It occurred to me the other day that I’ve gotten really used to feeling proud of myself, these past six months since I quit drinking. Prior to that, I can’t tell you how many mornings my heart would just sink when I reviewed the previous days’ drinking. There was just so much shame attached to it, even if I’d only had a couple of glasses of wine. The worst of it was when I’d wake up in the morning and couldn’t be sure that things were ok between my husband and me. There were too many times I couldn’t remember everything that I’d said the evening before and wasn’t sure if he was annoyed with me. Ugh.
He’d told me more than once that the only time he found me unattractive was when I’d had too much to drink. Seriously?? He didn’t find a slurring, stumbling idiot sexy? Pfffft. What the hell’s the matter with that man?
The hubs has what you might call “a glass face.” Every thing he feels is clearly on display for all to see. I’m especially cued in to his emotions, naturally. And the only thing worse than feeling disgusted with myself was seeing his displeasure with me stamped clearly on his face.
And oh, the paranoia. That itchy thing that I’d do, reading into everything he said until I could be sure that we were ok.
Words fail to convey how good it feels to know that, good, bad, or indifferent – anything that I do or say these days is willful, deliberate, and lucid. I never again have to wake up and worry that I’ve said something stupid or mean under the influence of booze.
I’m so proud of myself for taking the very difficult step of removing alcohol from my life It’s been so, so hard and even more rewarding. But the love and pride I see reflected back at me from my husband’s big brown eyes is just….. the best.