Blessed Are the Days of Unmet Expectations
It is December! Woof--let's check in.
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The emails have started to roll into TSB HQ from people nervously anticipating their first sober holiday season, particularly how to navigate the temptations of the holiday party circuit. Questions like, "Who do I talk to?" or "What do I do with my hands?" And most commonly—"Should I even go to holiday parties this year?
Newcomers, it's unfortunate that I have to report this important breaking news story—there is no easy way to get through this challenging moment.
But, okay, fine, I won't cop out. I'll do a lightning round of answers:
Who do I talk to? Choose between the oldest or the youngest person in the room.
What do I do with my hands? Chain-smoke or play with your phone.
Should I even go to holiday parties this year? I would sit this year out.
I know. I get it. But don’t force yourself to do normal-person things yet. And remember—next year will look completely different if you stay sober. Hang in. You'll be great.
Let's go to the Check-Ins. We had a larger-than-usual amount this month (not surprising), so we're running the first half today and the second half on Friday. Thank you so much for this small act of service. Your contributions are meaningful to me and many other people in the TSB community who are still trying to figure out how to do normal-person things.
If you are unfamiliar with our Check-In format:
All the Anonymous writers in the below portion are credited collectively as 'The Small Bow Family Orchestra.'
The ***** separates individual entries, as do pull quotes.
And, of course, TSB looks incredible because Edith Zimmerman drew everything.
And thanks for your continued support of The Small Bow. If you love what we do and believe we have provided some value to you or people you love, please try out a paid subscription and access our complete archive and the Sunday newsletter. Now, let’s work some stuff out. — AJD
I’m Sorry the Human Body Can Live While It Is in Great Pain
by The Small Bow Family Orchestra
My meltdown is apparently the only problem.
I completely lost my shit because my partner used on Thanksgiving. I was a total self-harm (my own relapse) screaming snotty meltdown. He is right that nothing bad happened in that moment because of his use—he was high, that was it. My meltdown is apparently the only problem. It was "disproportionate" to what happened.
And sure, I guess if you haven't spent the past two years in a hostage situation with his addiction, it is. I know this is not the "right" response in my fledgling Al-Anon/Nar-Anon program, but it is killing me that he seems unwilling or unable to recognize that that moment resulted from all the times I calmly handled the unthinkable. All the times I trusted him when he said he had it under control, and lo and behold, he didn't. The DUIs, the assaulting me, the almost killing me and the dog, the being high in front of my parents, the ruined vacations, the bizarre behavior in any number of public places that I calmly defused before he got arrested. Some part of my heart thinks that a desire to tear myself apart is a fair response to seeing someone who says they love me decide once again to shove into their body a thing that has made them hurt me this many times in this many ways.
I thought helping him would somehow solve my drinking problem, which, shockingly, it did not.
A client of mine who I had been helping with his finances and medical issues died last week. He was 85 and his health was failing, and he was running out of money, so in some ways, it was a blessing and a relief. I felt guilty about being relieved and about not visiting or calling him more. I am feeling sorry for myself because helping him was good for me. It was one of the few esteemable acts that I do. In my deluded thought process, I thought helping him would somehow solve my drinking problem, which shockingly it did not, but it did feel good.
The day after he died, I found out my closest friend was moving away in two weeks. I knew this was coming, but I thought he would be here through the holidays, and it has hit me like a ton of bricks. I was not prepared for the wave of sadness it has brought on, and I’ve been on the verge of tears since I found out. I proceeded to go on a jag for the last four days, which is making my emotional state worse and causing problems with my wife. I used to think my drinking problem wasn’t “that bad” because I didn't use alcohol to escape negative thoughts and emotions, but this incident has thoroughly disabused me of that notion. The only upside to my friend leaving is that it will remove a lot of the drinking temptation and opportunities, so his departure will make it easier to abstain. After the New Year, I think I will get back into the rooms and give sobriety an earnest go so that maybe something good can come of this.
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It’s so hard to let go of the self-pity some days when almost everyone else I know is happily coupled up.
