Thank you for this beautiful share, Allison. I’ve experienced deep anticipatory grief for as long as I can remember - all the way back to childhood, when I grieved knowing that childhood would someday end. In many ways, that remains the greatest loss of my life, and I’ve been trying to numb that loss ever since. No longer with alcohol, thankfully, but still with overwork and other distractions. More generally, I think there’s such a profound disconnect in our culture - from grief, from death, and from our very humanness - how to be with the whole of it and with the whole of ourselves.
Thanks Dana. I so appreciate the opportunity to share this part of my story here.
Anticipatory grief is just as powerful. Just as impactful. I feel it deeply too. I’m in the thick of it with my son - a high school senior getting ready to fly the coup and go to college. My heart is already in my throat when I think about not having him under the same roof as me. People don’t acknowledge those kinds of losses or changes enough.
That deep loss of childhood that you mention - yes, I feel that too. I grieve that, too.
Our culture sure does provide plenty of opportunities for us to distract from the many losses we experience. And, I would go so far as to say, encourages us to detach from those losses and any display our pain.
Which is why I’m so thankful to have places and communities like this where folks are so accepting of it - willing to hold it and look at it. 🫶
Ah, yes. I feared losing the grief when I got sober, my final connection to my sister and my best friend, but it actually deepened and grew until it was nearly unbearable but I bore without the numbing. Love how you describe this and your insights into the inability of most others to understand. Forty years later I still grieve adding parents etc but my life is a gift.
Thanks Molly. Grieving while fully feeling is a gift we give ourselves. Seems counterintuitive to most. How can the deep pain and cuts of grief be a gift? But I'm convinced it is. I'm learning that sobriety magnifies all the gifts in our lives. Congrats on staying true to all that feeling and to your long admirable stretch of sobriety.
Oh Allison...I needed this more than you can ever imagine. I had a horrible week that I climbed out of yesterday. Yes...I climbed out without alcohol. Without numbing. I did it. But it was awful. My Mom had an event and literally overnight her life changed. She was a thriving 84 year olf with full make up on dec 31 and Jan 1 she laid in a hospital bed and could not walk nor talk. My sister and my Dad are there, I am 8 hours away. I drove home and stayed with my parents for 6 days. My Mom is doing so much better. She can talk and she is unsteady but she can take a few steps. My Mom's mantra right now that she says proudly is "Everything is temporary". And she is right. Lots of emotions over the past week and your beautiful words resonated. These specific words... "I had to replace her with a woman who reached for different things in order to self-soothe. I had to relearn how to cope. How to sit in the everyday pain unarmored." Wow unarmored. This. So grateful for you my beautiful friend. Loads of love.
Oh Natalie, I am so sorry that the New Year has brought you and your family such hardship. I am sending loads of love and strength your way. What wisdom your mom holds and speaks - everything IS temporary. And that right there can be a blessing and a curse. Facing impermanence when it comes to our loved ones and their time here with us is heartbreaking and gut wrenching. But when we learn how to do it as a fully feeling human, it becomes a gift. I know you feel that. I know you know that. It sounds like your mom does, too.
Here's to unarmored love. Here's to unarmored pain. Sending love to you Natalie xoxoxo
This is a great piece Allison. I think you've named something really important here about how alcohol (and other behaviours) serve as a means of escaping, numbing and avoiding emotion. Getting in touch with our unprocessed grief is a big piece of healing for so many people. When I learned to fully feel and move through the waves of grief in my own life was also when I learned to access my joy. Beautifully said.
That is true for me as well. Once I broke through the wall I put up - the one constructed so I wouldn’t get too close to grief, I recognized it actually brought me closer to its companion- joy. Which makes total sense because we only grieve something or someone we felt deep love for. So of course joy waits for us on the other side. 🫶
I am sorry for the loss of your dad, Allison. ❤️ Also, coincidentally, my dad was a real estate attorney and a rock in my childhood. I didn't allow myself to grieve for many years, and I love that you point out the many dimensions of grief.
I definitely see the intersection of grief and recovery. When I got sober I found myself grieving things that I hadn't given myself the opportunity to grieve when I was in active addiction—those things I would just drink to forget and numb. The moment I stopped drinking, it all rushed in and I went through a deep, deep depression that almost led me to the end of my life. Not only was it the grief that came out of nowhere, but also like you touched on here about how people don't know what to say to someone who is in this situation, so it felt really isolating as if I had to go through it all alone.
I still find myself grieving things that hadn't had an opportunity to come up before, in time as they're ready to say hello, and now I'm more equipped to give them the space and love they deserve when they do.
Oof. Thank you for opening up this pathway for me today.
