Mid life madness, and why I thought about booze this week

I didn't see that coming

Do you know what, even now, six years in, the odd thing can happen that makes me want to get absolutely hammered. It’s really rare, in fact I can’t remember the last one. But I had some news recently (don’t worry, everyone’s ok) that made me want to get out of my head and escape the noise and the worry. My first response was to think of a drink. It lasted a moment, I actually laughed at it, and there was no way I’d ever have acted on it. But those coping mechanisms are still hard wired in, in some level. 

It wouldn’t have helped anyway. Alcohol is a temporary fix. And the problems of mid life keep on coming. Aging parents, troubled teens, demanding kids, massive mortgages, health wobbles, and financial demands make this stage so intense. I listened to a podcast this week that featured someone longing to go back to the chaos of the school run, sticky hands in yours, endless packed lunches, after school clubs and Pokémon battles. And I get it. This stage is magical for so many reasons but it’s also so, so hard. The jobs market is tough. The economy is in limbo, waiting for Kier’s budget. The news on the TV is bad. The planet is still on fire. And the dark days are here, bringing autumnal coziness but also a sense of the cold and dark to come. 

Getting hammered doesn’t stop any of the above. It doesn’t help your finances, or your sick mum, or your kid who is being referred for ADHD, or your job search, or your relationship wobbles (don’t worry, not all of these are my issues, but this reflects what my mates and I are talking about in our What’s App chats.) And it won’t help me, as I deal with something unexpected. I’m so glad to know this, and know that to go back to it would be a dick move. 

If you don’t think alcohol is serving you, there are so many ways you can get help. I’m one of them. Slide into my DMs if you want a chat or a moan. And if, like I do, you feel like this is the crazy rush hour of life, try to slow down and squeeze the little hands. Call your mum. Send your mate a postcard. Hold on to the good stuff. It’s still there. It’s always been there.