I Quite Drinking Wine

Truly the Lord’s Return is Imminent

It’s true. I broke up with Chuck. As in Three Buck Chuck from Trader Joes. (And actually, it’s more like Three Buck and Change Chunk, but that doesn’t roll off the tongue as nicely.)

Merlot was my favorite, though I found their Cab a nice switch occasionally. If I really wanted to get fancy schmancy, how about some Apothic Merlot?

Like many folks, I became a Covid alcoholic. Why wait until five to uncork when you’re home all the live-long-day? Especially when you’re living in a camper and your marriage is disintegrating.

Oh yeah, baby. Wine used to be an occasional treat. Maybe a few times a year. Then it creeped into the weekends. And then, why the hell not-every day.

It’s not like I was getting drunk. But I was going through a bottle every day. EVERY DAY. My life was going to hell in a handbasket and wine padded the pokey container with a nice fleecy blankie.

There, isn’t that much better?

5 o’clock wine o’clock eventually became 2 o’clock wine o’clock. On one particularly shitty day, Chuck and I sat down for a chat at 10am. That scared me a little, so I only did that once.

I never did the drink and drive thing, as I just enjoyed my vino at home. But I got drunk here and there. One night, I drunk texted a marriage proposal to my Tom, who, at the time, was NOT “my” Tom. I was horrified. (And thankfully, he did not run screaming into the night.)

It was clear my relationship with wine was getting a little out of hand.

When I got the cancer diagnosis, I confessed my wine habit to the oncologist and bravely announced, “This stops now.”

And I did. I think I lasted a day. Maybe two. And sure, surgery and chemo messed with my wine schedule. But hot damn, as they say… where there is a will, there is a wine, oops, I mean way.

I resumed my wine consumption, while trying to find articles that would dispute the connection between alcohol and cancer. Denial is a powerful tool-especially when there’s a glass of wine in your hand.

All the while, I knew this had to stop. But I just kept pouring more. Even after some wine-fueled discussions that turned nasty. En Vino Veritas, eh? (“In wine there is truth”) Yeah, fill up your tank with wine and you will say speak truth that can inflict damage-shit you would never normally say.

What flipped the switch for me? I certainly read enough books about alcohol’s damaging effects, so it wasn’t that I failed to grasp intellectually this unhealthy partnership.

Both growing up and as an adult, I had a ring-side seat to the damage alcohol inflicts. For fuck’s sake, it killed my dad. Killed my brother. Played a role in destroying my marriage.

Reflecting on that narrative only drove my guilt and despair. Holy shit, this stuff is damaging. Poor me anudder, would ya?

Yeah, that approach didn’t work either.

Sheer willpower? <insert laff track here> That only works for so long. Just ask anyone who’s broken their New Year’s Resolution on January 2.

Here’s what catapulted me into wineless days.

It was the realization that it was time to quit numbing and start healing.

It was time to cry more, embrace the depressive feelings, experience the rage… all the so called “negative” emotions that we are trained to fear and avoid at all costs.

It was all this emotional shit that I had to keep under lock and key. Especially since in the home in which I grew up, we were told, “You shouldn’t feel that way!”

Wine was helpful in keeping the door locked.

Now it is time to unlock the door and set the captives free, if you will.

Here’s what I’m finding.

I feel like I’m slowly waking up from a long slumber. I cry easily. I’m less prone to fling judgement on someone because I realize they too are probably hurting. I try to pay attention to the emotions and welcome them.

It’s not unlike healing after someone has lobbed your boobs off. Fun fact: When your boobs are gone, so is the feeling in your chest. The nerves are severed. Go ahead, poke the area with pins-nada. It’s sound asleep.

Drinking provides a similar numbing effect. Sort of an emotional mastectomy. Just amputate those threatening emotions and embrace the numbness.

The downside-I’ve been numbing all the “good” stuff too. From laughter to creativity to feeling empowered and strong.

It all goes bye-bye when you numb.

But now, I am getting twinges here and there. The nerves are growing and adapting to the remodel job. It’s what nerves do. Sense and report the sensations back to the brain.

I’m talking both post mastectomy and post wine drinking.

And now the band aids have been ripped off. Both literally and emotionally.

This may or may not signal the imminent return of our Lord. And there’s really nothing flashy or dramatic about this progress. It’s just part of the process.

I feel hopeful. Something wine never allowed me to experience.

Healing is good.

PS My new favorite vice is an afternoon cup of hot chocolate with a dallop of whipped cream on top.

Thanks so much for reading. You can find me around the internet at www.theresawinn.com, on Facebook, LinkedIn and Instagram. If you’d like to support my writing in a small way, feel free to buy me a coffee.