Super isolating in the beginning - I felt that too. That’s why, now that I’m on sturdier sober legs I’m so focused on talking about this. Sharing this stuff so others know this is not meant to be done alone.
Thank you for sharing this here, Kaitlyn.
I still rub up against all kinds of variants of grief, but like you point out, with the time and tools of recovery I can hold it.
This, "I would be continually rolling in the deep mourning of my former self. I had to replace her with a woman who reached for different things in order to self-soothe. I had to relearn how to cope. How to sit in the everyday pain unarmored.
Sobriety reshaped my relationship with everything. My work, my marriage, my kids, my friendships. Myself. I had to put all of those things under the microscope of my mind’s eye if I was really going to live in integrity." Thank for sharing this with us. xo
Thank you for all you share here Allison. I had been using alcohol for over a decade to try and escape my feelings of grief for the loss of my mother when I was young. It was only once I quit drinking that I was finally able to have the courage to turn towards it. Now, I live with grief but I walk alongside it rather than it being this enormous dread that used to terrorise me. I wish our culture was better at talking about grief and addiction and the other difficult things you mention here. We're all so lost at knowing what to do and what to say.
So lost as a culture, I agree Ellie. I hope the tides are shifting a bit in that regard. Not talking about these things doesn't make them go away. It only makes them heavier to carry. I know you've experienced this, too. Thanks for being another voice who speaks up about this. I appreciate you.
What a gorgeous piece of writing Allison! It so perfectly describes what early (18 months) sobriety has been for me. Some days I feel completely untethered now that I no longer numb myself to the daily trials and tribulations of being human.
I get it. 4 years in and I still have days where I feel so untethered. When that happens, I remind myself no feeling is final. And somehow that assurance helps me ride it out. I liken it to a knowing rather than a numbing. It’s much better on this side. ✨
I’m glad you felt resonance. Know you’re not alone! 🫶
I love your intention of bringing grief forward and clarifying exactly what it’s about. Especially bringing in the etymology—to make heavy. Grief is an honorable action; a state of being. To recognize that “I am grieving” feels to me that am in control of my feelings rather than being being controlled by them. Because lord knows, if I’ve got something that needs to be grieved, and I’m not taking control of it emotionally, it’s an invitation to a shit show of regrettable behaviors, circumstances, and interpersonal dynamics. Thanks for a powerful and important piece!
Thanks, Jim. I have made grief intentional work. Because, as you point out, the alternative is IT works me. It would push me over into regrettable actions. Dropping into it when it visits is actually honorable work - something I consider sacred.
I appreciate your comment and sharing how it landed with you!
Yeah I could have gone on… I’m a therapist and often talk about honoring grief; I use the term sacred too. “People dress in black and go into period of mourning—give them their space.” Lots of grief around addiction and recovery. We need to grieve the loss of our best friend/lover (chemicals) or sometimes families have to grieve the loss of a relationship when addiction causes separation.
Yes, huge intersect in recovery. I agree. Alcohol was good to me for quite a long time. Until it wasn't. There was definitely a mourning period. And once I separated from it, it did cause some separation with some of my relationships/friendships. It's the side of addiction many don't talk about. All the changes that take place once you're healthy and well.
Hi Allison. Wonderful to read part of your story. In my own case - sobriety made grieving the loss of somebody close easier. Much easier. In May 0f 2020 my 93 year-old father passed away suddenly. I was 11 years sober up to the point. The thing about dad's passing was that I was overseas at the time and unable to return to my country (Australia) due to border closures etc. So I had to watch my dad's funeral on a Zoom call. Hope that never happens again. The good from this - as I said - was that I was able to grieve dad's passing while sober. Had I been drinking - well... I need not go any further into those possible scenarios. Congrats on your sobriety, I look forward to reading more from you!
Hi Mike. Thank you for sharing that here. I have to say, every time - EVERY time I heard about or saw a story on the news about a family that could not sit beside their loved one as they grew ill and closer to death in a hospital or could not have a proper wake or funeral due to Covid restrictions, my heart would ache and break for those folks and would instantly remind me how fortunate my family was to be able to do hold our ceremony in person. I know my grief would have been more complicated had I not been able to do so. My drinking, too.
I am sorry you were not able to be with your family in person at that time. And yes, thankfully you had your sturdy stretch of sobriety to hold you.
Nice to meet you here, Mike. Congrats on 16 years of sobriety!
This gives me a lot to think about. I quit drinking seven months ago primarily because I thought it would help relieve the symptoms of severe, recurrent depression. But the past several months I have been more depressed than at any time since 2017. Debilitating depression. Depression is different from grief (for me). I think grief is (among other things) adjusting to a new reality. Grieving is becoming more in touch with reality. Depression tends to distort reality. For example, it makes my relationships feel unreal (at best) or threatening. And physically, it just slows me down and drains me and makes my health worse. So I don't want to draw a direct analogy with the grieving you describe here. It seems like your grief has been (at least in some ways) "healthy." I'm not sure there's anything healthy about the depression I am experiencing.
