Lotta Dann - The Wine OClock Myth: The Truth About Women and Alcohol

First published in 2020

Text Lotta Dann, 2020

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher.

Allen & Unwin

Level 2, 10 College Hill, Freemans Bay

Auckland 1011, New Zealand

Phone: (64 9) 377 3800

Email:

Web: www.allenandunwin.co.nz

83 Alexander Street

Crows Nest NSW 2065, Australia

Phone: (61 2) 8425 0100

A catalogue record for this book is available from the National Library of New Zealand.

ISBN 978 1 98854 722 0

eISBN 978 1 76087 446 9

Cover design by Jo Pearson

Cover illustration by Kira Necheporchuk/Shutterstock.com

Text design by Megan van Staden

For all the women

At 3 a.m. on 6 September 2011, I woke up in my bed and immediately felt a raft of awful sensations that were not unfamiliar. My head was pounding, my mouth was dry, my stomach was churning, my bladder was bursting. I lay in the dark, feeling wretched, remembering that Id drunk nearly two bottles of wine the night before, despite having told myself Id have none. Lets have an alcohol-free night, my husband had said as he headed off to take our two elder boys to Scouts. Good idea, Id replied, desperately trying to convince myself that yes, it was a good idea not to drink that night. It was a Monday after all, and Id drunk a lot over the weekend. Any fool could see it made sense to take it easy.

Not this fool.

As I got out of bed and headed for the loo, I remembered that Id raced off to buy wine while my husband and kids were out the night before, and had skulled, entirely on my own, one of the two bottles Id bought before they got backall while performing my normal housewifey duties. Vacuum the floor, glug, glug, glug. Close the blinds, glug, glug, glug. Get the baby into his jammies, glug, glug, glug. I was well practised at this routine, having been a high-functioning boozer for many, many years.

Shuffling in the half dark, almost at the bathroom, a memory started surfacing in my foggy brain and it stopped me in my tracks. Had I? Had I hidden the empty first bottle? The thought sharpened into focus. Holy shitI had. Id hidden the empty bottle to conceal the fact that Id finished it alone, in the space of an hour. Right before theyd got back, Id crouched down and tucked it away at the rear of the pantry, behind the spare boxes of tissues. When they walked in the door, I had the second bottle out and pretended it was the only one.

I changed course from heading for the bathroom and went instead to the kitchen to retrieve the empty bottle from its dark hiding place, gently placing it into the recycling bin so as not to wake anyone, shame flaming in my ears. Sitting on the toilet a minute later, I put my head in my hands and silently cried. This wasnt an unfamiliar position for me to be inon the toilet at 3 a.m. feeling sick and guilty about how much Id drunk the night before. But now I had a new dysfunctional behaviour to worry about. Id lied. Id lied about how much wine Id had and Id hidden an empty bottle. I was a person who hid empty bottles, and everyone knows thats classic alcoholic behaviour. Why the hell had I done it? Why?

Id never lied about my intake before because, well, why should I? It was perfectly okay to be a nightly drinker. Five oclock is wine oclockeveryone has a drink at five oclock. I certainly had for over twenty years. This was just how I lived, and all the messages around me, coming from friends, family, our wider society and the environment I lived in, stated very clearly that having a nightly drink was a normal, acceptable thing to do. Id always been led to believe that drinking alcohol was the perfect way to end the day, a reward for working hard, the trigger to relax. I deserved it; Im a hard-working mother of three, running a household, working as a freelance journalist while also studying part-time towards a masters degree. A busy, successful womansurely a nightly wine was a decent reward for all I was achieving?

But my normal, nightly wine habit was getting out of control. I needed more and more wine to feel full of an evening, and struggled to go a single day without. I made deals with myself about how much I was going to drink and constantly broke them. I was frequently sloppy, slurry, messy. There was vomiting and stumbling. My once normal habit was obviously progressing to something more dangerous. Id been acutely aware of this, and had been engaged in a dialogue with myself to try to moderate my intake. But nothing was working. And now thishiding a bottle, a new dysfunctional behaviour at a time when I was trying to improve things. I could see where I was heading, and it wasnt good.

I sat on the toilet crying, feeling utterly stuck and miserable. And totally alone. No one around me understood my inner turmoil with regard to alcohol, even if I tried to explain it. They were wired differently, and would say things like, Just have one if youre worried (as if it was that easy). So what could I do? I wanted to keep drinking, but at the same time I didnt, knowing it was a growing problem for me. It was a horrendous place to be. I felt shameful and pathetic. Normally quite an optimistic person with a kind inner voice, I had become a very negative thinker. I told myself constantly that I was weak for not being able to control my intake or change my behaviour, that I was broken. My self-esteem and self-worth were at an all-time low.

This was my personal rock bottom.

Then suddenly, through the tears, pounding temples and sick guts, I had a moment of clarity. A teeny, tiny thought popped into my head: The problem isnt me. The problem is the alcohol.

A little thought, but oh so powerful. It repeated itself. The problem isnt me. The problem is the alcohol. And then this: If I take the alcohol away, the problem has gone. And with these thoughts I found a small sense of strength. I managed to tap into the tiny part of me that still believed in myself, that had some power. The problem isnt me. The problem is the alcohol. If I take the alcohol away, the problem has gone. I seized on that tiny feeling of strength, got up off the loo, and made a monumental decision. I was going to quit boozecompletely. No more trying to control and moderate. No more attempting to do deals with myself. No more. Alcohol was going from my life and I would teach myself how to be a non-drinker.

How completely and utterly terrifying. All my years I had been conditioned to believe that alcohol was a vital ingredient if you wanted to lead a full, fun life. Facing the prospect of never drinking again was like standing on the edge of a cliff, staring into a black abyss. But I knew something had to change, and this was it. Alcohol had to go. I had no idea what was to come.

Getting sober transforms every single aspect of my life. After my sad and shameful hiding-the-bottle moment, I go through a monumental turnaround. I quickly come to the realisation that for most of my adult life Ive been an A-grade emotion-avoider, using alcohol to help me hide from uncomfortable feelings. Coming to terms with my sadness and anger (plus every other emotion you can name) is a painful and messy process. I slowly discover how to embrace fear and vulnerability, which enables me to properly connect not only with myself, but with all the people around me. I learn how to recognise the workings of my brain, how to distance myself from my thoughts, and how to ground myself in my body and the moment. I learn how healing tears are, and how pure joy makes my breath catch in my throat.