Nightcap Time

As a hairstylist, it’s my job to know my clients. I have to know what their likes and dislikes are, where they work and what their lifestyles are like, if they are trendy or conservative. In learning about my clients I’m often privileged to a lot of personal information – some good and some not so good. I do my best to listen with compassion and empathy because being a hairstylist is a lot like being a therapist. The difference is I’ll cry with you and give out hugs with my services. To avoid complete burnout, people who are in public serving positions have to find a method for detoxing daily.

For the last fourteen years I’ve taken two, sometimes three, shots of Hennessy VSOP as a nighttime detox before I go to bed. It’s my wind down after a long day. It’s my leave me alone, I don’t want to think, I don’t want to answer questions, I don’t want to talk about my problems and I don’t want to hear about anyone else’s. It has affectionately become known as my nightcap time. A wise person once said that anything you do consistently for 30 days becomes a habit. My nightcap is my habit.

Your family and close friends are the ones privy to your shortcomings. My kids knew mine. Once, I’d hit the door from work and changed into something comfortable, I would pour myself a drink, grab my cigarettes (because that’s the only time that I smoked them) and head to the deck for my nightcap. Bothering me wasn’t an option either. Even the dog knew to leave me alone. If the kids wanted to talk, had homework that needed to be reviewed or permission slips to be signed, they knew to have them ready for me before my nightcap because I was a different person after.

My ex and I mostly saw each other in passing because I worked during the day and he worked at night. We often ate breakfast together in the morning and talked on the phone at night. Unless it was my day off or he was on vacation, I don’t recall many nights where we shared our bed together. I’m not saying this was a bad thing… it was just our thing.

My drinking has always been associated with some sort of pain. I started drinking in my late teens. Problems at home with my parents… I needed a drink. Problems in my relationships… I needed a drink. Problems on my job, with my kids and in my marriage… Yep, I needed a drink. Drinking was the temporary escape that I used to medicate the deep pain within. Eating was my cure for the hangover the next day. I was inflicting pain and trying to cure it at the same time. A sad realization, but freeing nonetheless. My drinking really got out of control in 2004. That year is significant, but I’ll talk about that another time at a later date.

Back in the day, when I hung out with my girls’, drinking altered my personality. My alter ego would emerge and the bold, brash side of me would be unleashed. I probably became the most fun when I was drunk because I was far removed from the thoughts in my head. I loved everybody and everybody loved to watch the show. I had no filter. You would never know what was going to come out of my mouth. I don’t know if I’d call it liquid courage because I’m ordinarily not a scary person, but a table top dancer meets comedian would be a better way of explaining it.

I haven’t stopped drinking Hennessy VSOP (my only drink of choice), but I have let go of its attachment to my pain. I can drink sociably without trying to get mentally wasted and emotionally detached. I’m allowing myself to feel every part of this grief that I’ve been carrying around for too long so that I can identify the triggers and say goodbye to it. Owning my own shit hurts, but releasing the toxicity feels much better… it’s like making a bowel movement after being consitpated. I blame no one for the decisions that I’ve made. I owe no one my silence either. My pain is no longer going to keep me in bondage to low self esteem, fear of the unknown, shame of my past, resentment towards my mistakes, unforgiveness for those that have hurt me and anger for not taking action sooner. Moving forward I want to be whole mentally, physically, emotionally and spiritually. I am striving everyday to become better than I was yesterday. Instead of masking my pain, I’m choosing to walk through it.

“I may not be your morning Joe or cup of Tea, but I’ll always be someone’s shot of Hennessy”