Listening to My Wise Inner Nature: On Alcohol, Grief & Coming Home

I was in the kitchen on a sun-kissed spring afternoon when Spotify began playing “Love Survive” by Michael Nau, a 2016 indie track my subconscious was vaguely familiar with from the decade past. Yet on this particular June day, the lyrics and instrumentals struck a deep chord on my emotional and energetic body: 

This is my conquering song
Played on a wave so strong
Pulled the broke-down ride for far too long
This is my conquering song

Where only my love survive (love survive)
The long crawl to the tide
All else at the door be denied
Only my love survive (love survive)

It had only been about six weeks since I’d decided to end by attachment to alcohol for good, but something felt very different about this new commitment. On previous occasions, I’d taken extended breaks from alcohol, ranging from a few weeks to several months – and of course through the durations of my pregnancies.

Comparably, these six weeks being “alcohol-free” were not impressive in terms of duration, but the attitude I felt embodied was unrecognizable:

During all the previous periods of abstaining, the quiet belief system below the surface was, “Right now I’m in lack, but I’ll get to have alcohol again at some point.” This time, as I swayed to the tune streaming from the Marshall stereo, I held a deeply integrated knowing that, “This is the opposite of lack. This is freedom; this is vitality and wholeness.” 

It’s been almost three months now since I decided to quit alcohol (not just “take a break”) and it’s been a homecoming. As I danced in the kitchen that afternoon, tears erupted from my body as I realized something that broke my heart at the same time that it put it back together: I hadn’t moved my body so freely since before I’d ever begun drinking… since I was a child.

I started drinking around the age of 14 and quickly it separated me from myself. I relied on it to feel free, but it wasn’t freedom; I was shackled. I stopped moving my body for myself and started moving it to perform, to look a certain way, to attract. Even in recent years, at dance events where I wasn’t drinking, there was a self-conscious energy behind the way I moved. I’d wonder, however subtly, how I was being perceived.

Quitting alcohol requires a mindset that says – and believes – “A sober life is enough. Who I am when I’m sober is enough.” We can take a break from alcohol and “be sober,” but if we’re subconsciously holding the belief that it’s deprivation, we’re not actually free.

(A note: There’s nothing wrong with taking a break from alcohol. My own journey required many breaks to build up this natural, effortless inclination to be completely sober – and the same will be true for others).

Now, my relationship with alcohol in recent years wasn’t particularly turbulent. I’d drink at most a few times a week, usually only 2 small glasses, and nothing was visibly “wrong” with the way I was drinking or the impact it had on me. However, it was clear to me that even low amounts of alcohol – a couple of small glasses of white wine on a Friday night – made me irritable and impatient with my children. Angry when they woke in the night, as children do… frustrated when they needed too much from me the next morning and I could barely give it since my body was detoxing, even if from “small amounts”.

In many ways, that made it tricky to quit. “I don’t have a ‘big problem’ with alcohol, so surely I don’t actually have to give it up completely. Surely my impatience and frustration with motherhood is just a part of being a mom.” But I couldn’t lie to myself: the alcohol was having a direct impact on my ability to parent the way I want to.

And, as I was toying with the idea of going completely alcohol-free, there came the “perfect occasion” to have a glass of wine in early May:

Golden light of the early evening sun poured into the same kitchen window I’d find myself dancing next to six weeks later. The kids were playing independently and peaceful, Jakob was cooking, and I could sit back with a glass of cold white wine and chat with my best friend as he stirred what was on the stove. 

I poured myself a glass, leaned back, and enjoyed it… for about ten minutes. It didn’t take long before the lightness and vitality I felt before cracking that bottle open began to fade. I quickly became tired and a little foggy. It was only about 4oz if I were to guess, so I was hardly even tipsy, but I just didn’t feel right. And in that moment of crystal clarity, I thought: What am I doing this for? In that moment, I knew I was done.

A few days later I was sitting at the table and thought about the choice I’d made to not drink. A part of me sunk into grief. I was grieving a part of myself that had a certain type of fun with pinot grigio in hand – a certain lightness that came with mild intoxication. A flash of doubt arose and I thought: Is this, sobriety, what I really want to choose?

But then soon after, a voice from my wise inner nature: If I can accept that grief is a part of this journey, then there’s absolutely no problem with it.

I suddenly saw that during all my other “sober curious” breaks from alcohol, I could never commit to the full thing because the moment grief entered, I took it as a sign that I shouldn’t actually say goodbye. But grief is a part of life, and I quickly considered that if people can grieve the loss of partners and children and pets and things of far greater importance and meaning, surely I could tolerate the grief of losing this identity tied to alcohol.

So here I am, nearly three months down my sobriety path, and I feel clearer and more committed than ever. I feel naturally attuned to a part of my wise inner nature that’s been whispering (at times roaring) for a very, very long time – that’s been nudging me to become free from alcohol, to be the mother I want to be, to honour my body and to move it with vitality, health, and joy. Not for anyone else but for me (oh, and actually, also for my children). I continued to move in this way, that June afternoon, as the song carried on, tears of gratitude streaming heavily:

This is my thankful song
For all that has been and gone
For the spirit of the eternal drum
This is my thankful song

This blog post is slightly outside of the typical nature-based writings we share here – but, is it? Our body is a living system, an Earth in its own right, and how we connect with it and listen to it is as important as how we connect with and listen to the Earth around us. I share this piece to help express my personal human journey, and with a subtle invitation: to make a little more room today to listen to the whispers of your own wise inner nature.

With love,
Gillian

P.S. I highly recommend finding a space that is all your own, where you can stream “Love Survive” by Michael Nau and let your body move. Let yourself feel the words, the music, and just notice what comes up for you. Maybe little, maybe a lot. But is there something there that wants to be witnessed, felt, or freed?