What Do Feminism and Alcoholism Have in Common...? Me!

What do you think of when you think of an alcoholic? Maybe you don’t have loads of experience in this area and are thinking of a puffy-faced man haplessly stumbling down the street with a can in hand. Or a woman you regularly pass under a bridge on the way to the subway whose gaze you avoid because of your embarrassment on her behalf. Perhaps you have plenty of unwanted experience in this area and have memories of hiding from someone scary or getting in your car seat hoping to get from point a to b in one piece.

I don’t think of any of that. For the longest time I thought of me, but it’s only in the past year or so that I’ve been able to say it out loud. I come from a family where alcohol was neither celebrated nor avoided. I had a wonderful and supportive childhood and I’m still very close to my mum, dad, and sister. Addiction doesn’t run in my family (as far as I know), but neither does feminism so I suppose that doesn’t mean much. I’ve been married to the best person I’ve ever met for almost 13 years, so I certainly wasn’t led astray once I left home.

There have always been two things that set me apart: depression and drinking. I’ve lived with depression of varying degrees since I was about 10 or 11 years old. I didn’t know that’s what it was at the time, and neither did anyone else, but looking back now it’s all crystal clear. What I discovered at a young age was that there was something that would make me happy no matter what, where, or when: ALCOHOL.

From the first time I tried, I loved it, and it never failed to have the desired effect. I have a lot of very funny drunk stories, and some upsetting ones too. Alcohol has been my bad friend for 25 years. It always showed me a good time, but then it would hurt me both physically and mentally and I’d kick it out and feel overwhelmed with shame and guilt. It wouldn’t be long, though, before it knocked on my door again with a bunch of flowers promising me that it was sorry and that everything would be different now. I would believe it and the cycle would start all over again. I learnt not to talk about it with my husband, friends, or family, because I knew me and alcohol would make up again soon. In fact, the only evidence that I thought this relationship was problematic was my Google history. Every few months I’d Google, ‘am I an alcoholic’, and I’d fill out one of those free questionnaires, and the answer would always be, ‘Yes. Get help now’.

‘They’ say parenthood means less happiness and more joy and I think most people with children can relate to that. I love my children more than life, but if you were to tell me that the daily grind of motherhood gives you happiness, I will joyfully call you a liar. Here are some of the things that have given me happiness: my quest for the perfect canned margarita; cocktails that I can’t afford; a strong gin & tonic during my kids’ bathtime; and a glass (read bottle) of prosecco as close to school dismissal as possible. There are so many other things in life that give you happiness, of course, but not when you’re an alcoholic who is still drinking.

I won’t bore you with the rock bottom that happened at the end of October last year that caused me to wake up to what most people around me had known for years. It wasn’t dramatic, there was no ultimatum, and it didn’t involve waking up in a ditch. I just began to see this terrible friend for who it was, and my body and mind were no longer interested in participating in the whole ‘flowers’ charade.

A couple of days later one of my real life best friends in all the world came to my house and said, let’s get rid of all your alcohol. I reluctantly said yes and we poured it down the sink. I saw dollar bills, memories of the countries I’ve lived in and the people I’ve met over the years, future and past best nights ever, and innumerable hangovers swirl down the drain. It didn’t feel hypothetical anymore, I had to say goodbye to this liquid loyal friend.

The photo at the top of this page was taken that day – me surrounded by empty vessels of happiness. Optimistic, proud, terrified, and doubtful. I decided that I would immortalize this moment in oil paint, much in the same way as the Old Masters painted hallowed moments in history. This painting will be the biggest using this medium that I’ve ever done.

So, with that confessional over I have a request. If you’ve read this far, I would love for you to join me on this inevitably bumpy journey towards completing this painting while staying sober and thinking about what feminism and alcoholism have to do with me. Like the beginning of all paintings, I’m not sure how it will look in the end but I’m willing to find out.