I Don't Want to Quit. I Just Want to Drink Less...

It was a Wednesday in Colorado, and I had just gotten off of work. 

I walked out into the sunshine and over to the fancy liquor store next to my office. 

The guys there knew me. Good guys. We had some friendly banter as I bought a six pack of high-end summer beer. 

It was spring but it might as well have been summer. We were all in that mode where the last place we wanted to be was inside. 

I climbed into my Subaru, rolled down the windows and turned on some bluegrass music. 

I drove through one of the two stop lights in my little mountain town and cracked my first beer.

Trampled by Turtles were wailing on their string instruments as I headed up the paved road until it turned to dirt. 

I climbed higher on the dirt road, leaving a dust trail behind me, until I got to the big cattle gate. I hopped out to open it. I had been in the car for ten minutes and was well into my second beer. I felt pure joy and contentment. 

Tommy was already home, and we took the rest of the six pack out to the pond and sat on the dock.

Tommy had one, I had the rest.

This was totally normal behavior for me.

I ALWAYS HAD AN EXCUSE TO DRINK

My list of reasons included all of the below and then some:

• Someone was getting married.

• Someone had just died.

• I had just finished a big project at work.

• I was getting started on a project and needed to get the creative juices flowing. 

• It was 3pm on a Friday.

• It was 4pm on a Thursday.

• It was 11am on a Saturday.

• It was any time on any day.

I remember heading up the gondola in Vail for another day of snowboarding with some friends. 

I said, “Ugh. I drank a bottle of Prosecco last night and feel awful.” My friend laughed and asked what the occasion was.
I didn’t have an answer. 

I had started drinking young. Sneaking booze from my parent’s cabinet when I was twelve. Constantly lining up older friends to buy me alcohol in the eighth grade. By the time I graduated high school, I was taking down a 12-pack each Friday and Saturday night. 

By the time I was 30, I didn’t know how to be in the world without it. 

I WAS READY TO CHANGE THAT

My hangovers were starting to get annoying. I would move through the morning with a mild headache. I’d eat something less-than-healthy for breakfast because my better-judgment and self-care were on the back burner until at least noon. I was craving a glass of wine at 5:00 and noticing my relief with the first sip. I was cringing at the bill when we’d go out to dinner, thanks to my three expensive cocktails.

On the surface, things were great.

I was thriving at work and doctors praised me for my good health, partly because I was never honest on the form that asked, “On average, how many drinks do you have per week?” 

But I knew I had more in me. More than I was putting out there in the world. 

Charles Duhigg’s book, The Power of Habit, had taught me about “keystone habits.” Habits that, when transformed, trigger wide-spread change.

I knew in my gut that drinking alcohol was a keystone habit for me. I was ready to slow down… Definitely not quit.

Slowing down proved to be more difficult than I expected. 

I decided to kick things off with no alcohol for 30 days. On day 28, I cracked a beer and chugged it. I felt like a crazy person. I hadn’t chugged a beer since playing beer pong in college.

After that, “to drink, or not to drink,” became constant chatter for me. The more I wanted to NOT have a drink on a given evening, the more I wanted a drink.

I was feeling out of control. 

ALONG CAME A COACH

I had started my own marketing agency when I was 32.

It grew faster than I expected and I hired a business coach. She was also a life coach, and our time together bled into personal goals and challenges. 

I remember our twelfth session together. She said the most helpful words to me that also caused me to feel shame in my gut so heavy I wanted to curl up on the floor:

“Brenda, you may want to consider getting therapy for your drinking.”

I was quiet and she said, “It just keeps coming up. It keeps getting in your way." 

I couldn’t disagree with her, but I never thought of myself as having a problem that warranted therapy. I just wanted to chill on it - slow down a bit. But the only chilling happening was a new trick I’d learned to remedy warm wine when you wanted a glass immediately. (Wrap a wet paper towel around the bottle and put it in the freezer for ten minutes.) Alcohol had become one of my best and most long-standing friends. My coach had a therapist to recommend. I wrote down the info.

I had been embarrassed to tell people I had a life coach. I had a business coach. But therapy? I was not the kind of person that went to therapy. I was raised by farmers who’d earned their college degrees. We skipped over the “feelings stuff” and did what needed to be done, no matter the circumstance. My family was steady, hard-working, practical. We were not the kind of people that went to therapy.

A few nights later and a few drinks in, I picked up the phone and dialed an AA number I'd found online. I was just curious to see what would happen. The volunteer that picked up late that evening was comfortable and bright. She spoke to me as if I were her neighbor - friendly and glad I had called. I don’t remember the details of the conversation, only that there was absolutely no pressure, only support. But more importantly, that she was a normal person who used to drink a lot and had stopped. I had never spoken to someone like that. The gratefulness still I feel for that wonderful volunteer wells tears up in my eyes even as I type. Proof the world has good people in it. 

I never spoke to her again.

I was not an alcoholic. 

No way.

THIS NAKED MIND

My business continued to grow and I continued to drink. My journals and sketchbooks and random notes of goals were riddled with statements about not having alcohol in my life. I would write paragraphs about what I would feel like and how productive and bright I’d be without alcohol. But I couldn’t really believe it. 

One day, I mentioned my “annoying” drinking habit to a friend, and she told me about a book she had read, This Naked Mind.

I read the book over the course of 30 days, just as the author, Annie Grace, recommended. 

That book changed my mind about alcohol, and I stopped drinking.

That’s the fast way of saying it. Was there discomfort? Lots. Were there setbacks? Yes. But I kept reading and slowly, Annie changed my mind - my subconscious mind to be more accurate…

Any time we’re partaking in a “bad” habit, it’s helpful to realize the habit is serving us on some level. Deep down, we believe the habit is providing us relief, comfort, courage, joy, etc. 

Annie is smart and convincing, and she uses an approach that chiseled away at every one of the beliefs I held around alcohol.

Better yet, she writes in the intro, “don’t change your day-to-day routine, even if it includes drinking. You heard correctly—feel free to continue drinking while you read this book.” 

She had me at hello.

AT THE PEAK

Tommy and I were into back-country snowboarding at the time, and there was one situation that I just couldn’t picture without alcohol. We would skin up the mountain on our split boards and find a log at the top to sit on. We’d pull out a couple of beers from our backpack, and drink them while we gazed at all the powder we were about to shred down. It was one of my favorite things to do with him. Prior to reading Annie Grace’s book, I just couldn’t imagine sitting up there in the sun, and not cracking a beer. It would ruin that beautiful moment.

And now I can remember the day we hiked up and I cracked a LaCroix at the top. I felt so proud. I’m sure the view, my amazing husband and the anticipation of the ride down added to the joy I was feeling, but that moment didn’t feel like white-knuckling or deprivation as I’d pictured in the past. It felt like the joy might bust my chest open. It was overwhelming. 

I’ve been alcohol-free for over a year now, and while I’ve chosen new challenges to tackle, I get to face them without the burden of alcohol. It’s a similar feeling to being on a backpacking trip, and taking your heavy pack off at your campsite to explore before it gets dark. I can climb higher and faster without it. It’s easier and freer than I had imagined in those old journal entries. 

I still stay up too late on the weekends with friends and family, dance at weddings and enjoy nice dinners. Only change is when the server asks, “What can I get you to drink?” I say, “A soda water please.” And the bill is much cheaper.