Day 5 of lockdown and we haven’t killed each other yet! Not bad, eh!
It’s a stressful time for everyone but we are luckier than most. For now. Hubby has his job and whilst not immune to Covid-19 or emergency salary cuts, we at least know for the time being that there is still a way forward. Not how we envisaged things a few months ago, but it is there. We all have to adjust and although it’s in some ways worrying and uncomfortable, I think we just have to keep sight of what’s important here. Do I really need this thing or that? Lockdown means we’re saving over £200 per month in sushi alone and that’s when we – during our re-budgeting exercise of stripping everything back to the bone – looked at each other and had to laugh. We have our home, we can eat and we can be without clothes and eating out. We are not yet in a position where we have to choose bananas over apples or forego the nice food in favour of budget brands. It seems so obnoxious when I type it out and that’s because it is. Our scaled back budget is still more than many have. We have to restructure and it’s not without headache and worry, but there will be a way.
Tempted to drink? I can honestly say it’s never been further from my mind and I genuinely feel queasy imagining a glass of wine, but then worry and stress were never my triggers anyway, so this sort of thing means I’m probably even safer than I usually am. Good times and excitement is much more likely to wake the Beast, so it’s still sitting pretty in its cage and 795 days into recovery I still don’t take my eyes off it.
Imagine if I let it out now…. Imagine the stress. I mean, before even thinking about how it’d destroy me physically and mentally and hurt the poor sods who love me, it’d mean an expense of £1,000+ per month. Yep, that’s how much Sauvignon Blanc I used to single handedly furiously gulp my way through. And then, well, its effect on Yours Truly and those around me. Each day not only a living hell to get through but also possibly my last. I know, I know, it sounds so dramatic, but binge drinking up to three bottles of wine per day is THAT dangerous and I’m lucky that I didn’t die doing just that. Very, VERY lucky.
As it is, lockdown is pretty shit in lots of ways but even during a pandemic and uncertainty both for our and other people’s well being (and indeed lives) as well as the very real possibility that many of us could lose all we have (jobs, homes, etc), my life right in this moment is still lightyears better than my life was drinking. I don’t say that lightly.
Hubby and I get irritable as I’m sure lots of people do cooped up at home, but he’s still the person who annoys me the least in the whole world. It’d be so nice to just get out for a drive or head down to the coast or whatever. But this is OK too. We’re allowed to get out once a day for exercise and given I went for a run yesterday, we’ll walk around the park today. We’re right next to London’s second largest park and walking around it is 10 kilometres. It’s full of fallow deer, originally implanted there by Henry VIII for hunting. It’s a beautiful place and I’m so grateful it’s right on our doorstep.
So that’s what’s making me smile right now. I’m sober and even during a pandemic my life is better than it ever was when I drank. Not that I have ever failed to recognise how this is the best decision I ever made, but I hope I’ll always continue to remind myself of this.
In other news, we have joined Weight Watchers. Although they’re now calling themselves simply ‘WW’. Hubby decided he needs to lose five kilos (he doesn’t – he’s perfect just as he is) and I decided to join him. I put on quite a bit of weight when I stopped drinking, which is annoying because every other person seems to get thinner, not pile it on. I’m not unhappy with how I look – sure, I could be slimmer but it hasn’t bothered me. I run lots and have sort of seen that as a hall pass to eat what I want. It would seem I suffer from reversed body dysmorphia – in my head I’m super slim and fit and so any time I see a photo of myself I am shocked to see I’m neither. When I buy clothes I can’t be bothered to try them on in the shop so just grab whatever item of clothing I believe is my size only to later put it on (or desperately try to wiggle into it) at home and gasp in horror when I discover the damn thing will not contain me.
Same story with my weight. I have no idea what I weigh. I don’t know when I last weighed myself but I think it was when I stopped drinking so over two years ago. I think I weighed around the 70 kilo mark. Then of course I piled the weight on because I developed a sweet tooth in absence of all the sugar I usually would have got via the ocean of vino I consumed. But once I got back into exercise I thought things had levelled out and so I kind of assumed I was around that weight now. So we signed up for the WW app and of course you get asked to add your start weight and that means facing the scales. So I did.
74 MOTHERFUCKING KILOS. SEVENTY FOUR!!!!! I don’t know I weighed much more than that when I was fucking pregnant and so now the universe fucking OWES me a baby. (This time I’ll take one that is a tantrum throwing toddler because I realise I had it easy with Bambino but can we have some easy teenage years for Bairn #2, please?) BUT 74 KILOS?! Are you fucking kidding me? I stood there staring in disbelief for a good minute. How did I not know I was this fat? The scales is the work of Satan, I knew it – had I not done that, I would still be slim and fit (at least in my head) and now instead I’m an old crone who’s let herself go. I did NOT sign up for that.
No wonder running is hard work.
So I’m definitely fat and I definitely need to perhaps not diet, but certainly rethink my truck driver style eating habits. They have a point system, which admittedly isn’t anywhere near as complicated as I initially thought, and whilst it irritates me that I can’t put lots of cinnamon buns into my face with wild abandon, it’s been a week and I can actually handle it! We started it last Sunday so tomorrow is our first weigh-in. I kinda hope I’ve lost all nine kilos I want and have it over with, but suspect The Right Way is how recovery works too – steady work with longterm gains. No fast but fickle results. Only shitter is we’d been to the Swedish shop the day before and the bowl is sitting there filled to the brim with Swedish sweets – it’s the only thing I ever stockpile and I want to put it all in my gob so badly I want to weep. They are the best sweets in the world. They are made by angels. All week it’s been sitting there. Well, I’m fucking stubborn when I want to be so I’ve not caved and besides, I don’t believe in hiding from the things you’re cutting out. Just like I know that if I can’t sit next to someone drinking wine, I’d be buggered. Just me personally. We’re all different.
So anyway. Drinking is worse than any pandemic, just in case anyone needed reminding. Recovery rocks and the best things in life are worth fighting for even when the going is tough and slow.
Today I’m not going to drink. Or eat sweets.