But I do want to try the analogy out. The idea of allowing myself to descend into the depression, to just be there, to accept it: that's new to me. I have a hunch that something good, something "healthy" might come of embracing the rawness of depression in sobriety.
Bill, I understand this. They overlap but depression and grief have different textures. While personal for everyone who experiences them, both states can feel burdensome. I’ve found when I trust that it’s here to teach me something, it doesn’t stay as long because I’m witnessing it. Saying “hi, I see you’re here and maybe you have something to tell me. I won’t look away. Go ahead.”
May you find that acceptance you mention. And trust you can hold it. Until you can, please know others can help you hold it.
Sobriety is not linear. Neither is grief or depression. I think we dip in and out. Sometimes things get worse before they get better. That’s been my experience with sobriety, grief, therapy, etc.
As to sobriety, stay for the magic. Wait for it. I had someone say that to me in early sobriety. I held onto that when things were extra heavy.
Until then, I hope you continue turning to places like this where you can share. I hope doing so helps. I appreciate you being here. 🫶
This is beautiful and brimming with lines I want to highlight. Grateful to you for writing, Allison, so we can all benefit from your story and essential reflections on loss and grief and growth.
I'm blown away by how much your story mirrors my own. I feel it gives me permission to let go of social conventions and grieve in the strange in and out, ebb and flow way, that grief takes us. I too lost my Dad in 2020 due to liver cancer, from excessive drinking. He wasn't a drunk, but a high ranking police officer. I believe he was too sensitive for that kind of work. He couldn't shut off from the horrors of it. He used to feel dirty coming home to me and my brother.
He withdrew to protect himself I guess, into whiskey usually. Later when I was older he was my drinking buddy. It was how we bonded. The drink made the inhibitions fall away and I was able to be with him in a way I couldn't as the invisible child I felt I was all my life. He divorced my mum when I was 18, saying his job was done. It really wasn't. I needed him then more than ever.
I live in France, and so when his liver basically exploded he rang me from the hospital in Cornwall UK and said 'Kanny I only have a few hours to live'. That literally blew my mind. I couldn't make sense of what he was saying particularly because he sounded his normal self. We only spoke a few words because I was sobbing and he had to ring my brother.
However, the doctors managed to stabilise him and he hung on for another month. I couldn't get over to see him because of lockdown restrictions and the ferry ports closed. My husband meanwhile became very ill and I had to take him to A&E under all the restrictions then nurse him when he came out a week later. This was while Dad was dying. I couldn't leave my husband, but my mind was doing cartwheels trying to figure out how to get to Dad before he passed. Ultimately of course it was impossible. I couldn't get to the funeral either for the same reasons. I was able to give a eulogy via laptop in the church. Better than nothing. I would have given anything to be able to have held his hand and look into his eyes and tell him how much I love him. Now I never will.
Dad's last words to me as a dying man were "Kanny, I know I shouldn't ask this of you, but please stop drinking". It was so hard to hear. What do you say to your beloved father on his death bed? I knew that my 40 year drinking habit was going to be difficult to beat. I had been in rehab twice (AA based) and that had only worked for a short time. I didn't take to AA. There was something about AA that made me angry, although I know that it is a life saver for many. Each to their own. However, I promised him. Of course I did. I sobbed as I promised I would stop drinking and lose weight. Even though I knew I couldn't.
Did I keep my promise? It was too much. The first thing I did after that phone call was open a bottle of wine and get it down my neck. I was distraught, alone. My husband was sympathetic but also ill, although he recovered well. What could I do with this overwhelming grief that was all consuming? We were in lockdown. I couldn't speak to a professional. I wasn't special, just one of many grieving souls all over the world. It was a shit show.
My stepmother, his wife of 36 years was diagnosed at the same time as he was in hospital with stage 4 ovarian cancer. They could do nothing as it had spread to her other organs. She died within the year too. I managed to get to her funeral and be with my family in the UK for comfort. The day of her funeral, my cousin, Dad's sister's daughter was on her way to join us, when she was told that her mum, my Auntie, was in hospital with hours to live. She had to turn around and go to the hospital arriving in time to say goodbye before her mum, Dad's sister, passed.I loved that woman. I couldn't fucking believe it.
In this overwhelming grief I buried myself in drinking heavily for a while until this year. I knew I was killing myself, and then two of my three daughters told me they were pregnant. This was something to live for.
