The Final Hangover and the Path to Recovery

home insemination Kit

Updated: August 8, 2016

Originally Published: May 30, 2016

I’ll never forget the last time I woke up with a hangover. It was a Sunday in April. As I opened my bleary eyes, it took a moment to grasp my surroundings. Yes, I was in my own bed, but the events leading up to that moment were a blur. The only thing I recalled was turning on the TV for a movie, but the rest was a fog. Apparently, I had polished off a bottle of wine and crawled into bed, yet I couldn’t piece it together. My mouth felt like sandpaper, my throat was scratchy, my heart was racing, and my head throbbed. I promised myself, “This is it. No more!” I made that vow for what felt like the millionth time—never drinking again.

Sunday passed, and I managed to keep my promise. Feeling miserable made it easier to stick to it. All I craved was water and sleep, but life doesn’t pause for those nursing a hangover. My daughter and I had tickets to a play, and her hopeful little face pleaded with me not to let her down. So, I mustered the strength to leave the house and step into the glaring sunshine.

Ah, the sunshine. For an addict, it feels like an adversary. In darkness, we can hide, but the bright rays expose every flaw and mistake. It’s as if the universe waves a flag, reminding us we don’t belong in its warmth. The sun became my kryptonite.

I dodged alcohol that day, but the next day, with memories fading, I found myself reaching for an open bottle of wine. I thought I deserved it. After all, my uncle had just passed away, and I had spent the day at his funeral. When I got home, the news of a bombing at the Boston Marathon played on the TV, graphic and horrifying. I was overwhelmed with sadness and desperate to numb myself. As I poured my second glass, I heard it. The voice. Was it God? My conscience? Or was I losing my mind? But the identity of the voice didn’t concern me as much as its message.

“This isn’t helping. This won’t bring your uncle back. This won’t stop the pain in Boston. This won’t make anything go away, but it is making you disappear. Come back.”

For a brief moment, clarity washed over me. I saw myself as I truly was: a successful professional, a mother to two wonderful kids, a wife, a sister, a daughter, a friend. Yet, all of that was slipping away. I initially turned to alcohol to unwind or celebrate, but soon, I didn’t need a reason. I just wanted to escape. I kept it together during the day, but at night, I had no way to switch off my racing thoughts. Alcohol became my off-switch.

However, when you turn off your feelings, you miss out on life. By avoiding both joy and sorrow, you lose the ability to truly live. I felt like I was constantly running with no finish line. Despite my hard work and love for my family, I couldn’t keep my head above water. I was drowning.

I felt isolated, burdened by a huge problem I had to shoulder alone. I was ashamed and scared. How did I let it spiral so far? What if others found out? What would my fellow moms think? Or my boss? My family? I understood I couldn’t continue this way, but I was clueless about how to stop. I had no coping strategies apart from wine. It was my means of celebration, crying, and relaxation. But I knew it had to end, or it would only worsen. I realized there was no way up as long as I kept drinking.

The day I stopped drinking, I felt utterly alone. I thought I was the only woman in the world who had failed in life. Little did I know then what I know now: the antidote to addiction is connection. I found the help I needed because other women spoke up, and I listened. There’s real strength in revealing that this struggle can touch anyone, regardless of age, gender, or background. It doesn’t discriminate. But recovery is attainable. It truly is. And it’s a remarkable way to live.

In the past few years, my life has transformed in countless ways. Rewiring your brain and learning to cope without alcohol isn’t easy—it’s the hardest thing I’ve ever faced. But as I persevere, my journey becomes richer and more fulfilling. Today, I am thriving. My depression has lifted. I shed 30 pounds. I launched my own business, turning my passion into work. My health has improved, and I’m a happier mother, wife, and friend. Life is vastly better.

On my worst day of recovery, I still feel a million times better than I ever did while drinking. I once thought that putting down the wine glass would end my life, making me boring and causing others to think I was nuts. But when I tossed that last bottle, my real life began. Now I can be the mother and woman I always aspired to be. I might not be perfect, and I don’t aim for perfection, but I’m doing my best. Some days are still tough, but I know that every time I confront life head-on instead of numbing it with a glass of red, the road ahead becomes more beautiful. It may not be easy, but it’s always worth it.

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In summary, my journey from addiction to recovery has been transformative. By confronting my struggles rather than numbing them, I’ve rediscovered joy and purpose in life. The path is challenging, but the rewards are immeasurable.