Standing in the Fear
Facing the fear of the first few days.
10:15 AM
I was drunk on Tuesday. Again. It’s a cycle I’ve been stuck in for most of my life. I’m 47 years old, and this habit has grown up alongside me like a weed I can’t kill.
For years, I told myself a lie: that I could control it. I’d use the rare nights where I had just two drinks as "proof." But the reality is that once I start, I cannot stop. I’m finally admitting it: I cannot have just one.
1:30 PM
The mental walls are shaking. Looking back, the stages are clear. Wednesday was spent recovering from another debilitating hangover and the sickness of not knowing what I’d done or said. The blank spaces in my memory are where the shame lives. Thursday, the mental battle began: How will I handle friends and social nights without a glass in my hand?
And then there's Friday. I just stood up for a cigarette and felt that automatic reflex to crack a "cold one." It’s only 1:30 PM, but my brain tells me I "deserve" it. Friday always seems to give me permission.
3:00 PM
Work is finished and I’m officially off for the day. This is when the craving really hits: when the structure is gone and the weekend is staring me in the face.
But it’s more than just a craving. The physical cost is showing up now—a dull, nagging headache and a slight shake in my hands that I can’t quite still. It’s a reminder that my body is demanding what I’m refusing to give it.
There is an even deeper realization hitting me right now: I have no idea how to exist in the world sober. I’ve used a bottle as a crutch for so long that I’ve forgotten how to walk. I’m terrified of the next time the panic hits.
I’m fighting two battles: staying sober and learning how to believe. I spent years as an atheist, found faith, then lost it in the wreckage of a marriage and a decade of drinking.
7:30 PM
The bottle stores close in 30 minutes.
For hundreds of nights, this was the "panic hour"—the frantic race to top up just in case I ran out. But tonight, the car is in the driveway. The race is over. My son and I just finished a meal of vegetable soup and toast. He told me he was proud of me. That’s the only "top-up" I need.
I took my dog for a walk, made a good supper, and actually did the dishes. The cravings hit a few times like a brick to the face, but they didn't break me. I can go to sleep tonight knowing that tomorrow will hold no regrets.
Self-control is a myth I can’t afford. The irony isn't lost on me: the fear and anxiety of not having a drink is exactly why I drink. But tonight, I’m just standing in it. I’m not numbing it anymore. Yes, it is scary, but to be honest, I am more scared of drinking right now.
I’m hoping there is enough grace to cover a lifetime of disgrace.
For I do not do the good I want to do, but the evil I do not want to do—this I keep on doing. - Romans 7:19