摘要：当5岁的女儿为不再尿床而哭闹时，作者意识到自己正用同样的方式与酒精作斗争——“整夜保持干爽”的承诺，成了母女之间心照不宣的较量。本周《纽约时报》Modern Love专栏带来一篇坦诚至极的自我剖白，关于酒精如何成为逃避焦虑的借口，关于为人母后的自我怀疑，更关于

有趣灵魂说

译文为原创，仅供个人学习使用

The New York Times | Modern Love

纽约时报 | 摩登情爱

My Relationship With Alcohol Is Not Complicated

我和酒精的关系并不复杂

I love it. It’s just that it’s horrible for me.

我爱它。只是它对我很糟糕。

By Rachel Stevens

Brian Rea

当我们5岁的女儿在早上6点半哭着尖叫“我不能去参加奥运会了！”时，我意识到我们犯了一个巨大的错误。我和我的丈夫埃文（Evan）正在尽我们所能按照所有书籍（和Instagram短视频）教我们的方式来抚养玛塞琳（Marcelline），但贿赂已经成了我们的首选策略。

最近，玛塞琳一直在学习如何整夜保持干爽，不在床上尿裤子，所以我跟她达成了一个协议：“如果你能整周晚上都不尿床，”我说，“我们就带你去夏洛特举办生日派对的地方。”

“我能去参加奥运会了？”她说。

去年夏天，奥运会期间，玛塞琳去当地一个体操设施参加了生日派对。从那以后，她就把这个体操馆叫做“奥运会”。

我以为这是个万无一失的计划。玛塞琳几乎已经完成了如厕训练，只需要一点小小的推动。我想象着埃文和我在体操馆的边线上，在玛塞琳跳进泡沫坑时击掌庆祝。

相反，几个月来，我们都在不合时宜的时间看到一个泪流满面的5岁孩子站在我们床脚，穿着尿湿的睡裤，尖叫着“我不去参加奥运会了！”。

我们住在怀俄明州杰克逊的一个隔音很差的公寓楼里，这是一个滑雪小镇，是许多真正有奥运抱负的运动员的家，所以我只能想象我们的邻居认为我们在让我们的孩子接受哪种高强度的体育训练计划。

上周，在我40岁生日几天后，我醒来时浑身湿透。我整夜发冷，然后出冷汗，浑身发抖。早上，我没有发烧，也没有感觉生病，但我的T恤湿透了。我让埃文摸了摸。

“哇！”他说。

我以前从未发生过这种事。我求助于谷歌，它告诉我夜间盗汗可能由以下三种情况之一引起：焦虑、围绝经期或酒精戒断。

虽然抑郁历来是我的常客，但焦虑也不断找上门来。但焦虑到让我出夜汗的程度了吗？

我了解围绝经期，因为如果Instagram网红想让我了解一件事，那就是这个。我只是以为，作为一个精神抖擞的40岁的人，在进入女性身体恐怖的下一阶段之前，我还有几年时间。

然而，酒精戒断感觉像是一个直接的打击。我看向床头柜，看到了前一天晚上那杯“床头酒”。

“床头酒”是我今年发誓要戒掉的东西。它是我爬上床看电视或做填字游戏时带的最后一杯酒。

我告诉人们我和酒精的关系“复杂”，但其实并不复杂。我喜欢喝葡萄酒和美味的鸡尾酒，但酒对我很糟糕。在我的世界里，总有喝酒的借口：庆祝、失望、压力。吃意大利菜需要葡萄酒；吃墨西哥菜需要玛格丽塔。这个清单没完没了，而且杂乱无章。

我一直告诉自己，我会整夜保持干爽——保持清醒。但随后我就会让步，一旦我喝了一杯，我就想喝更多。我不会去想第二天我会感觉如何。我只是想，“再喝一杯酒，我就在床上看一集我最喜欢的节目。”

我一生中大概有过四五次，直接躺在床上睡着了，手里还拿着一杯红酒。最糟糕的一次是最近在夏威夷，在我朋友40岁生日之后醒来，发现红酒洒满了她朋友床上的白色床单。多亏了去污剂的奇迹，酒渍洗掉了，但我为自己没能整夜保持干爽感到羞愧。

过去二十年里有成百上千个例子本该促使我彻底戒酒，但我还没有。我经历过几次戒酒期——最长的一次是我怀玛塞琳的时候。除此之外，我也曾立志凭借像“一月戒酒挑战”这样的目标来戒酒。但我总能找到借口重新拿起酒瓶。

三年前，我连续清醒了109天。起初非常艰难，但后来我开始喜欢上镜子里看到的自己。我感觉我一直用酒自我疗愈的抑郁正在好很多。在第108天，玛塞琳（当时2岁）因高烧引发惊厥，我不得不拨打911。在第二天晚上的婚礼上，也就是保持清醒的第109天，我告诉埃文我想喝一杯，因为看到我的宝宝惊厥让我非常震惊。