In March '24 I felt enough is enough. I detoxed myself at home with medical help, and went into hospital for a knee replacement. I then had a pulmonary embolism which nearly killed me. I was in hospital 6 weeks. When I got home, I caught another variant of Covid and my lungs haven't recovered since.
On the plus side, I have not had alcohol since March 2024. A lot of medication but no alcohol. And now I'm just on anti-depressants, although I don't really believe they work. And I lost weight. Mainly due to not being able to eat.
This last Saturday, was my youngest daughter's 31st birthday. I had her at 31, my other two daughters I birthed much younger in my early twenties. Faith always said 'mummy, I'm going to have my baby when I'm the same age you were when you had me.' She said this many times. I just laughed.
She gave birth to her beautiful daughter Wren on Saturday 11th January, her 31st birthday.
I managed to get to the hospital in time to see this gorgeous new life enter the world and hold my own little girl's hands as she pushed out her baby from her body, as I did exactly 31 years ago to her.
I feel honoured and blessed, and of course I wish I could have shared my joy with my Dad. He knows. Yesterday, the 12th I was rushed into the same hospital A&E with a respiratory condition. I had chest pains, couldn't breathe and was coughing all the time. The staff were wonderful. I had x-rays, blood tests and an oxygen mask because my oxygen levels were low. There is nothing on my lungs and so they sent me home, saying I had a viral respiratory condition. Probably Covid again but my immune system is so compromised that the stress of the day before probably brought it on.
I'm in bed now, at my eldest daughter's house. She is 7 months pregnant, so I cannot leave the room for risk of infecting her. I hope I haven't infected my own daughter, Faith and my granddaughter.
I thought about drinking for a micro second, when I was at my lowest yesterday, feeling that I was the worst mother and grandmother in the world. The shame of drinking and its consequences weigh heavily on me. But I am sober and intend to remain that way. I want to be a positive influence in my grandchildren's lives and help their mothers, in a way I wasn't able to be there for them when they were little. But I have to get well first. Nothing happens without this sobriety that is so new and fragile.
I'm frustrated that I cannot be with my daughters and grandchildren now, but I have no energy, and I cannot risk passing on germs to them. So the lesson is to Surrender to what is. That is all I have. And gratitude . That my daughters are healthy, and my newborn granddaughter is healthy and well loved by everyone. Your post Allison sparked all this off in me and I hope I haven't bored everyone rigid with my story. I subscribed to you today because of that post. I have so many stories to tell about my own journey through the alcohol swamp, which I am working on now. Alcohol derailed my life, but I battled against it. I've got degrees and held down good jobs. I was a teacher at college, but ultimately I burnt out.
Look out for me on substack, as you have inspired me to write my own story, similar to yours and everyone else but of course with my unique twist on life. Bless you and everyone here (I sound like Tiny Tim - sic). If you got to the end of this well done. Love to all. Karen x
Hi Karen - I am so glad you wrote all this and shared. I hope doing so helped move some of the pain and ache. I am sending you well wishes for a speedy recovery. I know you must want to be back in the same room as your sweet grandbabies. My daughter was born on 11/11 and so hearing your daughter and granddaughter were born on 1/11 made me smile. 111 are angel numbers. I like to think my sweet daughter is being guided and guides me. Perhaps the same can be said about yours.
I hear strength in your share. Strength to stay sober. "But I am sober and intend to remain that way." Remain that way today and then again tomorrow. Just stay sober today and tomorrow will take care of itself. Reminding myself of that helped me in the early days (still helps me now).
Thanks for subscribing to Dare to Be. I hope to see more of you here on Subtack. You should write and share your story! That's how we heal - in community. Sharing our stories so that we know and others know none of us are alone in this.
Thanks Dana, 111 Angel numbers eh?? Very true. I find the power of intention so magnificent. My daughter told me from childhood that she would have a child when she was 31, and she did. On her birthday. 🎉 This miracle is not lost on me. What we focus on expands. So here’s to health and clarity. 💕
This is one of the most beautiful and moving things I've read in a long time. My heart goes out to you, Karen. You are very inspiring. It is clear that your higher power is doing wonderful, mysterious things in your life. (And you are a very good writer.)
Thanks Bill.. I’m very grateful you took the time to say you liked my writing. My self esteem is very low especially now as I’m back in France and have taken a turn for the worse in my health. Cough and breathing. I will write more. Thanks for the encouragement to you and Dana. I believe I still have something to offer this world. In gratitude 🙏🏻 Karen 🌹
Thank you for this beautiful share, Allison. I’ve experienced deep anticipatory grief for as long as I can remember - all the way back to childhood, when I grieved knowing that childhood would someday end. In many ways, that remains the greatest loss of my life, and I’ve been trying to numb that loss ever since. No longer with alcohol, thankfully, but still with overwork and other distractions. More generally, I think there’s such a profound disconnect in our culture - from grief, from death, and from our very humanness - how to be with the whole of it and with the whole of ourselves.