I’m almost 2.5 years sober, and holidays without booze don’t seem hard like they used to. Maybe not as much fun, but definitely not as much misery and fighting. But it’s also been 5.5 years since my last relationship ended, and I haven’t even been on a date since January, and it is starting to really drag on me. I’ve done all this work on myself in AA and therapy, and I’ve lost enough weight to make a difference, and the apps are still just dismal. Is it because I don’t drink? Because I don’t have photographs of me in a bikini? Because I’m in my 40s and not a divorced mom? I asked my longtime crush out last week, and he shot me down. He’s the only cute single guy I even know irl. I am trying to focus on the things I can control and keep working on myself, but it’s so hard to let go of self-pity some days when almost everyone else I know is happily coupled up. Everything else about my life is so good sober; I just wish I could share it with someone.
I no longer need to hand over the keys to my whole fucking house.
I just celebrated a one-month anniversary at a new full-time job with benefits and union membership—a “big girl” office job. This is after two decades of being a stay-at-home parent doing VERY sporadic freelance stuff. During those first four weeks at work, my most intractable character defects lit up my internal switchboard. Imposter syndrome? Fear of authority figures? Strong preference for avoiding scenarios where I am not in control and where there is a strong likelihood I will make mistakes? Check, check, check. But Al-Anon has altered my relationship with my defects. I know they’re still gonna come around when I face challenges, but I no longer need to hand over the keys to my whole fucking house. I have faith in myself and the impermanence of my defects. I can walk through the discomfort and terror they bring as hostess gifts. I don’t have to self-abandon. I don’t have to hate myself for not being “perfect” (something my boss repeatedly said she didn’t expect). I don’t have to invent hypotheticals about my boss regretting her decision to take a chance on middle-aged me—especially when she kept saying how happy she was to have me on the team. I got through each day with “next indicated thing,” and “this too shall pass,” and “how important is it?” (Also: daily trips to the bowl of leftover Halloween chocolate in the break area.) I only cried once, but it was on Zoom, so maybe no one saw. I’ve started to feel like maybe 25% of the time, I know what I’m doing. I am grateful for the external gifts (paid vacation?!? Vision and dental insurance?!?) but mainly for my fledgling ability to take risks that continue to make my life bigger and better.
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Nothing makes me want to drink more than reassuring people that I'm fine when I'm not.
My first impulse was to lie about my Holiday Check-in the way I've been lying about holiday plans to anyone trying to make small talk about what I'm loading onto the conveyor belt at Whole Foods. I hate lying, and nothing makes me want to drink more than reassuring people that I'm fine when I'm not, even if only to siphon the awkwardness off the moment when someone gets more than they bargained for during a two-minute interaction that depended on me becoming a rewards member.
I'm trying to establish traditions that don't feel like they exist to spite my now long-estranged bio-family (read: "I took a shift") because the only ones I'd had before depended on alcohol to be tolerable. Now that my close friends are living out of state and it's too cold to do anything other than anxiously shuffle from one heated indoor space to the next, I've taken refuge in executing rich, hearty dishes that require all my focus and binge-watching old episodes of Grey's Anatomy. I can't help but feel like I traded one form of aggressive avoidance for another, having gone from hiding behind holiday pay to hiding behind ricotta and white lies. I'm sure this will age well.
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I heard somewhere you can either live in expectation or gratitude.
I cooked my first turkey. I decided to butterfly the bird myself, which requires cutting out the backbone, among other things. Touching raw poultry for an extended period is really unpleasant for me. The only Thanksgiving guests were my soon-to-be ex-husband and my 17-year-old son. The 17-year-old was a great help. My daughter and her partner did not join, as her partner does not celebrate the holiday, and now neither does she. I purchased the sides from Whole Foods, which was brilliant. I tried to get the guys to play Scrabble after dinner, but no luck, and my ex headed home with leftovers. Thanksgiving is his favorite holiday. I heard somewhere you can either live in expectation or gratitude. What a glorious life this is, to not be a drunk and to allow my family their own experience. I’m looking forward to Christmas.
