Coronavirus isolation is challenging my sobriety like no vacation ever has

I’ve been sober for two and a half years. In that time I’ve been to Dublin, New Orleans and, most recently, Las Vegas. While each of those places made me acutely aware of my desire to drink, as it turns out, none of them had anything on my own living room.

Many of us in recovery are self-quarantining right now. We’re scrolling through social media feeds full of friends at home clinking glasses, while being bombarded by alcohol ads as we binge TV shows. We’re learning just how strong our sobriety is, and we’re taking a good hard look at what keeps us sober as we struggle to find those same outlets while in isolation.

For me, connecting with others and service work have always been the foundation of my sobriety. I’m incredibly lucky to run a nonprofit, and service work and interacting with others is my full-time job. However, in the last week, I’ve watched as every one of my upcoming speaking gigs was canceled. There’s nothing to look forward to — and that’s what a bottle of wine at the end of the night used to be for me. It was that carrot on the end of the stick that motivated me to keep going. After I got sober, work and friends became that carrot. And now, sadly, there’s no carrot for the foreseeable future.

I’ve tried to serve others in creative ways this week. Things like putting together a care package for our mail carrier, and raising awareness online about the lack of formula and baby supplies for new moms. I’ve been able to encourage others to donate to their local resource centers and domestic abuse shelters as they clean out their closets, but this virtual activism is still far from what I’m used to doing. Honestly, it’s not cutting it.

Last night, I hit an all-time low. I don’t think at any point in the last few years I’ve come this close to drinking again. I started questioning why I was even doing this, if I was really an alcoholic at all, and asking my loved ones what harm could really come from having a few glasses of wine to take the edge off during this time. Most agreed that we all just have to do our best to get through the next few months, and they would still love me even if I fell off the wagon. As much as I appreciate their loyalty, I still devolved into a puddle of tears simply because I was so mad at myself for even considering drinking.

See, alcohol always made me feel brave, and right now I need to be brave for my kids. I don’t want them to feel the fear I do about this pandemic. I wanted a break from it all, even if only for a few hours. So these rationalizations, which are normally small nuisances rippling toward me, are now hitting me like giant waves, trying to knock me off my feet and pull me into an undercurrent of alcohol again.

I recently finished some traveling, and while I felt fine, I wanted to wait a week or two before going to a 12-step meeting in person, just to make sure I wasn’t putting others at risk of coronavirus. Multiple people sent me the intherooms.com link for online recovery meetings, and I know for many those have been a real lifeline.

Last night, I realized I needed more. So, today, even though I haven’t really left my house in a last week, I went to my home group. I was that desperate.

There were only seven of us there. We practiced social distancing and wiped our tables down with Clorox while generously applying the hand sanitizer that had been placed at our seats.

As the meeting opened, the chairperson said now is a great time to boost our service work to help us stay sober. We can call our loved ones, or pick up groceries for elderly neighbors. For many in recovery that’s enough. But for me, the reality is, that’s a downgrade.

When it was my turn, my voice immediately began to crack and within seconds I was openly sobbing in front of this small group of strangers as I told them just how close I was to slipping. Multiple times I apologized for my tears, explaining that I haven’t cried like this since first attending meetings, but yet here I was struggling like a newcomer once again.

There was a gentleman to my left who had stayed silent the entire meeting. Everyone else had shared and the chairperson was about to close the meeting when he finally spoke.

He eloquently contrasted the disease of alcoholism with the virus spreading across the world right now. Everyone in that room knew what it was like to face their deepest fears and push through them, so COVID-19 was just another chance for us to practice this skill. Then he turned to me, and while cross talk is usually prohibited, I’m so glad we were more lax with that rule at this particular meeting. He said, “There are opportunities for service everywhere. Today, your tears were an act of service. Your willingness to share your struggle with us was an act of service.”

So now, back in the confines of my home, I want to continue serving others with the reality of my fragile sobriety right now. If you are struggling not to drink or use during this time, you are not alone. Many of us are right here with you, even if we all seem so far apart right now.

Let yourself cry. It’s more cleansing than we even realize. And share your heart with others. You might find the help you’re looking for, while also helping others find help in this difficult time, too.