我们每人喝了一杯曼哈顿，然后在星空下慢舞。晚上结束时，他和婚礼派对的人待在外面，我回到我们租的小屋，开了一瓶红酒，看着《老友记》睡着了。

在早上我女儿没有哭着进来抱怨错过奥运会的日子里，我会问她昨晚是否保持干爽。最近我们的连续记录不相上下。过去几个月里，我最长的戒酒连续纪录是15天。

我在想我的“奥运会”是什么。我害怕如果我不尽快完全清醒，我将永远无法以我想要的方式写作。我将永远无法出版我的书。我将永远无法跑我想跑的山。我将永远无法以我想要的方式爱自己，这意味着我将永远无法以我的家人应得的方式爱他们。我害怕不能一夜又一夜地保持清醒，将意味着我永远无法达到我的伟大。然而，我仍然喝酒。

大约一个月前，我喝了太多酒，在玛塞琳面前对埃文很刻薄。第二天我很早醒来，埃文复述了发生的一切。我感到无地自容。我向埃文道了歉，他犹豫地让我抱住他，我说：“我很抱歉。”

最终，他抱住我说：“没关系。”

但我不知道是否真的没关系。我不知道我是否还好。我爬上床和玛塞琳在一起，依偎着她又待了20分钟，直到她必须起床。当她醒来时，我决定告诉她昨晚的事。

我正在努力做的事情之一就是对玛塞琳坦诚相待大多数事情。她看到太多了。她看到我和埃文的关系。她看到我和工作的关系。她看到我和我身体的关系以及我饮食的方式。她看到我和酒精的关系。所以当事情出错时，我吞下骄傲，承认我的过错，并和她谈论它。（或者至少这是一个Instagram妈妈告诉我必须做的。）

“嘿，宝贝，”我说。“昨晚我喝了太多酒，我对爸爸很刻薄。我已经向爸爸道歉了，但我也想确保也向你道歉。我很抱歉。”

玛塞琳毫不犹豫地说：“没关系。但是，妈妈，你向自己道歉了吗？”

我愣住了。在我记忆所及之内，我从未为任何事情向自己道歉或原谅过自己。我总是看向埃文，如果他原谅了我，我就得到了宽恕。但我从未对自己道歉，为对自己不友善，为失足犯错，为通过一些坚实的自我破坏阻止自己获得生命中重要的东西而道歉。

我告诉玛塞琳我还没有向自己道歉，并答应她我会的。然后我问了她早上的问题：“你昨晚保持干爽了吗？”

“我做到了！”她说。“那是多少天了？我还要多少天才能去参加奥运会？”

“那是四天了，”我说。“你已经保持干爽四晚了，所以你还需要三晚。”

她比我多四天。第二天晚上玛塞琳尿床了——非常沮丧。我们在整夜保持干爽方面互相超越。有时在我甚至还没起床之前，埃文就已经处理完哭闹的孩子并清理好了玛塞琳。

当我最终起床时，我问玛塞琳：“你昨晚保持干爽了吗？”

“没有，”她说。

我给自己倒了一大杯水，心想：“我也没有，孩子。”

我如此迫切地希望我们俩在未来的许多夜晚都能保持干爽。生活中有那么多“奥运会”项目在那里等着我们。

Rachel Stevens is a writer in Jackson, Wyo.

雷切尔·史蒂文斯是怀俄明州杰克逊的一名作家。

As our 5-year-old daughter cried at 6:30 a.m. and screamed, “I don’t get to go to the Olympics!” I realized we had made a huge mistake. My husband, Evan, and I are trying our best to raise Marcelline like all the books (and Instagram Reels) have taught us, but bribery has become our go-to tactic.

Lately, Marcelline has been trying to learn how to stay dry through the night, without a pee accident in her bed, so I struck a deal with her: “If you can stay dry through the night for a whole week,” I said, “we’ll take you to the place Charlotte had her birthday party.”

“I get to go to the Olympics?” she said.

Last summer, Marcelline went to a birthday party at a local gymnastics facility while the Olympics were happening. Since then, she has called this gym “the Olympics.”

I thought this was a foolproof plan. Marcelline was almost potty trained and just needed a little nudge. I pictured Evan and me on the sidelines of this gym, high-fiving each other as Marcelline jumped into the foam pit.

Instead, it has been months of a weeping 5-yearold at the foot of our bed at ungodly hours, with pee-soaked pajama pants, screaming, “I’m not going to the Olympics!”

We live in an apartment complex with paper-thin walls in Jackson, Wyo., a ski town that is home to many actual Olympic aspirants, so I can only imagine what kind of aggressive athletic training program our neighbors think we’re putting our child through.

Last week, a few days after I turned 40, I woke up soaking wet. I’d had chills through the night and then sweats that shook me. In the morning, I had no fever and didn’t feel sick, but my T-shirt was sopping wet. I made Evan feel it.

“Whoa!” he said.

Nothing like this had ever happened to me. I turned to Google, which suggested my night sweats were likely caused by one of three things: anxiety, perimenopause or withdrawal from

alcohol.

While depression has historically been my visitor, anxiety keeps showing up at my door. But enough anxiety that I’m getting night sweats?