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This year, I'm making everyone cultured butter.
I'm an atheist, and the rest of my family—is not. One of my fondest memories is picking up the intricately carved baby Jesus from our family creche and chucking it into the snow. I was probably 5 years old. I always considered Christmas cultural imperialism—something to be rebelled against. I'd go as off the rails as I could, to remind everyone of who I was. I don't feel that way anymore. My wife is also an atheist. I love her so much, and now I love Christmas too. I love giving people gifts. I particularly like finding something inexpensive that I think is awesome and giving it to as many people as possible. Last year, it was sleep eye masks. I've trialed many of these masks, from $1-$50, but these $2 ones are the best. The elastic is thick and firmly holds the pillowy bit to the bridge of your nose, blocking out all light. Ironic because I used to go days without sleeping. This year, I'm making everyone cultured butter. It has a sour zip and is more spreadable than the store-bought stuff. This is how I show the people in my life who I REALLY am now.
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It's my first holiday season separated from my wife; we're figuring out what it all means.
This holiday season marks five years sober.
It's my first holiday season in a decade not on any mood-altering medication. (No shade: I love drugs, I just got out of my lifelong depression and anxiety has loosened its grip on me and I am able to sleep.....all of which are monumentally confounding changes and none of which I feel I can take any credit for?)
It's my first holiday season separated from my wife; we're figuring out what it all means.
And typing these things, I am realizing something I sat down to share the very opposite of: I can change. I have changed. I have more changes to make and demons to slay and parts of me to understand and wrestle to the ground and hug and make peace with. But if all that change has come to me in these five years, fuck it, I'm eager to keep rolling the boulder up the hill.
*****
God forbid we have a cozy night in without being in an altered state.
This past year or two, I’ve become increasingly curious about who I could be without alcohol. I’m embarrassed by how many times I’ve said, “This time is for real. no more,” and then found myself on a Monday night with my sister, asking her to run across the street for some hard kombuchas; God forbid we have a cozy night in without being in an altered state. It’s not like I need more data. I know the facts: 100% of the time, I don’t drink, and I feel glad I didn’t. Nevertheless, here I am, post-Thanksgiving, where I managed not to touch a drop, feeling confident and doubtful that this time is different. I guess I'm worried that if I do give up the option to drink and I fail to become the enlightened, elevated, overall more loving person (to myself mostly and others too), then what’s the point? I haven’t ever been on a sober streak long enough to find out what is on the other side of the clever negotiating, wishful thinking of my brain convincing me I don’t have a problem.
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I´m hoping for a Thanksgiving where nobody´s gone to bed by 9 pm cause they’ve had too much to drink.
We all agreed that we were having a sober Thanksgiving. I bought wine for the cranberry sauce, and my sister drank half of it. By 1 pm, I was getting a few more bottles at the grocery store. It is still better than last year, where everyone got wasted, and I made my mother´s partner so uncomfortable he left and drove 2.5 hours home (drunk), but I´m hoping for a Thanksgiving where nobody´s gone to bed by 9 pm cause they’ve had too much to drink. Worried about Christmas, when everyone will be home for even longer. Will we try to do a sober Christmas or give up even earlier? Should I hold out and try to feel good about my choices, or should I join the family tradition of drinking wine and being cruel?
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You might not be lucky enough to have an annoying loved one die, but…
I've been sober and sort of abstinent from compulsive overeating for 39 fucking years, and my holidays have vastly improved by: knowing when it’s time for me to leave and then LEAVING; using my sense of humor to lighten situations; and by having the most troublesome alcoholic in my family doing us all a solid and dying. You might not be lucky enough to have an annoying loved one die, but the other two will work in a pinch.
Other tips I've picked up: finding something to admire in someone and telling them. Nothing defuses a tense situation like flattery.
When people start bemoaning the state of the world, I think it's great to bring up the plague or how many famous people were publicly assassinated in the 60s to give some perspective. Even "Yeah, Trump sucks, but I'm glad I don't have to shit in a chamber pot and then sleep in the same room with it," helps.
