in the cycle of abuse hoping it would change. Hoping I would change.

Here’s the other weird thing, I didn’t break up with you consciously. In the heat of the moment, I left. Mummering obscenities at you under my breath, praying to whichever God was listening to help me just end this and making promises and bargains with said God about all the changes I would make if you would just fuck off. Forever. How many times had I said never again? How many times had I gone back on myself and let you back in? With a deep gnawing sensation that it was wrong for me. You were wrong for me.

I think perhaps a part of why this time was different was because I had spent so much time working on myself and trying to heal from old wounds. Not just the ones you inflicted on me. My dependency on you had waned and I was tired of who I became in your company. I didn’t like who I was when I was with you.

I thought that I would get tangled into self-blame after it was over. I thought I would only remember the good times and forget the manipulation and control you had over me. Because, in the past, when I let you back in, over and over, I held on to those miniscule moments where I believed you made me happy. This time, I saw all your venomous traits.

As one day became two and the months whittled away — I was noticing what had changed. Where once I would feel the need to always interject into conversations, I listened. I didn’t need to feel valued in a social circle because of your connection to me — I was fine by myself. Loved even, by my tribe. I could now instantly tune into my heart and not be defensive and ego-driven. I was learning more about my authentic self and didn’t feel the need to mask it. My tone of voice had changed, even when I got angry and frustrated. My passion for the people in my life whom I love with my soul was renewed. My connection to my soul so strong. I was in awakened awareness. I was no longer hiding in a cornucopia of delusions about myself. I could see me. I don’t take things as personally as I once did. I don’t listen to the insecurities in my mind because it was fueled by your negativity. When I notice your influence creeping back into my life, I walk away. Determined to not let the cycle of destruction that you caused follow me.

As you read this you might be wandering who the “you” in this story is. In my life, “you” had many names: Baileys, Verve Clicquot, Tanqueray, Hendricks, Patron, Sambuca, Mampur, Cosmopolitan, Sauvignon, Merlot, Pinot Noir, Chilli mango tequila, Blue Nun, Black Tower, Springbok, Clear Cove, Prosecco…….

This story may lead you to believe that I was an alcoholic. I wasn’t. I am however, a person that never waited with bated breath for the weekend to come along for me to indulge in a tipple or two. Most evenings I sat in my beautiful balcony, adorned with fairy lights, scented candles, flourishing plants and a fully stocked fridge. I poured my wine daily into a glass — no need for company to drink. It was the end of another manic day. Managing household staff, managing kids schedules, managing logistics, managing household chores, managing last minute plans. Managing. Managing. Managing. I would sink into the couch cushions and exhale as I poured my first glass. The one that we all know will take the edge of another mind-numbing day of mothering and othering.

That glass held hope for me. Hope that I could wake up and do it all again the next day. Hope that I could just relax now that the tasks of the day and everyone’s needs in this family had been met. Actually exceeded. I would tire myself out daily, pouring from an empty cup into everyone else that needed it. Family, friends, staff, school — I gave. Fueling my cup with gin, wine, cocktails — whatever seemed to helped me navigate. It was what self-care looked like to me. I didn’t know or believe that there was a better alternative. It’s why I stayed in the relationship with alcohol so long.

Now, I fuel my cup with dance, music, meditation, walks, reading, and no longer feel this deep attachment to alcohol to make me feel safe in my own skin. It’s been one year today, since the ugly break-up. Since I lay on the bathroom floor, hugging the toilet bowl, begging to be released from the horrid retching and inevitable hangover. I didn’t set out to reach some milestone. I listened to my friends in recovery who told me their mantra “One day at a time” and every day since, I woke up and made a choice. I chose me. The real me. The one whom I have come to love and respect in all her non-alcoholic glory.