Thanks Dana. I so appreciate the opportunity to share this part of my story here.
Anticipatory grief is just as powerful. Just as impactful. I feel it deeply too. I’m in the thick of it with my son - a high school senior getting ready to fly the coup and go to college. My heart is already in my throat when I think about not having him under the same roof as me. People don’t acknowledge those kinds of losses or changes enough.
That deep loss of childhood that you mention - yes, I feel that too. I grieve that, too.
Our culture sure does provide plenty of opportunities for us to distract from the many losses we experience. And, I would go so far as to say, encourages us to detach from those losses and any display our pain.
Which is why I’m so thankful to have places and communities like this where folks are so accepting of it - willing to hold it and look at it. 🫶
Ah, yes. I feared losing the grief when I got sober, my final connection to my sister and my best friend, but it actually deepened and grew until it was nearly unbearable but I bore without the numbing. Love how you describe this and your insights into the inability of most others to understand. Forty years later I still grieve adding parents etc but my life is a gift.
Thanks Molly. Grieving while fully feeling is a gift we give ourselves. Seems counterintuitive to most. How can the deep pain and cuts of grief be a gift? But I'm convinced it is. I'm learning that sobriety magnifies all the gifts in our lives. Congrats on staying true to all that feeling and to your long admirable stretch of sobriety.
Oh Allison...I needed this more than you can ever imagine. I had a horrible week that I climbed out of yesterday. Yes...I climbed out without alcohol. Without numbing. I did it. But it was awful. My Mom had an event and literally overnight her life changed. She was a thriving 84 year olf with full make up on dec 31 and Jan 1 she laid in a hospital bed and could not walk nor talk. My sister and my Dad are there, I am 8 hours away. I drove home and stayed with my parents for 6 days. My Mom is doing so much better. She can talk and she is unsteady but she can take a few steps. My Mom's mantra right now that she says proudly is "Everything is temporary". And she is right. Lots of emotions over the past week and your beautiful words resonated. These specific words... "I had to replace her with a woman who reached for different things in order to self-soothe. I had to relearn how to cope. How to sit in the everyday pain unarmored." Wow unarmored. This. So grateful for you my beautiful friend. Loads of love.
Oh Natalie, I am so sorry that the New Year has brought you and your family such hardship. I am sending loads of love and strength your way. What wisdom your mom holds and speaks - everything IS temporary. And that right there can be a blessing and a curse. Facing impermanence when it comes to our loved ones and their time here with us is heartbreaking and gut wrenching. But when we learn how to do it as a fully feeling human, it becomes a gift. I know you feel that. I know you know that. It sounds like your mom does, too.
Here's to unarmored love. Here's to unarmored pain. Sending love to you Natalie xoxoxo
This is a great piece Allison. I think you've named something really important here about how alcohol (and other behaviours) serve as a means of escaping, numbing and avoiding emotion. Getting in touch with our unprocessed grief is a big piece of healing for so many people. When I learned to fully feel and move through the waves of grief in my own life was also when I learned to access my joy. Beautifully said.
That is true for me as well. Once I broke through the wall I put up - the one constructed so I wouldn’t get too close to grief, I recognized it actually brought me closer to its companion- joy. Which makes total sense because we only grieve something or someone we felt deep love for. So of course joy waits for us on the other side. 🫶
Thanks Vicki. I appreciate you sharing here.
I am sorry for the loss of your dad, Allison. ❤️ Also, coincidentally, my dad was a real estate attorney and a rock in my childhood. I didn't allow myself to grieve for many years, and I love that you point out the many dimensions of grief.
So many dimensions. So layered.
Thanks for the kind words, Maria. 💕
Losing a rock of a dad can sure cause some crumbling.
So beautifully expressed, Allison.
I definitely see the intersection of grief and recovery. When I got sober I found myself grieving things that I hadn't given myself the opportunity to grieve when I was in active addiction—those things I would just drink to forget and numb. The moment I stopped drinking, it all rushed in and I went through a deep, deep depression that almost led me to the end of my life. Not only was it the grief that came out of nowhere, but also like you touched on here about how people don't know what to say to someone who is in this situation, so it felt really isolating as if I had to go through it all alone.
I still find myself grieving things that hadn't had an opportunity to come up before, in time as they're ready to say hello, and now I'm more equipped to give them the space and love they deserve when they do.
Oof. Thank you for opening up this pathway for me today.
Super isolating in the beginning - I felt that too. That’s why, now that I’m on sturdier sober legs I’m so focused on talking about this. Sharing this stuff so others know this is not meant to be done alone.
