The numbers don’t add up from my last post of Day 3. I screwed up. On vacation. I made it through the first day, but on the second? I had a drink at dinner with my husband and my sister. And of course, since I’d given myself “permission” to drink, I proceeded to imbibe the rest of the trip. Did I ever get drunk? No. A buzz? Maybe a slight one… I stuck to three or four drinks per day. But I still did it. I drank. I ruined my short dry streak.
You see, I just couldn’t wrap my mind around trying to stay “dry” my entire vacation. I folded while at a Mexican restaurant our second night, the same Mexican restaurant my husband and I had our prenuptial dinner fifteen years ago. Perhaps it was this—the memories of my younger (let’s be honest, besotted) years—that pushed me over the edge. After hearing my hubby and closest sister order their “house” margaritas, I heard myself ditto the request. It was almost like a kneejerk reaction. One that I didn’t temper or take back. When the margarita arrived at the table, I looked at it, held off for a second or two, then took my first sip. And we all know what happens after your first sip.
The trip was fun. It was. The kids had a blast. We hiked, we horseback rode, we went paddle boarding, took out a pontoon boat for three hours, we shopped, we ate, and… we drank. A “normal” vacation all-in-all.
Though it wasn’t totally normal for me because I was more locked into my drinking—whether I should or shouldn’t, whether I could have just one or allow myself two, etc. Like I said, sure I didn’t get drunk. Yep, I can’t say I really even got a buzz. But I was THINKING about alcohol every day while there. There I was, surrounded by beautiful mountains, a happy, relaxed husband, excited kids, staying in a picturesque “ski” town (turned hiking mecca in the summer), and every hour of every day I was debating the pros and cons of drinking. Alcohol might has well have been a third child on our vacation; I was constantly engrossed with it.
Good thing (at least), my family was not aware. My husband didn’t so much as raise an eyebrow when I ordered my margarita that second night. I think I told HIM how I was planning on only having a few while there in Colorado, but that when I got back home I’d dig in and do 30 days alcohol-free. He might have shrugged. I can’t remember…
But I did promise myself this. I mentally committed to not just a 30-day AF Challenge once back in Nebraska, but doing the elusive 100-day. Actually DOING it.
So here goes. Once again. Hopefully for real this time. For good.