Sticking, not Stuck

On July 2^nd of 2000,

I started 30 days of abstinence. With the support of folks in MM, it turned out that having alcohol-free days was kind of freeing, not the burden I had anticipated.

Taking my abstinence past the 30-day mark began to appeal to me by the half-way point. I was figuring some stuff out about myself and adding new habits and skills. All of that would be helpful once I was drinking (but moderately this time) in the future, and I figured a longer period of abstinence would probably be good for me.

Rather than commit to another specific timeframe, I set this framework in place: I could choose to have my next beer (or whatever) at any time, but the decision had to be made a week ahead of time. No moral significance was attached to the timing — I could do it the next week or the next year — but the timeclock was available, and seven days after hitting it I would be free to crack open a cold one or pour myself a glass of wine.

Sticking with the 7-day countdown worked for me. It wasn’t a commitment I felt stuck with or burdened by, and the 30 days turned into 110.

In mid-November of 2000,

less than a month past the 110-day abs, I lost my best friend and partner to suicide. I didn’t drink much, generally staying within MM’s moderate limits for the first couple of weeks. By the second week of December, though, buffeted by cheery holiday decor and songs about the most joyous time of the year, the only achievable goal I could imagine was conscious harm reduction.

For the rest of December, I didn’t set hard limits on how much I drank. I looked forward to the first beer of the evening, but also planned a good meal to eat with it. No stigma was attached to specific numbers, but free of self-judgment, I set drinking slowly and enjoying it fully as the priority. In January, with the holidays done and the edgiest of my grief softening, I did a 21-day abs followed by more moderation.

On March 1^st of 2002,

I kicked off a year of abstinence.

I had just lost another great friend, this time to alcoholism. I sent him off with a helluva eulogy, celebrating the gifts he’d given as well as the challenges he had brought to all of us who had cherished him. I wanted to do more than a bang-up eulogy, though. I wanted his death to spark something deeper in me, and a year’s abs felt just right.

It turned out to be a tumultuous year, moving from Iowa to upstate New York, starting a new job, and facing down an assortment of changes and crises.

Again, sticking with the choice to abstain worked. Some facets of it felt organic and natural, like the symmetry between not spending money on beer and my often paper-thin budget, and there were other times when it felt somewhat artificial, but manageable, to be celebrating, relaxing, or stressing in alcohol-free mode.

In October,

half-way through the abstinent year, I was hanging out with new neighbors at their Halloween party. Not drinking was not working for me in that situation. I needed to either skip out of there to catch a movie (something removed from the noise that would continue for a few hours directly above my place) or have a couple beers with them. Either choice was valid and viable for me, I realized, offering its own benefits and drawbacks. I elected to stay, and I elected to drink on three other days over the next few weeks.

December 2002 brought a markedly different decision from December 2000. I was comfortable with my choice to drink on the four days, but wanted the 80-some days remaining in the year to be alcohol-free. The commitment wasn’t difficult to make. It was the home stretch, and a couple months of being DAFT didn’t sound long.

The year ended up being 99% abstinent — 361 out of 365 days. I was happy with it. The four days were the perfect reminder that my choices on all 365 days were genuine and conscious.

Sticking with (not stuck with) my choices

Some folks are good at making a sudden change in their behavior solely because it makes rational sense. “Since my doc gave me my cholesterol levels and told me to change my diet, I’m stuck with eating low-fat food. I’m not happy with it, but I’m living with it.”

Most of us, though, need more than intellectual awareness about the wisdom of a particular behavior change in order alter ingrained habits. We have mixed feelings about giving up something familiar, and that ambivalence, like grief, is a natural human state. Neither responds well to being shamed, mocked, or short-circuited, but both will generally give way to peace, health, and productivity when accorded the respect, time, and energy they deserve.

Working vigorously with my ambivalence helps me to mold an “I’m stuck with…” into an “I am sticking with…” statement. Here are the distinctions, for me, between the two:

The specific goal doesn’t control whether I’m in the stuck or sticking category. If it had turned out that moderate drinking wasn’t viable for me, I might have started out feeling stuck with abstinence. It would have been crucial, though, for me to figure out how I could best own and embrace my commitment to being alcohol-free.

It doesn’t matter that some solutions work beautifully for millions of other folks; in order to integrate a new skill or habit, I have to tailor it to my unique values, coping styles, and experience.