Widow's Voice

Re-claiming a Simple Pleasure

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DISCLAIMER: Post about alcohol

When Dan died unexpectedly from depression, the PTSD had such an effect on my body, I couldn’t tolerate alcohol. A glass of wine or two and I’d either be catatonic and sleepy or violently ill.  This was probably a blessing in disguise at the time because believe me, I tried to drink – I would have LOVED to drink. Anything to numb the pain and take the edge off would have been dangerously tempting for me.  So maybe my body was protecting me by rejecting alcohol during a time I could have been very vulnerable to over-indulgence.

There are a few times in the first two years that I had a few drinks and didn’t react poorly.  For example, at Camp Widow in July 2014, around my one-year mark, I let my hair down at the banquet dinner and felt happy and relaxed and enjoyed myself.  I had a few drinks and handled it ok, but could have been largely due to the adrenalin I’d been experiencing at the same time.  

Usually though, I hardly drank either.  I felt so tired all the time,  alcohol only made that worse and it was only on a rare and special occasion that I’d have something, and even then, usually end up calling it an early night.  

However in the past few months I seem to have gotten my tolerance for alcohol back.  I’ve been socialising a lot more, going out to dinner with friends or even a date here or there (with no great success) and I’ve found that when I’ve had one or two drinks, I haven’t felt those negative physical effects that I had in the early days.  

The return of alcohol to my life is certainly not significant enough to be a concern.  It’s not regular, excessive, or irresponsible but for the first time in a long time I’ve felt able to come home from a long week of work on a Friday night, pour myself a glass of wine or make a martini and enjoy the mellow buzz.  I’ve also felt ‘normal’ when socialising with friends.  For a long time I was the designated driver and my drink of choice was sparkling water.  I’ve enjoyed the social ritual, after really not wanting to be sociable at all. 

I’m by no means advocating alcohol as a refuge from grief, I think the risks in that are obvious and mine won’t be an experience that everyone shares.   But for me personally, this is another step I’ve noticed towards re-claiming control of my life and my body and not having every part of my world be dictated by my grief.  

It feels like a step worth noting, like somewhat of an achievement in my healing process.