Date night

Date night, after date night, My husband and I would sit on my balcony looking out to our 1/2 acre property. We’d have the fire pit on, a chess board in front of us, and music in the background. It was the perfect scene for a perfect night. With our stomachs full from the nice meal out and no kids till the next day, the plan was to sit here and enjoy each other's company.

In truth, the plan was to drink as much as we could. When we felt too messed up, we ate more. When we got too tired, we would spike some caffeine and go for a walk. Anything to help us ignore our body's signals to slow down, go to bed, or sober up.

The night was long, and by the end, tired and way too drunk, we finally felt free to open up to each other. It was time to let out what was hiding in the back of our minds. I thought of the alcohol as truth juice that would break down our walls. With these walls down, we could talk about parts of our relationship that we didn’t have the nerve to sober. We could let ourselves be vulnerable, raw, and authentic.

These nights were something I was so reluctant to leave behind. It’s wild how biased my mind was then, never showcasing the less appealing parts of these encounters. It seemed so romantic. The moonlight shining on two melancholy souls, finally able to express themselves. I felt our relationship would never be the same without it, and I was right. Thank god I was right.

You see, our conversations on those nights almost always became too much for our plastered brains to keep track of. It would start so well, but the eventual disconnect was practically imminent. We would get offended and terrible at explaining ourselves. It was not a good time for bonding. It was, however, an excellent time to speak over each other for an hour and go to bed angry, hurt and confused.

Come morning, both feeling like shit, we were silent. Instead of enjoying waking up with no kids, we walked around like strangers, feeling detached and abandoned, simultaneously needing space and connection. We’d both have so much to say, but neither knew where to start. There was so much to clear up, but we remembered the “talk” so differently. We’d reluctantly move on both holding on to parts that hurt us to bring up next time.

Thinking we would have an easier time communicating intoxicated is pretty ridiculous when you think of it. Why would I be better at communicating with a slower brain? How could I feel more myself with parts of my brain disabled? And why would I think our brain's inability to judge what we should and shouldn’t talk about would make us more honest? Where that’s true for some, It’s proven to make others more likely to lie.

Our intoxicated bonding was so much more about inebriation than quality time together.

So why was it so hard to communicate sober? Because I was addicted to alcohol and felt too insecure without it. I was so used to the unsettled feeling of being a drinker, not drinking, that I thought it was who I was. It took months of sobriety for that feeling to fall away, and when it did, I couldn’t believe the change. l was then able to navigate meaningful conversations sober.

After I quit, my husband continued to drink, and when he would “open up,” drunk. It was like a whole arena of stadium lights shone down on the situation. I could see the trap we fell into so clearly. What used to be a two-person tornado of confused and ill-tempered interactions was now a one-man show of how not to communicate. I kindly told him I would not have important talks if he’d been drinking.

Communication timing was one of the many things that separated us, sober and not. Drinkers tend to feel like they can think straighter when drinking, But to a non-drinker, that's so visibly not the case. I’m honestly not sure when the best time is to communicate with someone who is drunk or hungover all the time. The think answer is never. Addiction just doesn’t facilitate good communication.

One year after I quit, my husband gave up drinking, and our relationship quickly became more solid and respectful than it had ever been. We now communicate daily with clarity and kindness.

I’d love to say that nothing had to change, and we still love sitting up on that balcony now sober and bonding.

But we don’t.

Turns out it was all about the booze. Standing for ten minutes on that balcony is enough time to enjoy the view.