Climbing out of the hole.
Climbing Out of the Hole.
“Groundhog’s Day had a whole new meaning this year, didn’t it?” laughed our high school’s nurse when I called her this morning to report my senior tested positive for COVID.
Of course, folks have been making references to the classic Bill Murray movie since the world shut down just about a year ago and every day began seeming like the day before. When everyone was suddenly stuck at home trying to limit their exposure to the novel coronavirus, which was sending people to the hospitals in droves, seemed super scary, and had a lot of people suddenly referring to Gov. Mario Cuomo as “Daddy.”
In the beginning, I was thinking more about The Walking Dead as life as we knew it began to take on a bit of an apocalyptic vibe. Other people began to freak us out. You couldn’t find toilet paper. There was talk of the government SHUTTING DOWN THE LIQUOR STORES. Talk about survival mode.
My daughter also tested positive this week after going to visit her grandfather in Florida two weeks ago. Now that I’m living with two people who have COVID, I feel a bit doomed — like one of the characters in The Walking Dead who finally tires of the fight. I don’t necessarily want to be mauled by a zombie, but someone can just go ahead and shoot me in the head. Just end my suffering.
Yesterday, a friend texted with lots of tips for how she avoided getting sick when one of her kids tested positive a while back: wear masks, get rid of hand towels, sanitize surfaces like your life depended on it. I told her thanks but I was tired of putting up a fight. “I think I’m just going to go down with the COVID ship,” I texted.
When I called the school nurse this morning, one of the questions she asked was when my son had gotten tested, and I could not remember. What day is it, anyway? Between the two-day snowstorm and now quarantine, I’ve lost track of where we are in the week. Wait, it’s February? Huh. The only thing that’s differentiating days for me lately is the sweatshirt I put on each morning which is always paired with my Kirkland leggings. I don’t even wear a proper bra anymore. What’s the point?
It’s been a long time since I’ve seen the movie “Groundhog’s Day” from start to finish. But I’ve seen enough bits and pieces on TV to remember why it’s been referenced so often over the last year. How the Bill Murray character’s day always begins the same — with the jarring blast from the clock radio of Sonny and Cher’s “I Got You, Babe,” and how the rest of the day runs more or less along the same trajectory until the character starts making some significant changes in his behavior.
Before I stopped drinking, I was living in my own Groundhog’s Day. Each day began with me cautiously opening my eyes and slowly assessing how I felt, and then quickly ticking through what I’d had to drink the night before. I’d start my day feeling foggy and like my head was full of cobwebs, sometimes eat carb-laden breakfasts or lunches to bring comfort, and then count the hours until 5:00 when I could pour my first glass and begin again. Wet hair. Lather. Rinse. Repeat.
Some days were better than others but every day included a healthy dose of self-loathing and dread.
And now after 115 days of sobriety, even though I’m still in sweats most days and have a weakness for carbs, changing my behavior has helped pull me out of that interminable cycle I’d been stuck in for years. My own, personal “Groundhog’s Day.” And while athleisure is my dressing style of choice, I’ve been productive as hell. It is truly amazing the things you can get done when you’re not spending all your time hating yourself and feeling like poop. Or when you just couldn’t be stuck in that loop one more day.
I’d stopped drinking for 18 days in July and met with Jennifer, my therapist, one Friday afternoon to walk around the path at a nearby park. It was hot and we stopped for a bit to sit on a bench in the shade and talked about what my plan was for not drinking while a woman 10 years my senior powered by in full PPE with “We Are the Champions” blaring from her headphones.
Jennifer suggested that I explore “emotional sobriety,” and I asked what that meant. She said that by drinking wine every night I kept all the uncomfortable feelings — about finances, relationships and life’s purpose — kind of off to the side. There’s no time to deal with finding financial stability when I’m deep into a Netflix series and enjoying my fourth glass of wine.
I told her I’d think about it and later emailed her a story about a rabbi who tells his congregation that if he did not live a life of integrity that someday he’d have to answer to God why he was not himself. The subject of the email I sent was “Why have I not been Amy,” and this is what she wrote back:
“Being Amy requires clearing the deck of all the distractions and stories that keep you trapped in a narrative that no longer serves you. What an exciting next chapter awaits.”
My last drink wouldn't come for another three months and even though I went back to drinking with purpose, I thought about what Jennifer said a lot. I imagined what it would feel like to clear the decks of all the things standing in the way of me and the life I wanted to live.
In the movie, Murray’s character eventually breaks free of his repetitive thoughts and behaviors that had kept him stuck in a rut. He saves a life, gets the girl and finally wakes up to a new day.
He finally climbs out of his hole.