This is my fourth sober Easter, which I just can’t quite get my head around. As I quit drinking in February 2017 it was my first sober first. And it just goes to show how ever present booze was in my life that something like Easter – more commonly associated with eggs, chocolate, baby animals, flowers and, of course, for Christians, more spiritual concerns – was for me yet another excuse to imbibe. Before we all became parents my friends and I had a tradition of going out on an ‘all dayer’ on Easter Saturday, to take advantage of the two days of (highly necessary) recuperation time. In more recent years it was more about what extra ‘special’ bottle of red I’d be having with my Easter Sunday dinner. But booze never lost its prominence for me in all special occasions no matter how my lifestyle changed, and Easter was no different.
Until of course I made the big change. And alcohol was no longer part of any of my occasions, special or otherwise. And that first sober Easter was challenging. The alcohol free red wine I had with my dinner wasn’t great (I would later learn that AF red in general is best avoided for me as it is either triggering or just plain yuk). But I got through it. And, as with all things in sobriety, it got easier and easier as time went on, and last year was a real high point, when I went out for my friend’s birthday on Easter Saturday night and was up at the crack of dawn doing an egg hunt with my girls round the house, grateful for every second because I knew how different it would have been if I had been drinking at my friend’s party the night before.
And this year is different again, as it is for us all. My girls were pretty underwhelmed by lockdown Easter, although I did my best with some chocolate eggs dotted round the house, their dad (who they have not seen for four weeks now) dropped some eggs and some Lego off for them and we had a lovely dinner with my mum and dad, who are living here while the schools are closed so I can work.
But it wasn’t the same for them. Of course it wasn’t. Nothing is, for anyone. I did my best and it will have to be enough. And for myself, Easter feels quite symbolic this year. After all, it is about the death of an old way and the birth of a new. A resurrection, the rising of something entirely unexpected and joyful out of hardship and pain. Which are things we are all experiencing right now, to a greater or lesser extent.
I am at the ‘lesser’ end of that spectrum – I have a lovely home with a garden, I live in an area I love, where it is possible for me to walk to green spaces and run outside without seeing many people. I have my family with me. My income is not, so far, affected. No one I’m close to has been hospitalised or worse with the virus as yet. I am so very, very lucky. And it’s still so unbelievably hard.
At first I wondered if I wanted to drink. At three years sober I didn’t have any serious cravings and I was certainly never in any danger. But the urge to numb was, nevertheless, strong in those early days. It all felt so heavy. So impossible. So unfair. And some days my sobriety felt almost like an additional burden to carry. I felt hard done to that I had to face up to all this unanesthetised. That I had to have full clarity on this, well, total shitshow if we’re being honest.
But as the last four weeks have progressed I have felt that less and less. And that’s not because things have got easier. They have got harder if anything. My parents and I have been losing patience with each other. My three year old daughter is well in the running for 2020’s stroppiest and most unmanageable child (and I reckon she’d have some stiff competition there). My six year old is highly sensitive, anxious and missing her friends. Which equals daily meltdowns. I am missing the most random things. Like small talk (which I thought I hated) and browsing. Crowds, but also space. Freedom and people, basically.
All in all, even from my privileged position, lockdown sucks. COVID-19 is grim, scary and hugely unwelcome. And yet I don’t want to drink. My sobriety no longer feels like an extra burden to bear. In fact, it feels like the solid ground beneath my feet. The steady constant I can always rely on to get me through this time. The thing I can always come home to within myself, whatever else is going on.
It’s what has given me a whole box full of tools that help me get through this time with sanity reasonably intact – exercise, meditation, writing, dancing in the bathroom with my eyes closed (don’t knock it till you’ve tried it), breath work, yoga etc etc. It’s what has given me a ready made community of friends online, who all know what it’s like to navigate something really fucking difficult. It’s what has given me improved relationships with my family, so being cooped up with them 24/7 is so much easier. It’s what has given me so much knowledge and insight into how the human mind works. It’s what has given me so much more patience, reduced anxiety, better mental health. The list goes on and on.
But more than this, it has given me something else as well. It has given me myself back. I know I can do this, because I know me. I have my own back, I trust myself, I look after myself. This is the biggest gift of sobriety and man is it coming into its own right now. Although you might not believe it if you are struggling in the early days, I would not trade my sobriety right now for a million pounds, a virus proof face mask and a year’s supply of pasta, hand gel and toilet roll.
Because I’ve realised, this sober Easter, that sobriety was my very own resurrection. And that the me who rose up again is strong. Strong enough to get through this hard, hard time.
I think that might be the biggest gift of sobriety of all. To know that I am strong enough.
And so are you.
Lots of love to you all.
x
