The first two weeks I quit drinking were terrible. I was obsessed with thoughts of alcohol. I wanted nothing more than to drink. I wasn’t a better person who didn’t need to drink any more. I wasn’t a more mature person who had learned better coping skills for her problems. I had sobriety in a white-knuckled death grip. I still don’t know how I got through those first two weeks. I don’t know how anyone does. 

My partner Daniel had some years of recovery under his belt, and he had been in a great position to observe, a few months before, that my drinking had slipped from my control. It was starting to seep into our time together, which was unacceptable to both of us. In April, I had promised him that I would try to quit. I further promised that if I couldn’t do it on my own, I would seek help. By August, my trying and failing for the previous 3-4 months meant I would have to make good on promise #2 to fulfill promise #1. 

We went to a handful of AA meetings together. I had 2 experiences there: 1) I was amazed to hear how widespread, varied, and totally the same my struggles with alcohol were compared to everyone else’s. An internal debate and sense of failure I thought was unique to me turned out to be a perfectly ordinary symptom of an addiction that’s found its way into all tiers of society. 2) There were a lot of rules. Rules about who could speak and when, what kinds of things they were able to comment on – it seemed pretty intimidating, and I was glad I had Dan there to talk me through it. I never did get used to AA’s rules, and thoughtlessly break them all the time. 

When late July rolled around, I decided I would take a family trip to Vermont, and then quit. I drank my face off on that trip (and learned later that my family noticed my excessive drinking, and was rightly concerned). But true to my word, when I got back, I joined a wonderful support group, and kept my vow not to drink.

Well, sort of. I was in a bargaining phase of my quitting, where I told myself I would treat drinking like I do carbs – absolutely not on a day-to-day basis, but you know, special occasions, vacations, etc, I could have some. That made it easier, not looking down the barrel of a lifetime of never having alcohol again. But when those special occasions rolled around, I was so obsessed with the fact that I was allowed to drink, and drinking so enthusiastically, that I paid no attention to what made the occasion special. I wasn’t on the camping trip. I wasn’t with my family for Thanksgiving. I wasn’t joining the Easter egg hunt. I was in the bottle. After some resistance, I finally understood that I would always drink alcoholically if I ever drank. Add to this that I had seen my life get better and better the longer I went without drinking. By the time my bargaining was done, the prospect of never having another drink felt downright welcome. 

But back to those first two weeks. What no one ever tells you is how excruciatingly boring it is. I was using alcohol to fill my time, and without it, I had no idea what to do with myself. My meeting was only once a week, and it hardly occurred to me to just go to more of them. Watching reruns of The Simpsons wasn’t as entertaining without a glass to drain, and my usual pastimes just weren’t cutting it. 

There’s one experience I had that brings me to my knees with shame even now. In that first two weeks, my cat was tested for cancer. In my addict brain, I told myself that if it was positive, then I could drink that pain away. When it came back negative, there was a not-so-tiny part of me that was disappointed, because now I didn’t have an excuse to drink. That’s how sick I was. Wanting a terminal prognosis for my best friend so I could run back to liquor. I guess the small thing to my credit was that I did not resume drinking again anyway, even though I really, really wanted to. 

But after those grueling first two weeks, things started to open up a little bit. I started reading again. I started spending time with friends not over drinks. I brought new levels of focus and attention to cat time. Jeez, it was only 3 years ago, and I still barely remember how the time started to fill in. But it did. After the terrible first two weeks, each week got easier. I appreciated what it was like to wake up rested and feeling good. I started looking for a career change (and found a great one, much to my relief). I took on projects. I meditated more. Over the months, life got really full. The boredom faded. 

And now it’s 3 years later, and there are not enough hours in the day. My life used to consist of one thing: Addiction. Now it’s full of varied components: friends, writing, meditation, work, exercise, family, the outdoors, the recovery community – the list goes on. That white-knuckle two weeks was a tough beginning, but it only got easier from there. And if I play my cards right and don’t pick up a drink again, I will never have to go through that two weeks again. 

If you are contemplating quitting, I cannot tell you that it will be easy and the desire to drink will be lifted from you. I can tell you, like any behavioral change, it starts hard, and gets easier. If you can get through that first two weeks, you can probably get through most of the worst of it – at least that was my experience. Addiction takes up a lot of space. Once you are free from addiction, you will find that there’s a lot to love besides alcohol, and now you have room in your life for all of it.