My Name is Bobbie and I’m an Alcoholic
I remember the first time I said that out loud. My voice was shaking, and the chair had just asked if anyone had any birthdays. I was one month sober. Four weeks. I had about ten meetings under my belt, but I had never spoken a word. People were friendly to me. They gave me space because that was what I wanted. I wasn’t sitting there crying anymore, like at the first few meetings I attended. I spoke the words out loud for the first time.
If you are familiar with the steps of AA — step one is admitting you are powerless over alcohol, that our lives had become unmanageable. There’s a lot of controversy over giving up power, with stating that you are powerless, especially women, in a time where we are fighting for power in every aspect of our lives. Empowering is the buzzword, so powerless would seem to be the antithesis. I had issues with this. I’m Bobbie. I can do it all, be anyone I want; no one can control what I do. No one is going to tell me I’m powerless. Except for alcohol. At that point in my life, alcohol was running and ruining every aspect of my life.
Our vacations? Alcohol infused. Weekends? Where’s the wine? Kids’ birthday parties? Adult drinks are in the garage. And on and on until I crossed that line into the abyss where alcohol and oxygen were both needed to function. Everywhere I went, everyone I was with, every ad I saw was just another…