Once a week, while having dinner with Ella, I’d join her at the table, dinner in one hand, cold IPA in the other. Then twice a week. Then three times. It’s just a nice way to end the day, to relieve the stress of parenting, I thought. But eventually, I found myself in the kitchen most nights, glass in hand, justifying my mounting habit with flippant dismissals. “What’s the big deal if I’m tipsy? I’m relaxed. This is what most parents do,” I’d mutter to myself and then take a sip.
Investigating less-desirable behaviors and admitting that some of our actions might not be in line with our best selves is not an enjoyable activity. Taking corrective action — not doing the thing we’ve been doing, confronting the shame we might be harboring, and addressing the reasons that led us to the behavior is difficult. But the benefit of paying attention to our habits — good or bad — is that we can correct problems in their infancy.
Habits are behaviors on auto-pilot that have environmental or emotional triggers. Identifying and addressing our triggers is the key to correcting a negative habit. Recently, I spent a month away from alcohol, interrogating my consumption patterns in an effort to unravel some unhealthy trends I saw developing. I realized that when I was in LA, I drank infrequently and always in the context of social gatherings, which felt fine. But in Montana, I started to struggle keeping my intake at levels I felt comfortable with. Winding down with a glass of wine on Friday night morphed into hanging out in the kitchen several nights a week with a beverage or two. And if the contents of the fridge were less than inspiring, I’d justify eating out more than our budget allows so that I could enjoy a drink with dinner. Then I read this recent study, which shows that even moderate alcohol consumption increases mortality. I realized my habits around booze were out of sync with some of my health and wellness values — quality sleep, vibrant health, and cooking family dinners.
Upon deeper inspection, I acknowledged that during my weeks in Montana, the day-to-day grind of solo-parenting was weighing on me. The evenings and weekends often included times where I yearned for a little excitement, an escape, some soothing. Instead of seeing, respecting, and addressing the dull pains of boredom, loneliness, and monotony, I engaged in avoidance. But after a few weeks of abstinence, the powerful force of ritual faded, and I realized the occasional emotional discomfort I experienced wasn’t that hard to work through. I’ve come to appreciate the pangs of angst, and I’m learning to embrace the opportunity for self-reflection they provide, without reaching for liquid reprieve.
The urge to “take the edge off” is one that’s heavily reinforced in our culture. The basic message being broadcast around alcohol is that it’s okay to drink at any time for any reason (few people seem to care about the current statistics around women and liquor, which are horrific). Alcohol is sold as a luxury, as a reward, as critical for all social gatherings, and as the salve for the stresses of daily life.
The reality of the consumerist elixir of choice is that it’s an expensive, addictive, and carcinogenic toxin.
Sure, for most people it’s fine to enjoy an adult beverage from time to time, but if good physical and emotional health are values we hold, it shouldn’t occupy a prominent position in our lives. Societal norms around alcohol and stigma attached to alcohol abuse can lead us to rationalize or ignore behaviors we might otherwise recognize as incongruous with our best selves. But viewing our habits and triggers without judgement can help us adjust, create boundaries, and establish new patterns that will enable us to positively evolve.