Thank you for sharing this here, Kaitlyn.
I still rub up against all kinds of variants of grief, but like you point out, with the time and tools of recovery I can hold it.
Thanks for being here. 🫶
This, "I would be continually rolling in the deep mourning of my former self. I had to replace her with a woman who reached for different things in order to self-soothe. I had to relearn how to cope. How to sit in the everyday pain unarmored.
Sobriety reshaped my relationship with everything. My work, my marriage, my kids, my friendships. Myself. I had to put all of those things under the microscope of my mind’s eye if I was really going to live in integrity." Thank for sharing this with us. xo
Thanks, Jocelyn. I appreciate you shining that here.
Thank you for all you share here Allison. I had been using alcohol for over a decade to try and escape my feelings of grief for the loss of my mother when I was young. It was only once I quit drinking that I was finally able to have the courage to turn towards it. Now, I live with grief but I walk alongside it rather than it being this enormous dread that used to terrorise me. I wish our culture was better at talking about grief and addiction and the other difficult things you mention here. We're all so lost at knowing what to do and what to say.
So lost as a culture, I agree Ellie. I hope the tides are shifting a bit in that regard. Not talking about these things doesn't make them go away. It only makes them heavier to carry. I know you've experienced this, too. Thanks for being another voice who speaks up about this. I appreciate you.
What a gorgeous piece of writing Allison! It so perfectly describes what early (18 months) sobriety has been for me. Some days I feel completely untethered now that I no longer numb myself to the daily trials and tribulations of being human.
Thanks, Rob.
I get it. 4 years in and I still have days where I feel so untethered. When that happens, I remind myself no feeling is final. And somehow that assurance helps me ride it out. I liken it to a knowing rather than a numbing. It’s much better on this side. ✨
I’m glad you felt resonance. Know you’re not alone! 🫶
I love your intention of bringing grief forward and clarifying exactly what it’s about. Especially bringing in the etymology—to make heavy. Grief is an honorable action; a state of being. To recognize that “I am grieving” feels to me that am in control of my feelings rather than being being controlled by them. Because lord knows, if I’ve got something that needs to be grieved, and I’m not taking control of it emotionally, it’s an invitation to a shit show of regrettable behaviors, circumstances, and interpersonal dynamics. Thanks for a powerful and important piece!
Thanks, Jim. I have made grief intentional work. Because, as you point out, the alternative is IT works me. It would push me over into regrettable actions. Dropping into it when it visits is actually honorable work - something I consider sacred.
I appreciate your comment and sharing how it landed with you!
Yeah I could have gone on… I’m a therapist and often talk about honoring grief; I use the term sacred too. “People dress in black and go into period of mourning—give them their space.” Lots of grief around addiction and recovery. We need to grieve the loss of our best friend/lover (chemicals) or sometimes families have to grieve the loss of a relationship when addiction causes separation.
Yes, huge intersect in recovery. I agree. Alcohol was good to me for quite a long time. Until it wasn't. There was definitely a mourning period. And once I separated from it, it did cause some separation with some of my relationships/friendships. It's the side of addiction many don't talk about. All the changes that take place once you're healthy and well.
Hi Allison. Wonderful to read part of your story. In my own case - sobriety made grieving the loss of somebody close easier. Much easier. In May 0f 2020 my 93 year-old father passed away suddenly. I was 11 years sober up to the point. The thing about dad's passing was that I was overseas at the time and unable to return to my country (Australia) due to border closures etc. So I had to watch my dad's funeral on a Zoom call. Hope that never happens again. The good from this - as I said - was that I was able to grieve dad's passing while sober. Had I been drinking - well... I need not go any further into those possible scenarios. Congrats on your sobriety, I look forward to reading more from you!
Hi Mike. Thank you for sharing that here. I have to say, every time - EVERY time I heard about or saw a story on the news about a family that could not sit beside their loved one as they grew ill and closer to death in a hospital or could not have a proper wake or funeral due to Covid restrictions, my heart would ache and break for those folks and would instantly remind me how fortunate my family was to be able to do hold our ceremony in person. I know my grief would have been more complicated had I not been able to do so. My drinking, too.
I am sorry you were not able to be with your family in person at that time. And yes, thankfully you had your sturdy stretch of sobriety to hold you.
Nice to meet you here, Mike. Congrats on 16 years of sobriety!
Thank you, Allison. Very kind of you.
This gives me a lot to think about. I quit drinking seven months ago primarily because I thought it would help relieve the symptoms of severe, recurrent depression. But the past several months I have been more depressed than at any time since 2017. Debilitating depression. Depression is different from grief (for me). I think grief is (among other things) adjusting to a new reality. Grieving is becoming more in touch with reality. Depression tends to distort reality. For example, it makes my relationships feel unreal (at best) or threatening. And physically, it just slows me down and drains me and makes my health worse. So I don't want to draw a direct analogy with the grieving you describe here. It seems like your grief has been (at least in some ways) "healthy." I'm not sure there's anything healthy about the depression I am experiencing.
