Fixing the Roof in a Thunderstorm
Or Sobriety, Neurodiversity and the Joy of Learning to Cope
Exhibit A: me, awkward, at a social gathering. AGAIN.
Recently, I went to my work Christmas party with my lovely colleagues, and The Moment came, that moment that all ex-drinkers will be familiar with. When the waiter takes the drinks order, and you, The One Sober Person in the Restaurant, must order a non-alcoholic drink.
If you’re longtimey sober, you might be quite okay with this, but you still have the muscle memory and actual memory of All The Drinks That Came Before so you can’t help feeling like you’ve been demoted from members club perks that you’ve begun to feel entitled to.
It’s kind of like being a vegan, perhaps, but without even the sweet knowledge that animals’ lives having been saved by your sacrifice to give comfort to your stance. (Though recent statistics show alcohol-related deaths are up by 42% since 2019 in the UK so maybe sober people can actually be read as even more smug and self-congratulatory than vegans?)
Some of my colleagues ordered prosecco, others ordered pints, and after much internal debate over whether to have the ginger beer or my usual zero percent jobby, I ordered the lone non-alcoholic beer on the menu.
We chatted about the term, laughing about the Worst Parts, and congratulating each other for the various successes, and then our drinks arrived and were handed around with an enjoyable lift in energy. Ah, the prosecco! All squat in short fat babycham glasses! And the lager, fizzing and tall and amber - so pretty!
And then, the waiter handed me mine.
“The non-alcoholic?” he said, taking out a football ratchet and waving it above his head to draw Everyone’s attention, before handing me a small body-temperature bottle of beer.
Do you have a cold one? I considered asking. But would asking that make me seem like a diva? Not only sober, but fussy. Besides, they’re not going to have a cold one if they’ve given me this, are they? Not worth it, I rationalised, swigging the warm beer, and reminding myself that limited drinks offering is not the same as limited life choices. In fact, for some of us, it’s precisely the opposite.
If you’re missing booze this Christmas/holiday season, try to turn your attention on what you are gaining instead.
Oh, and surround yourself with people who support your choices. It’s so long since booze has been pushed on me, or someone’s raised an eyebrow at my ‘boring’ sobriety, that I’m surprised to hear it’s still commonplace for many people to peer pressure in da pub.
What do you say if this happens to you?
A hardwon realisation (that’s probably obvious)
Sobriety is like attempting to repair a leaking roof during a thunderstorm. You climb up there thinking, “This will fix everything,” only to realise that now you’re wet and exposed to the elements, with a clear view of all the other holes you’ve been ignoring. And you have no idea how to fix a roof.
Sobriety with ADHD and Autism is like all of the above, except also you forgot to bring the nails with you and accidentally picked up a mug, instead of a hammer. But the rain feels refreshing and cleansing once you accept it, and the view from up here is AMAZING! You can see all the way to the horizon!
But, hang on, oh fuck! Rain is pouring into that hole in the roof! I really need to do something about that!!!
Lessons I’m still learning
Lately, I’ve been noticing how my anxiety (feeling in my stomach) yoiks up when I want, or worse, need to express something. I’m still very avoidant around/confused about expressing needs. For someone who often claims to have no filter, I seem to be world class at applying a filter here.
(Maybe that could be my strategy. When I find myself naturally applying a filter, i.e. second guessing myself about what I need to say, I could take that as evidence I probably need to speak up.
Okay now all I need to do is remember.
Doh.)
My strongly entrenched habit is to go along with whatever is happening, as a kind of jolly passenger. Drinking booze really facilitated this tendency.
I still desperately need to practice Actually Saying Things. But I’m realising that anxiety turns up in full force when I don’t. Anxiety is there to tell me something, I just need to get better at taking the direction.
What if you actually thought about it?
What might you see more clearly if you put the glass down — for good, or just for the rest of the season? What might benefit from you actually thinking about/facing it?
List of good things
Visiting friends and family - I rarely do this due to what we in my household call ‘time space-continuum’, that is, my bone-deep impracticality and legendary struggle with time, space and all logistics therein dem dimensions.
This plus the fact that driving makes me sleepy to the point of dangerous makes staying home incredibly appealing. BUT persistent retraining of my poor overworked brain has taught me that effort of this kind is often rewarded with warm heart-and-soul sort of feelings. Thus, a recently executed visit to my family and friends in my hometown was achieved, and stressed out about, but you know what? All the incumbent stress was TOTALLY worth it.
Sophie Hannah’s Dream Author Podcast - as a reward for finishing a first draft of my new novel recently, I gifted myself membership to @sophiehannah Sophie Hannah’s Dream Author programme. Now I listen to her soak my brain in positivity most days. It’s already led to some good things, and I’m confident it’s working!
Non-fiction - Unmasking Autism: The Power of Embracing Our Hidden Neurodiversity by Dr
Price - a radical and empowering, truth-filled gem that celebrates difference without denying the challenges of disability. Solution-focused and inspiring, buy it for your autistic friends and family so they can feel hopeful about the future.Fiction - TV - Gavin and Stacey Christmas special! I used to hate the show, over-serious, critical aspiring writer that I was, but now I love it. ‘Everyone’ was right, it’s wonderful! The finale had it all, callbacks to old jokes, nostalgia for a family that never existed, a ticking time bomb full gang car chase, and of course, romance. I had to hold back tears at least three times.
Chelsey Flood is the author of award-winning novels Infinite Sky and Nightwanderers, and a senior lecturer in creative writing at UWE. She is currently working on a literary memoir about getting sober and then finding out she’s autistic and her first domestic thriller.
I love the metaphor! That's great. When I discovered alcohol it was like the key to life. When I stopped drinking I felt like I was an awkward teenager again with no idea what to do. I can picture myself up there on the roof in the rain with a coffee mug :)