Another thing that helps me with stuff I hate doing (helping people clean up after a party is my least favorite form of service) is the phrase, "Let's get this over with!" If you can say it in the style of an old-timey comedian, it's better. "Let's get this over with!" also works in my daily life.
****
I love my life.
I had 8 years sober from alcohol on November 27. As I write this, my 4-year-old is screaming at my husband (who I met in AA), and I’m having coffee in bed at the beach house I bought last year. I cried yesterday because my two stepkids were annoying the shit out of me, and I felt guilty. My Thanksgiving was disappointing because things with my parents were tense. My life is so full my heart could burst. I haven’t wanted to drink in a very long time; I’m disgusted by it now but also very afraid of it and I hope that doesn’t change. I also rarely think about it but I think about the possibility of relapse all of the time because it scares the shit out of me. I love my life.
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No one gives condolences for “everything."
It’s Sunday morning after Thanksgiving, and I am thinking about the difference between self-compassion and self-pity. My father died last Wednesday, an expected 90-year-old death. As people who I need to tell about this convey condolences, I want to tell them, “It’s not condolences for my dad’s death I need; it's condolences for everything.” Nothing could be more natural and human than my father’s death, and I lost him several years ago, really, anyway. “I’m really sorry you had to watch him die.” “I’m really sorry that one day you will either pain your own family by dying or suffer at their death.” “I’m really sorry the human body can live while it’s in great pain.” These would be more accurate things to say to me, but no one says them—no one gives condolences for “everything." I want to withdraw from people to avoid that disappointment, and I get angry at people for disappointing me. I feel sorry for myself that I am so needy and demanding and difficult, and I remember I’m supposed to practice self-compassion, not self-pity. But then I would have to give up a little, give other people a break, forgive them, which is not nearly as satisfying as the intensity of self-pitying anger. My mother died before her time of alcoholism and COPD, and while I am sober and don’t smoke, spiritually, I feel like I’m dying of disappointment, just as she did.
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fin
Commenting privileges are usually reserved for paid subscribers but the comments on our Check-In posts are free for everyone.
OTHER RECENT CHECK-INS:
When Things Fall Apart (Again)
Whatever You Think About the Most Is Your God
A Recurring Mourning Period for Failed Transformations
Everything Is Normal and Fine
It's Not Easy
This is The Small Bow newsletter. It is mainly written and edited by A.J. Daulerio. And Edith Zimmerman always illustrates it. We send it out every Tuesday and Friday.
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A POEM ON THE WAY OUT:
Superbly Situated
by Robert Hershon
************************
you politely ask me not to die and i promise not to
right from the beginning—a relationship based on
good sense and thoughtfulness in little things
i would like to be loved for such simple attainments
as breathing regularly and not falling down too often
or because my eyes are brown or my father left-handed
and to be on the safe side i wouldn’t mind if somehow
i became entangled in your perception of admirable objects
so you might say to yourself: i have recently noticed
how superbly situated the empire state building is
how it looms up suddenly behind cemeteries and rivers
so far away you could touch it—therefore i love you
part of me fears that some moron is already plotting
to tear down the empire state building and replace it
with a block of staten island mother/daughter houses
just as part of me fears that if you love me for my cleanliness
i will grow filthy if you admire my elegant clothes
i’ll start wearing shirts with sailboats on them
but i have decided to become a public beach an opera house
a regularly scheduled flight—something that can’t help being
in the right place at the right time—come take your seat
we’ll raise the curtain fill the house start the engines
fly off into the sunrise, the spire of the empire state
the last sight on the horizon as the earth begins to curve
ALL ILLUSTRATIONS BY EDITH ZIMMERMAN
The Small Bow is my coffee when I’m feeling jittery and alone, when I’m feeling like a surly 15-year-old who definitely doesn’t want to be useful! Thanks for it. Loved the Small Bow Orchestra this week.
You are all my people. I love your depth and curiosity and willingness to share. I’m thinking of each and every one of you today, sending all. My. LOVE.