But I do want to try the analogy out. The idea of allowing myself to descend into the depression, to just be there, to accept it: that's new to me. I have a hunch that something good, something "healthy" might come of embracing the rawness of depression in sobriety.
Bill, I understand this. They overlap but depression and grief have different textures. While personal for everyone who experiences them, both states can feel burdensome. I’ve found when I trust that it’s here to teach me something, it doesn’t stay as long because I’m witnessing it. Saying “hi, I see you’re here and maybe you have something to tell me. I won’t look away. Go ahead.”
May you find that acceptance you mention. And trust you can hold it. Until you can, please know others can help you hold it.
Sobriety is not linear. Neither is grief or depression. I think we dip in and out. Sometimes things get worse before they get better. That’s been my experience with sobriety, grief, therapy, etc.
As to sobriety, stay for the magic. Wait for it. I had someone say that to me in early sobriety. I held onto that when things were extra heavy.
Until then, I hope you continue turning to places like this where you can share. I hope doing so helps. I appreciate you being here. 🫶
This is beautiful and brimming with lines I want to highlight. Grateful to you for writing, Allison, so we can all benefit from your story and essential reflections on loss and grief and growth.
Hi Addie. Thanks for dropping in to let me know. Much appreciated. Grief and its reflections do feel essential. We all step in this.
Absolutely--there's nothing more universal.
Hi Allison,
I'm blown away by how much your story mirrors my own. I feel it gives me permission to let go of social conventions and grieve in the strange in and out, ebb and flow way, that grief takes us. I too lost my Dad in 2020 due to liver cancer, from excessive drinking. He wasn't a drunk, but a high ranking police officer. I believe he was too sensitive for that kind of work. He couldn't shut off from the horrors of it. He used to feel dirty coming home to me and my brother.
He withdrew to protect himself I guess, into whiskey usually. Later when I was older he was my drinking buddy. It was how we bonded. The drink made the inhibitions fall away and I was able to be with him in a way I couldn't as the invisible child I felt I was all my life. He divorced my mum when I was 18, saying his job was done. It really wasn't. I needed him then more than ever.
I live in France, and so when his liver basically exploded he rang me from the hospital in Cornwall UK and said 'Kanny I only have a few hours to live'. That literally blew my mind. I couldn't make sense of what he was saying particularly because he sounded his normal self. We only spoke a few words because I was sobbing and he had to ring my brother.
However, the doctors managed to stabilise him and he hung on for another month. I couldn't get over to see him because of lockdown restrictions and the ferry ports closed. My husband meanwhile became very ill and I had to take him to A&E under all the restrictions then nurse him when he came out a week later. This was while Dad was dying. I couldn't leave my husband, but my mind was doing cartwheels trying to figure out how to get to Dad before he passed. Ultimately of course it was impossible. I couldn't get to the funeral either for the same reasons. I was able to give a eulogy via laptop in the church. Better than nothing. I would have given anything to be able to have held his hand and look into his eyes and tell him how much I love him. Now I never will.
Dad's last words to me as a dying man were "Kanny, I know I shouldn't ask this of you, but please stop drinking". It was so hard to hear. What do you say to your beloved father on his death bed? I knew that my 40 year drinking habit was going to be difficult to beat. I had been in rehab twice (AA based) and that had only worked for a short time. I didn't take to AA. There was something about AA that made me angry, although I know that it is a life saver for many. Each to their own. However, I promised him. Of course I did. I sobbed as I promised I would stop drinking and lose weight. Even though I knew I couldn't.
Did I keep my promise? It was too much. The first thing I did after that phone call was open a bottle of wine and get it down my neck. I was distraught, alone. My husband was sympathetic but also ill, although he recovered well. What could I do with this overwhelming grief that was all consuming? We were in lockdown. I couldn't speak to a professional. I wasn't special, just one of many grieving souls all over the world. It was a shit show.
My stepmother, his wife of 36 years was diagnosed at the same time as he was in hospital with stage 4 ovarian cancer. They could do nothing as it had spread to her other organs. She died within the year too. I managed to get to her funeral and be with my family in the UK for comfort. The day of her funeral, my cousin, Dad's sister's daughter was on her way to join us, when she was told that her mum, my Auntie, was in hospital with hours to live. She had to turn around and go to the hospital arriving in time to say goodbye before her mum, Dad's sister, passed.I loved that woman. I couldn't fucking believe it.