I knew about perimenopause because if Instagram influencers want me to know about one thing, it’s that. I just thought, as a sprightly 40-year-old, I had a few more years before the next phase of the physical horrors of being a woman.

Withdrawal from alcohol, though, felt like a direct hit. I looked to my bedside table and saw the glass of “bed wine” from the night before.

“Bed wine” is something I promised myself I would quit this year. It’s the last glass of wine I bring with me as I climb into bed and to watch TV or do the crossword puzzle.

I tell people that my relationship with alcohol is “complicated,” but it’s not. I love drinking wine and a good cocktail, but booze is horrible to me. In my world, there’s always an excuse to drink: celebration, disappointment, stress. Eating Italian food needs wine; eating Mexican food needs a margarita. The list is endless and sloppy.

I keep telling myself that I will stay dry — sober— through the night. But then I make a concession, and once I have one drink, I want to have more. I don’t think about how I’ll feel the next day. I just think, “One more glass of wine, and I’ll watch one of my favorite shows in bed.”

There have been probably four or five instances in my life where I fell asleep in bed, upright, with a glass of red wine in hand. The worst was recently when I awoke in Hawaii after my friend’s 40th birthday and had spilled red wine all over the pristine white sheets of her friend’s bed. Thanks to marvels of stain removers, the wine came out, but I was mortified that I couldn’t stay dry through the night.

There are hundreds of instances from the last two decades that should have influenced me to stop drinking altogether, but I haven’t yet. I went through bouts of sobriety — my longest being my pregnancy with Marcelline. Beyond that, I willed myself to give up drinking with goals like Dry January. But I always found an excuse to come back to the bottle.

Three years ago, I was sober for 109 days straight. It was so hard at first, but then I started to love who I saw in the mirror. I felt like the depression that I had been self-medicating with booze was getting so much better. On day 108, Marcelline (then 2) had a fever-induced seizure, and I had to call 911. At a wedding the next night, day 109 of staying dry, I told Evan I wanted a drink because I was so shaken by seeing my baby have a seizure.

We each had a manhattan and then shared a slow dance under the stars. At the end of the night, he stayed out with the wedding party, and I went back to the cabin we had rented and opened a bottle of red wine and watched “Friends” while I fell asleep.

On mornings when my daughter doesn’t come in bawling about missing the Olympics, I ask her if she stayed dry through the night. Lately we have been neck-in-neck on our streaks. The longest dry streak I’ve had in the past few months has been 15 days.

I think about what my “Olympics” are. I fear that if I don’t get completely sober soon, I’ll never

write the way I want to write. I’ll never get my book published. I’ll never run the mountains I want to run. I’ll never love myself the way I want to, which means I’ll never love my family the way they deserve. I fear that by not staying dry through the night, one night at a time, will mean I never make it to my greatness. And yet, I drink.

A month or so ago, I drank too much wine and was mean to Evan in front of Marcelline. I woke up early the next day and Evan recounted everything that happened. I was mortified. I apologized to Evan, and he hesitantly let me wrap my arms around him as I said, “I’m so sorry.”

Finally, he wrapped his arms around me and said, “It’s OK.”

But I don’t know if it is OK. I don’t know if I’m OK. I climbed into bed with Marcelline and snuggled up to her for 20 more minutes until she had to get up. When she awoke, I decided to tell her about last night.

Something I am trying to do is be honest with Marcelline about most things. She sees so much. She sees my relationship with Evan. She sees my relationship with work. She sees my relationship with my body and the way I eat. She sees my relationship to alcohol. So when something goes awry, I swallow my pride, admit my fault and talk to her about it. (Or at least that’s what an Instagram Mom told me I must do.)

“Hey sweetheart,” I said. “Last night I drank too much alcohol, and I was mean to Papa. I apologized to Papa, but I wanted to make sure I apologized to you, too. I’m so sorry.”

Marcelline didn’t skip a beat. “It’s OK,” she said. “But, Momma, did you apologize to yourself?”

I was taken aback. I haven’t apologized or forgiven myself for anything in as long as I could remember. I always looked to Evan, and if he forgave me, I was forgiven. But I have never come to myself and apologized for not being kind to myself, for slipping up, for keeping myself from the big things in life by some solid self-sabotaging.

I told Marcelline I hadn’t apologized to myself and promised her I would. And then I asked her the question of the morning: “Did you stay dry through the night?”

“I did!” she said. “How many days is that? How many more days until I get to go to the Olympics?”

“That’s four days,” I said. “You’ve stayed dry four nights, so you need three more.”

She had me by four days. Marcelline wet the bed — to much distress — the next night. We keep leapfrogging each other in staying dry through the night. Sometimes Evan will have already dealt with a crying child and cleaned up Marcelline before I’ve even gotten up.

When I do finally get up, I ask Marcelline: “Did you stay dry through the night?”

“No,” she says.

I pour myself a tall glass of water and think, “Me neither, kid.”

I want so badly for us both to stay dry through the night for many nights to come. There are so many Olympic events in life out there waiting for us.

来源：左右图史