In the end, it all happened very quietly.
I had an evening to myself. I was on the sofa, binge-watching The Medicis, drinking wine, and thinking I really should stop eating so many peanuts. I went to the kitchen for a refill and nearly jumped out of my skin when the back door opened and my husband came in. He looked at me, at the empty wine glass in my hand. “The meeting was cancelled” he said. “Are you not trying to cut down?” “Oh I am”, I replied hastily. “I’m just getting some juice.”
So I filled my wine glass with juice and went back to eating peanuts, only not as quickly as before. And I thought that maybe it was actually the wine that was causing the peanut problem. Along with other problems. And I just wished I could cut down. I searched yet again on-line about cutting back on alcohol, hoping to find some new method that would work for me. Except this time, for the first time, I found a blog, and another, and another and they sounded so elated and thrilled about stopping drinking, which sounded strange and new and exciting to me, as I hadn’t thought it was possible to be enthusiastic about, well, anything really that didn’t involve drinking.
In fact, I couldn’t wait to try out this new sober life for myself. Then I did the stupidest thing ever. I went back to the fridge to finish off the bottle of wine so that I could get started with not drinking.
However, somehow, for some reason, that was it. I wanted to stop. Not to cut down. Not to give it a break for a while. Just stop. For ever.