Was I really an addict? How the pandemic made me realize I had an alcohol problem
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Loading... - Jerome Ariti
- 26 May 2022
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I remember sitting in the grass, bracing against the trunk of a sturdy ponderosa pine when I heard voices calling my name, searching the woods behind Ryan’s house. I remember Ryan telling me that Sara, his wife, would drive me home. I remember protesting, insisting that I could spend the night in the woods. I remember not wanting to cause trouble.
Sara helped me into the back of her SUV and propped a stainless steel mixing bowl next to me in case I got sick. I muttered apology after apology, telling her I was sorry for getting so wasted at her party. Once she’d got me home, Sara had to extract me from the back seat and cradle my drunkenly swaying body to the door. Then I vomited in the driveway. I remember nothing else.
In the morning, I woke still dressed in bed next to my husband. My mouth felt rancid, my head ached, my body trembled. I tried to locate the moment when I went from being buzzed, laughing with friends, to becoming blackout drunk. I rushed outside to hose off the driveway.
I was 39, a mother of two young children, a business owner, and a wife. No longer could I deny that I had a drinking problem.
Although I haven’t had a drink since October 2021, alcohol continues to occupy an outsized place in my life.
My earliest memories include the brands of beer my parents drank: Labatt Blue, Miller Genuine Draft, Coors Light. My dad worked in road construction in northern Michigan and in the winter, when he was laid off, he tended bar at the local ski hill. After a day on the slopes, my parents enjoyed pitchers of beer with friends. My grandparents would regularly host cocktail parties; my favorite task was to hoist the flag with a pink elephant drinking a martini.
In high school, I started working at restaurants and breweries, industries awash in booze. As I continued working in the business, I noticed how alcohol was often supplied to the staff to keep everything flowing on busy nights. I moved to Montana and in 2014, my husband and I opened our city’s first craft brewery since the 1950s.
What I clung to was this: I was a person who drank and there was nothing wrong with that – as long as I had a handle on it. Plus, I was the brewery’s owner and a beer ambassador: I couldn’t afford not to drink.
Until that night in October, I hadn’t been blackout drunk in decades – but I was the one who gulped down whiskey during nights out. I was rarely going a day without at least one drink, and the days I limited myself to just one beer felt like a victory, an exercise in extreme restraint.
I ignored any inner voice that worried about my intake because I was taught that alcohol is how adults relax, have fun and enjoy themselves. Plus, I was raising two young children during the pandemic: I had earned those drinks.
My drinking had increased during lockdown, but I was in good company. According to a recent medical study, excessive drinking increased by 21% for US adults during the Covid-19 pandemic.
I don’t find this surprising. After a particularly challenging morning with the kids, I would sometimes have a lunch beer. After a series of temper tantrums would leave me frayed, this felt like a simple option for stress release. And when friends would schedule a playdate outdoors, adult beverages were always offered. Read More...
