Terms of love

Tonight's plans include a romantic dinner. It's Valentine's Day after all and a romantic dinner is my favorite way to celebrate. I cook it, because there aren't alot of restaurant options out here in the country. But we can always get a good bottle of wine, which adds to the aura. Picking up that wine, splurging for something extra nice, was so inescapably part of the tradition that I did it by rote. Even after I stopped drinking, I bought a bottle and set it on the table for my "date." I'd look at it longingly during dinner, or give up and have a glass, depending on how strong I was feeling.

Sobriety's like that sometime. It's not always linear. There are events and circumstances we label special. Where we allow ourselves to slip into an old habit -- and wine on the dinner table is really just a habit. We can control it but we don't always.

As women in midlife the decision not to drink is usually a personal one. We were tired of the hangovers, tired of the dullness that followed a night of imbibing. And since the decision to stop was ours, we feel we have the right to name its terms. So we make a deal -- one glass, maybe two. Some of us can do that and then wake up the next day with no desire, no longing. Those lucky ones are right back on their path.

But then there are those of us who have had that switch flipped. That next night we'll find another reason to drink. There's always something special to celebrate. And we tell ourselves this: I can stop again anytime. But anytime is long in coming. Then one morning, with that slamming headache, we wake up to that familiar loathing.

The romance isn't in the bottle set next to the roses. It's in loving yourself enough not to put that bottle there. And if you must, because I know there's going to be an argument, that it's just one glass of wine, then stop at that. One. For one night.