In this overwhelming grief I buried myself in drinking heavily for a while until this year. I knew I was killing myself, and then two of my three daughters told me they were pregnant. This was something to live for.
In March '24 I felt enough is enough. I detoxed myself at home with medical help, and went into hospital for a knee replacement. I then had a pulmonary embolism which nearly killed me. I was in hospital 6 weeks. When I got home, I caught another variant of Covid and my lungs haven't recovered since.
On the plus side, I have not had alcohol since March 2024. A lot of medication but no alcohol. And now I'm just on anti-depressants, although I don't really believe they work. And I lost weight. Mainly due to not being able to eat.
This last Saturday, was my youngest daughter's 31st birthday. I had her at 31, my other two daughters I birthed much younger in my early twenties. Faith always said 'mummy, I'm going to have my baby when I'm the same age you were when you had me.' She said this many times. I just laughed.
She gave birth to her beautiful daughter Wren on Saturday 11th January, her 31st birthday.
I managed to get to the hospital in time to see this gorgeous new life enter the world and hold my own little girl's hands as she pushed out her baby from her body, as I did exactly 31 years ago to her.
I feel honoured and blessed, and of course I wish I could have shared my joy with my Dad. He knows. Yesterday, the 12th I was rushed into the same hospital A&E with a respiratory condition. I had chest pains, couldn't breathe and was coughing all the time. The staff were wonderful. I had x-rays, blood tests and an oxygen mask because my oxygen levels were low. There is nothing on my lungs and so they sent me home, saying I had a viral respiratory condition. Probably Covid again but my immune system is so compromised that the stress of the day before probably brought it on.
I'm in bed now, at my eldest daughter's house. She is 7 months pregnant, so I cannot leave the room for risk of infecting her. I hope I haven't infected my own daughter, Faith and my granddaughter.
I thought about drinking for a micro second, when I was at my lowest yesterday, feeling that I was the worst mother and grandmother in the world. The shame of drinking and its consequences weigh heavily on me. But I am sober and intend to remain that way. I want to be a positive influence in my grandchildren's lives and help their mothers, in a way I wasn't able to be there for them when they were little. But I have to get well first. Nothing happens without this sobriety that is so new and fragile.
I'm frustrated that I cannot be with my daughters and grandchildren now, but I have no energy, and I cannot risk passing on germs to them. So the lesson is to Surrender to what is. That is all I have. And gratitude . That my daughters are healthy, and my newborn granddaughter is healthy and well loved by everyone. Your post Allison sparked all this off in me and I hope I haven't bored everyone rigid with my story. I subscribed to you today because of that post. I have so many stories to tell about my own journey through the alcohol swamp, which I am working on now. Alcohol derailed my life, but I battled against it. I've got degrees and held down good jobs. I was a teacher at college, but ultimately I burnt out.
Look out for me on substack, as you have inspired me to write my own story, similar to yours and everyone else but of course with my unique twist on life. Bless you and everyone here (I sound like Tiny Tim - sic). If you got to the end of this well done. Love to all. Karen x
Hi Karen - I am so glad you wrote all this and shared. I hope doing so helped move some of the pain and ache. I am sending you well wishes for a speedy recovery. I know you must want to be back in the same room as your sweet grandbabies. My daughter was born on 11/11 and so hearing your daughter and granddaughter were born on 1/11 made me smile. 111 are angel numbers. I like to think my sweet daughter is being guided and guides me. Perhaps the same can be said about yours.
I hear strength in your share. Strength to stay sober. "But I am sober and intend to remain that way." Remain that way today and then again tomorrow. Just stay sober today and tomorrow will take care of itself. Reminding myself of that helped me in the early days (still helps me now).
Thanks for subscribing to Dare to Be. I hope to see more of you here on Subtack. You should write and share your story! That's how we heal - in community. Sharing our stories so that we know and others know none of us are alone in this.
Thanks Dana, 111 Angel numbers eh?? Very true. I find the power of intention so magnificent. My daughter told me from childhood that she would have a child when she was 31, and she did. On her birthday. 🎉 This miracle is not lost on me. What we focus on expands. So here’s to health and clarity. 💕
This is one of the most beautiful and moving things I've read in a long time. My heart goes out to you, Karen. You are very inspiring. It is clear that your higher power is doing wonderful, mysterious things in your life. (And you are a very good writer.)
Hi Bill. Thanks for sharing here and for these kind words.
Thanks Bill.. I’m very grateful you took the time to say you liked my writing. My self esteem is very low especially now as I’m back in France and have taken a turn for the worse in my health. Cough and breathing. I will write more. Thanks for the encouragement to you and Dana. I believe I still have something to offer this world. In gratitude 🙏🏻 Karen 🌹