We all seem to be addicted to one thing or another these days.
Last week, I read an article about a woman who cancelled her therapy session for a blow-out and a mani-pedi.
The consequence to such an action?
Her psychiatrist slapped her with a serious mani-pedi addiction.
Women.
Alcohol.
Perfection.
For years it was me at the cutting board, a glass of chilled white at my side. And for years this habit was harmless—or it seemed that way.
Wow, I could not believe this article when I laid my eyes upon it.
Alcohol as Escape From Perfectionism by Ann Dowsett Johnston; The Atlantic: October 15, 2013.
This is exactly how I managed to get through my twenties, thirties and forties.
Switching gears with alcohol.
Most of us do it.
Recently, a relationship ended with a self-confessed alcoholic and so this subject began to intrigue me.
The conclusion: most people will readily admit to having a glass of wine with dinner.
The conclusion: most people will readily admit to having a glass of wine with dinner.
LLPOF.
Liar, Liars, Pants on Fire.
Confession time: I would not have made it through my marriage without the help of alcohol.
The eighties made drinking wine quite fashionable. It was like drinking Perrier water. We were all drinking our wine out of these swanky big goblets or downing our low-cal designer beer straight out of the bottle.
I was a yuppie back then.
My house wine was Santa Margherita, a pale straw-blond Italian pinot grigio. There was always a bottle in my fridge, and I’d often pour a second glass before dinner, with seeming impunity.
I was also a closet perfectionist.
In the 13 1/2 years I was married; I never kept the house clean enough, I never supported my husband enough, there was always dust on the television screen, I wasn’t thin enough and I never made quite enough money.
My wifely duties were endless and there were all those women on television and in film…
And, some of those perfect women lived just across the street from me and they were my friends and they seemed to be able to take their lives in stride and didn’t need to drink.. or did they?
In a recent poll done by Netmums in Britain, 81 percent of those who drank above the safe drinking guidelines said they did so “to wind down from a stressful day.”
Winding down from being a businesswoman and shifting gears to being a chef and a waitress, homework helper and what was the biggest job of them all, the chauffeur.
Chauffeur.
I cringe now at the thought.
Did I get behind the wheel after a glass of wine and tote children to soccer games and music class and bring them back home again?
I must have.
“Alcohol offers a time out from doing it all—‘Take me out of my perfectionism.’ Superwoman is a cliché now, but it is extremely dangerous. I’ve seen such a perversion of feminism, where everything becomes work: raising children, reading all the books, not listening to their instincts.
Alcohol keeps you from feeling which brings me to another loaded subject (pardon the pun).
Sex and alcohol.
During the last years of my marriage, I could not stand the sight of my husband.
Was there sex?
Of course.
I think that was the real reason for the third and last glass of wine of the evening.
And if there wasn’t the perfunctory sex; the third glass of wine would assure a good night’s sleep.
The golden rule: never have one more glass than usual because you might wake in the middle of the night and not get back to sleep.
Alcohol and depression.
Which comes first: the chicken or the egg?
Alcohol is a depressant; so why do we drink when we are depressed?
That delight of the momentary buzz.
In the depths of depression, alcohol was still a friend.
My medication didn’t seem to do the entire job.
I have been properly medicated now for the past five years.
The result?
No longer, do I drink daily.
I do not have the need.
There is no edge to take off.
No other person, I need to be.
Perfectionism seems to be a thing of the past.
Recently, I took a stroll around that witching hour—an hour when many had yet to pull the shades for the evening. I passed more than one window with a woman standing at her kitchen counter, a half-drunk glass at her side while she worked on the evening dinner.
Unfortunately, my generation has passed the disease of perfectionism on to the next generation of women.
There is a lot of alcoholic abuse amongst them.
The Romans had a saying; in vino veritas.
In wine the truth.
It took me almost 30 years to find my truth.
I hope it doesn’t take this generation that long to find their truth.
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