Triggers

Cooking dinner for my family across twenty-plus years is what did me in.  When the children were babies (after I had finished with breastfeeding, of course) I decided I needed a glass of wine in the evening to bring a shred of civilization into my life.  Caring for small children is tiring and about as un-glamourous as being an elementary school janitor.  At the end of the day, I wanted to relax a bit and since that wasn't possible, a glass of wine while I fixed dinner let me pretend.  But it was never a glass because when I sat down to eat the meal I had prepared for my family, I needed a refill.  Or two.

It took a long time but eventually I was consuming a half bottle each day, just to take the edge off and let me pretend to feel relaxed.  Family life is complicated in the best of circumstances, but in my case all four of us have strong personalities and opinions and varying degrees of psychological problems.  When the children entered middle school and high school, the conflicts became more intense and the level of emotion in the house was often unbearable.  By the time we were filling out college applications, I was frequently drinking the equivalent of an entire bottle.  First I'd have a little white while chopping the vegetables, then a little more while marinating the chicken or seasoning the fish.  If my glass looked a little too low, I'd just top it off while the rice cooked.  When it was time to call everyone in for dinner, I'd open a red because that's what my husband prefered but he rarely imbibed.  So, I would enjoy a glass or two with a couple of top-offs while relaxing over dinner.

I would never have admitted it to myself but I was frequently intoxicated.  My family was so used to seeing me tipsy, they had no idea I was drinking way too much.  Maybe they did but chose not to notice.  By the time my youngest was choosing which college to attend, I realized that I had a problem and checked into an outpatient rehab program.

So, here I am three years later and once again sober (three months!) and with an empty nest.  The worst part of the day, still, is what I used to call the Witching Hour -- fixing dinner.  When the children were growing up, they raided the kitchen and played around when they were supposed to be doing homework.  When I put dinner on the table, they weren't hungry because of how much snacking they had done.  My husband would come home at some point and I would have to reheat his food only to have him tell me that he had eaten the same thing for lunch or that he wasn't hungry for what I had cooked, so he would fix a peanut butter sandwich and finish whatever snack foods the children had left behind.  This went on for a good ten years.  It's a wonder I didn't drink more.

To this day, I cannot open the refrigerator without looking for my bottle of white because being in the kitchen reminds me of how unrewarding it was to fix meals for my family for all those years.  My husband sort of gets that being in the kitchen makes me feel like drinking and has started cooking again.  He has been out of town this past week so rather than face the kitchen, I've brought home pizza and boxed salads to enjoy with my sparkling fruit-flavored water.  I feel better, I am happier and much more relaxed without alcohol, but I sure do miss it.  Wine was the only friend I had during those lonely years in the kitchen.