#4 I drove 1,380 miles to drink. Twice.

What it looks like to be in the throes of addiction without anyone knowing

I am many things. A person in recovery is simply one of them. This is part of that story.

The first time I said goodbye to my husband, it was May 2020. I piled our three kids into the van and drove from Boston to Tennessee for six weeks. The second time was a year later.

Why would I travel a thousand miles solo with three kids ages 9, 7 and 7 — twice?!

To drink, of course, without my husband knowing. Actually, without anyone knowing.

I needed alcohol to numb the pain and dull the anxiety that raged ever since COVID was declared a pandemic. I wanted to breathe easier as I waited for the positive test result.

But nobody knew that.

Everyone just thought we just needed a change of scenery after months of being cooped up at home in bitterly cold New England, and after weeks of failing miserably to balance homeschooling and full-time jobs.

By this point, long-term sobriety had alluded me despite the amazing women — and a few good men — in AA. Despite dozens of hours of therapy and hundreds of doses of antidepressants, SSRIs, and whatever else I could throw at the problem.

The problem was an incessant, won’t-let-go, sink your teeth into, all-consuming obsession with alcohol.

A drink was the answer to everything. Bad day? Drink to commiserate. Great day? Drink to celebrate. Someone’s getting married? Drink to revv up the party. Someone died? Drink to ease the pain.

I’d learned this response by watching rivers of wine flow through decades of cocktail parties and dinners.

And in 2020, crippling anxiety and low self-esteem were my ever-present companions. All I could think about was a crisp chardonnay on those warm summer nights. The ease of a sweaty gin and tonic gliding down my throat as my muscles relaxed.

I needed a drink to breathe easier, deeper, slower. To take the edge off so I could feel more like me — or rather who I wanted to be. To show up as a fun-loving mom, a patient sister, a relaxed daughter and a devoted friend.

And so for six weeks I drove to the liquor store when everyone thought I was working. I filled water bottles with wine and threw away evidence in truck stop parking lots. I nursed hangovers and complained of stomach aches when I couldn’t get out of bed to take care of the kids.

I was miserable, yet I couldn’t stop. I was sick, but I didn’t want to leave because going home meant quitting drinking, otherwise get the silent treatment from my husband.

I was living to drink and drinking to live.

And my poor family was bending over backwards to help. But they didn’t know. I wouldn’t let them know. I couldn’t because then I’d have to stop.

And I didn’t want to stop. Not now, not ever.

But eventually, I did.