Alcohol and Women
The sobriety and healing journeys are radical acts of feminism.
I remember being a young twenty-something, riding high on plenty of booze, weed, and external validation. If there was a prize to be won for “keeping up with the boys,” I was hellbent on achieving. There was a certain look from a man that I was after, one of astonishment, shock perhaps, a sort of revelation. I felt a sense of power each time I went shot for shot, toe to toe. I got off refusing fruity concoctions and sugar rimmed glasses. I relished the opportunity to shame a random guy at the bar for his martini glass or umbrella garnish. Amateurs. The audacity of a man to propose sex whilst drinking a spiked seltzer was rage-inducing. Literally. Many of nights ended with me engaged in a screaming match, blind rage hurled at an unsuspecting male victim, likely only attempting to throw a cheesy pick up line or compliment my way. On the surface this behavior screams “insecure, attention-seeking, and mentally unstable,” none of which was untrue, but, the deeper truth was much darker.
At eighteen years old I found myself in a relationship with a “man” who was physically, verbally, mentally, and sexually abusive. The hellish ordeal lasted for nearly three years though the repercussions would play out for decades. I spent years running from the truth of what I had experienced and this desperate desire to escape my past became the catalyst for self-destructive behaviors like binge drinking and drug use. When a person is released from captivity it is not always freedom that they step into. Often, the captive will feel great anxiety and fear when presented with infinite possibility and the reality that now one must somehow “continue on,” as if a part of them isn’t still chained up and threatened. The fight or flight response has been solidified-still frozen. So, one remains internally imprisoned, only now, held against their will by memories and traumatic flashbacks. The shame that haunts domestic abuse survivors is cruel and deafening, the voice that constantly reaffirms, “This is all your fault, you’re weak, and now you’re dirty.” So, you try to kill it.
For so long the drinking and using, the reckless abandon, and the abrasive reaction to any man I sensed was weaseling his way towards overpowering me felt righteous. Justified. Necessary. I drank to forget. I drank to relieve the suffering. I drank to prove I could not be controlled. Do we see the irony?
When I found sobriety (or maybe it found me, I’m still deciphering) in early 2020, I began to unpack the mess of my life and who’d actually made it. I finally started writing about the things I’d experienced as a young woman and coming to terms with the damage they’d done. It became clear to me that all that destruction, all the booze, all the weed, coke, pills, sex, food, serial dating, and codependency was an extension of my abuser(s). You know the whole “drinking poison in hopes of killing the other person” thing, that’s what I’d been after. The truth is that every time I took a drink or smoked a joint, or snorted a line, or let an unsavory character take off my clothes-I was letting that monster win. Could it be that in my fight for survival and independence I was actually participating in silent acquiescence?
I found a new perspective, I resolved to heal. Healing doesn’t require permission or closure or outside approval. It is the thing, along with love and perhaps respect, that we can give to ourselves. The things that the world and capitalism, and patriarchy, and self-help gurus want us to believe require money and status and endorsement are actually readily available to us all, within the fabric of our souls. It occurred to me that true revolution is this-remaining grounded in the face of who or what wants me to relinquish my peace.
Why are women disproportionately targeted by alcohol marketing campaigns? Perhaps they know that over one third of women in the United States have experienced some type of abuse or violence at the hand of an intimate partner in their lifetime. Maybe it’s not quite so sinister. Maybe the big alcohol companies know that women are nearly two times more likely to struggle with anxiety and depression than their male counterparts. Or, maybe these billion dollar corporations are in bed with big pharma and they know that one drives the other, women ending up in the crosshairs. We see it everywhere, “Mommy needs wine,” “Rosé all day,” “Real women drink whiskey.” I say fuck off. I say I refuse to participate in the systematic silencing of collective feminine pain. My clarity is my superpower. My healing is my defense. My self-regulation is my defiance. The sobriety and healing journeys are radical acts of feminism in this society. The woman who processes her trauma and overcomes toxic coping mechanisms breaks generational curses. This woman takes back her land and builds the place that she will be.
Rage when you must, battle, riot, protest, and brawl down in the trenches where I will be there with you if you call-but not at the expense of our bodies and minds. There is a new way to wage war on oppression and abuse of power. It is in profound presence of mind and cognizance. Our eyes are clear. We love ourselves despite all outside attempts to redirect our fury inward. We have healed against all odds like some kind of mystical enchantress, we are paying attention, and we are no longer buying.
