I connect the beginning of my abstinence to the aftermath of the final debate between Trump and Biden. Triggered by Trump’s relentlessly abusive behavior, I went to bed troubled and woke up violently ill. I must also blame the generous pour of red wine I’d consumed while watching that spectacle, and recognize the whole experience as a wake-up call to take better care of myself. Alcohol was increasingly aggravating my health; just one glass of wine produced intense headaches that interfered with sleep and led to sitting up in bed with a cup of water, eyes closed, waiting for the pain to subside. It was now viscerally clear that whatever pleasure or calm I derived from drinking was undone by its effects; I needed to take a break.

It’s been two months since I’ve had any alcohol, and I feel so much better. I’m enjoying deeper sleep (though getting to sleep can still be an issue), desirable weight loss, and more energy, with no middle of the night or early morning headaches. A cup of tea has replaced the after-dinner glass of wine. I cradle the hot drink between my hands, using a favorite mug from a local potter, and appreciate that I’m gifting myself with just what I need-warmth, a calming blend of herbs, and the comfy scent of cinnamon.

I’ve joked with friends about the irony of stopping drinking now, during a pandemic, with civil unrest, toxic political divisiveness, and a president who refuses to concede in an election he lost. I’ll admit, there have been moments after a particularly bad news day when the idea of a glass of wine or scotch calls to me. The devil on one shoulder has a lively conversation with the angel on the other. This internal conversation prompts me to pay attention to patterns that might not be healthy, and I choose other ways to soothe, like 20 minutes on the yoga mat, a hot bath, or a walk around the block. I’m finding that not stupefying myself, to use Tolstoy’s term for the effects of alcohol and drugs, feels empowering and, in an unexpected way, centering. It’s another layer of awakening.

Interestingly, and likely not surprising, women’s drinking has outstripped men’s during the pandemic, and alcoholism is a growing problem. Messaging is everywhere for women to respond to stress with alcohol. I recently joined a private online club for women executives. A survey of their members revealed that 77% were experiencing burnout from increased responsibilities during the pandemic. This club’s email branding image? A book with one cocktail perched on top, another to the side, and a bottle of spirits in the center. That’s the entire image. Is two-fisted drinking an integral part of being a woman executive? Is there a disconnect here?

For better or worse, my body has never tolerated drugs or alcohol very well, which makes abstinence less of a big lifestyle change. I’m extremely sensitive to drugs, often among the small percentage that experiences adverse effects (I awoke during my appendectomy and threw up; good times!), and am easily treated or run off the rails by the lowest dose of anything. This sensitivity, combined with repeated teen viewings of the commercial “This is your brain on drugs” (represented by fried eggs in a skillet), killed any latent desire to experiment. A lack of curiosity around drugs prompted my sister Diane to taunt me with the nickname Laura Ingalls Wilder; she found me embarrassingly goody goody. I actually didn’t care-my brain means a lot to me.

Some believe, as Huxley suggests in his work Doors of Perception, that drugs offer insights abstainers will never access, because we are not unlocking our brains, our chemistry, in this way. I wonder about this, since our individual chemistry is so unique. My dreams are quite vivid and have offered the opportunity to fly, breathe underwater, and perform magic. My experience of the senses while awake is similarly intense. I’ve lost myself when observing nature’s marvels in a way that to another might have looked like I was on drugs, like the double-rainbow guy! I’m entranced by bees pollinating flowers, the delicate unfolding of flower petals, color patterns on a river stone, the sound of water rushing over rock, the scent of honeysuckle, the softness of a newborn lamb’s coat. Could it be that for some of us, drugs and alcohol dull or distort our perception of the world, rather than enable us to see it more sharply and fully?

This period of abstinence was originally intended as a dry November that extended into a dry December. I’ve now decided to take a year off from drinking and then check back in. It’s not because I believe alcohol is bad, or I’m on a path to being a purist. I still have my half-caff in the morning and use chocolate daily as a pick-me-up. But I do believe in the power of taking a year off from something to give me a chance to reflect on what the absence of that thing takes away or adds to my life. I took a year off from romantic relationships after separating from my former husband and built up my friendships and a sense of self-sufficiency. May this year of abstinence do the same. Slainte!

Read Black and White Pills and Memories by Diane

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