It’s been a long road, but I am no longer sent into a panic by the mention of “Fireball”, my husband drinking in front of me or having alcohol in our home.
I still prefer not to have it here, but I won’t cause a scene anymore.
In August, our friends from out of state visited. As they settled indoors, my husband, Chris asked if I would mind if they bought drinks. I said no. He tested my understanding. “By drinks, you know I mean beer, right?” I nodded and said yes. Chris thanked me and gave me a kiss. He offered to bring home wine for me to try. I told him I had been thinking about it and felt ready.
Previously, I spoke with my psychiatrist about having an occasional drink. I read the warning labels on my medication and read more on the drug manufacturer’s website. My antidepressant had been working so well. I didn’t want a little wine to ruin its repairs.
Also, my friend is a counselor and she helped me feel more comfortable too.
I announced that I would try the wine at 7:30 pm that night.
In my head, I envisioned a momentous milestone. I thought about “going live” for the first time on social media to capture the moment.
I considered inviting my closest friends who have helped me mostly overcome this ridiculous phobia.
I did none of that.
I told myself it was daily living for millions of people and to get over myself.
While we played games, our friends had beer and red wine. It may have been my nose, but the beer smelled like a public bathroom that had been cleaned with lemon-scented products. I barely smelled the red wine.
It was getting to be close to 7:30 pm. My husband poured me a glass of the supposedly sweetest white wine. I let it sit for a few minutes. Chris reminded me that it tastes better cold. I let 10 minutes pass and I picked up the glass. It smelled fruity. That was a good sign. I looked at Chris and our friends. We clinked glasses. I toasted, “To being open-minded”. I took one sip. “Nope”. We all laughed.
Chris said if I didn’t like that wine, I wouldn’t like wine.
I gave Chris my glass. That was all the alcohol he had to drink that weekend.
I was a little uncomfortable having two cases of beer in the fridge and two bottles of wine on the kitchen counter. As my counselor says, “a little uncomfortable, we can work with”.
Still working on it…
In September, Chris accompanied me to my high school reunion. Chris ordered a mead called “Zombie Killer”. I asked to take a sip. It smelled decent and it tasted much better than the wine. Still, I stopped at one sip.
Surprise! I brought beer.
Our out-of-state friends visited again in October. As they brought in their suitcases and air mattress, a case of beer came with it.
I wasn’t expecting that. I wasn’t thrilled, but I didn’t say anything. I reminded myself that it wasn’t an issue last time.
This visit, Chris had no beer or wine while we were home. When we went out to dinner, he ordered one drink, but he didn’t finish it.
This is going to be okay. We’re going to be okay.
I still get irritated when my husband’s friends talk about getting drunk and make it out to be the most important item on their to-do-lists. Thankfully, he has only a couple of those friends. I think to myself. If you choose to drink copious amounts of alcohol, please stay home. I don’t want anyone to get hurt or experience worse.
Thanks for sticking with me.
I wish you the best.