This was written in May, 2019. As a moderate drinker, I know too well the slippery slope I am on, and that the path back to a daily drinking habit is in front of me. I can choose to walk down it, or not. It’s not easy when the world seems turned upside down, let alone when dealing with one’s own perceived or real issues.
Learning to identify the triggers that make me want to drink is an ongoing process, and if I am going to keep up sobriety I need to figure out how to deal with them. I am not referring to the everyday visuals and subliminal messaging of advertising or other media, or how even driving past a liquor store can induce a sweaty upper lip.
The routine journey through my average day can be a minefield of triggers: The rude driver who cut me off. The millennials at the coffee shop who talk way, way too loud, complete with vocal fry and “like” in every other word. The guy at work who calls me the “marketing lady.” My husband’s friend, who I will call John, is a person I once got along with when I drank, but now when sober I see how his opinionated stance is littered with sexist and racist undertones. The hoarding nature of my husband, whose basement studio is cluttered with music gear, miles of electrical cords, and layers of dust he is somehow able to unsee.
If only I could practice what I preach to my daughter when she experiences bouts of anxiety. I tell her, “Rise above it, breathe.” If I could remove my self-centered position from these triggers, and remind myself: This is not about you. The driver doesn’t know me from Adam, and he will do the same thing to 30 other drivers in one day. The millenials’ way of speaking and communicating is probably (keyword: probably) just as annoying as my boomer/cusp GenX cohort sounded to the generation before me; nothing new there. The guy at work is 67 years-old and grew up in a culture where most of the women in the workplace were secretaries. At least he knows what I do! I can’t change John’s mindset or opinions, and he will always be in our lives. Most of all, who am I to say that my husband can’t have his beloved music gear?
Rise above it. Breathe.
Besides understanding that I need to remove the personal from these triggers, I can choose to see what’s underneath them. My reaction to the rude driver is also a sign that I hate my commute to a job that most days doesn’t challenge me or bring out my best. The twentysomethings’ youth and confidence makes me regret how at that age I was relatively introverted and painfully lacking in assertiveness. The “marketing lady” comment isn’t so much about sexism, but about how I don’t really love my job. My awareness of John’s offensiveness raises questions about some of my existing relationships, and whether or not I can keep them now that I am sober, and trying hard to be true to myself. Finally, the dusty, cluttered music gear in the basement symbolizes an aspect of my husband’s life that I can’t really share with him. He pursues his art freely, openly, and has an entire group of friends he shares it with. I am jealous.