On December 31, 2001, I was still struggling with alcohol misuse. I’d been concerned about my drinking for a while, and had even explored treatment at a local facility. I wasn’t ready, though, and convinced myself, and my husband, that I wasn’t like “those people.” David and I agreed that I wasn’t an alcoholic.

My problem was different. I was different. I simply needed to stop drinking before I went overboard. We devised a brilliant plan: I’d stop drinking when he told me I’d had enough. We were hopeful our strategy, however delusional, would work.

New Year’s Eves, like weddings, are notoriously bad for alcoholics. It’s a license to let loose (not that we ever need a license, or permission of any kind). It’s also more socially acceptable to “party” on a holiday or at a big celebration, than to get inebriated by yourself on the couch. Of course, you can still do plenty of damage, no matter where you are.

According to the National Institute on Alcohol Abuse and Alcoholism, alcohol use disorder is considered a chronic relapsing condition “characterized by an impaired ability to stop or control alcohol use despite adverse social, occupational, or health consequences.”

Over the years, I faced many adverse consequences, in all three areas and then some. If only looming consequences could have squashed my compulsion to drink.

My personal cycle of insanity had been in full swing for nearly 15 years by that particular New Year’s Eve. Consequences were mounting, and my excessive intake had become harder to hide.

Before we headed to a friend’s party that night, I was full of optimism, writing in my journal:

12/31/01, 5:45 p.m. A new journal and a fresh spirit to kick off 2002. We’re going to Gaby’s for a small gathering. I vow to stay sane and not get sloppy drunk. Let the festivities begin.

By 2 a.m., we were back home, and I’d scribbled another entry, this one completely illegible. I clearly shattered the promise I’d made to myself just hours earlier. By evening, I was feeling better, and put pen to paper once again.

1/1/02, 7 p.m. Alright. I woke up sick as a dog… Let that be the last drunken entry in my journal. Okay. David and I discussed my drinking in-depth. It was nice to have an honest, open exchange.

While that wouldn’t be my last drunken entry, it turned out to be my last drunken New Year’s Eve. Several months—and a moment of clarity—later, I drove myself to Cumberland Heights, a treatment center in Nashville, Tennessee, to begin my road to recovery. It was June 21, 2002.

They say alcoholism is a progressive disease; recovery can be, too. By December, I was feeling stronger.

12/31/02, 10:45 p.m. New Year’s Eve—my first sober since who knows when! Thank God for my sobriety. He made it possible. And he will continue relieving me of the obsession. 1/1/03, 5:30 p.m. Wow! I… enjoyed New Year’s without drinking and without a hangover. I got up around 7, went to an 8 a.m. meeting. Then I went on a long walk.

Funny. That’s exactly what I did today, 22 “New Years Days” later. It’s something I try to do every New Year’s Day as a way of symbolically setting the stage for a strong, healthy, and sober year ahead.

For so long, I’d been seeking solutions to my problems in bottles of wine, in myself, and in other people. Turns out God held the key all along. The doors he’s opened have been incredible. As we closed out 2024, I thanked God for my sobriety, just as I had done in 2002, 2003, 2004, and so on. After all, I have much to be grateful for, including a life that is far better without alcohol than it ever was with it. That’s worth celebrating, no matter what the day, or time of year.