Jowita Bydlowska’s first memoir, Drunk Mom, gave readers an unsparing look at a new mom’s alcoholism and eventual sobriety. Written as both a love letter and apology to her son, Bydlowska’s latest book, Unshaming, discusses the relapses that followed the success of her first memoir and the relationship between shame (or unshaming) and recovery.

Quick Note: I love writing this newsletter and am committed to keeping it completely free. Putting it out every week takes a good deal of work, and, unfortunately, paying subscribers are the only way to keep it afloat. If you’re in a position to upgrade from a free to a paid subscription, I could really use the support. If that’s not possible, I understand; all subscriptions, shares, and likes are appreciated!

KM: Hi Jowita! Thanks for doing this. Congratulations on the publication of “Unshaming.”

JB: Thanks! I never thought I would make a career based on my substance use. Drunk Mom was initially supposed to be a novel. I write fiction. And I was very against self-help. Drunk Mom was not in any way intended to be a memoir, and certainly not self-help. But eventually it had to be a memoir because there just wasn’t enough fiction in it.

When it came out, my publicist was like, “It’s good to say you wrote this book because you wanted to help new parents,” so I would just repeat that phrase. And I did get letters from people the book helped, and that was really meaningful, but it wasn’t necessarily what I was trying to do when I wrote it.

[Unshaming] was completely different because I went in wanting to share my experience and connect with others, which is what we do in recovery—at least most of us.

KM: So, before we get into all of that, how did your substance use start, and how did you get into recovery in the first place?

JB: I was a blackout drinker from the first drink; my drinking was not of the ‘educational variety.’ I was one of these special people who blacked out, had a terrible time, came to in a cold bathtub at 13 or 14, and immediately thought, ‘I need to do this again.’

KM: Yes, exactly same—minus the cold bathtub.

JB: So that probably gives you a good idea of what my drinking was like and why I ended up in AA. Were you in AA?

KM: I was for a long time. I haven’t been in years, but if I really were worried about drinking, I’d go back in a heartbeat.

JB: I went to AA because—well, I didn’t know there was anything else. I don’t actually think there was anything else. I was 27 the first time I got sober, and I only knew about AA from movies, but it seemed like something I would maybe want to do.

This was around 2006. I went to AA, and I credit it with giving me sobriety and discipline and, frankly, brainwashing me enough to get my shit together. I was sober for about three and a half years. Everything was fine until we got to the Higher Power part. It wasn’t even the Higher Power, exactly; I just eventually ended up feeling like I could never please this Program. It’s funny because there’s this part in AA where they say progress, not perfection, but I think that’s bullshit.

KM: Ugh. That’s when the culture of the meeting really starts to matter.

JB: I live in Toronto, and it has a very specific vibe. They say Toronto is the only city in Canada that’s similar to the Bible Belt in the United States. We said the Lord’s Prayer at the end of every meeting, all the hand-holding, it was very much like church. And there was a time when I needed that discipline; I needed to see sober young people; these were people I would probably drink and do drugs with, only we’re in a church basement with the lights on, and everyone’s sober.

KM: And drinking shitty coffee.

JB: And smoking. Anyway, I relapsed just before I found out I was pregnant, and when I came back to meetings, people would say, ‘Well, did you not pray enough? Did you not go to enough meetings? What is your higher power? Who is your higher power? You have to decide whether there’s God or there isn’t.’

KM: Not super helpful.

JB: No. But then I got pregnant and...I mean, the baby was like that siren on the top of a car. Alarms were going off. Because I’d never felt love like this before—not for a man, not for writing, or anything else, and I’m still battling the urge to drink. How could alcohol be bigger than the love I had for this little creature? How could something be so powerful?

Send questions and suggestions

I managed to stay sober through the pregnancy, but I relapsed right after—it was probably post-partum related, but it ultimately doesn’t matter. I had all these little stupid rituals set up. I fed him formula so that I wouldn’t breastfeed him. I would sneak bottles into the bottom of his stroller and sip them on walks. It’s a crazy way to live. Babies alone are hard enough work, right?

KM: And hiding drinking is a full-time job on top of that.

JB: So there were 11 months of drinking after he was born; all of which I talk about in Drunk Mom. I eventually agreed to go to rehab, but I did such an addict thing. I told myself that I was writing a novel about a young mother in a big city who is drinking in secret. She’s pushing a stroller and hiding bottles and doing all this weird shit too, so I’m really just doing research for the novel.

KM: Classic drinking-writer rationalization.

JB: Exactly. Even in rehab, I went with a notebook, and I was like, ‘I’m just here to research my novel. I’m gonna observe these sad people with addictions.’

Obviously, there was part of me that knew I was there because I needed it, and my addiction was out of control, but for the longest time, I just said everything was about the novel.

But I also decided to go to rehab because I was so baffled about why I couldn’t stop drinking. If [endangering my son] didn’t stop me, nothing would. I figured this would at least give me a break from my environment. I’ll be supervised somewhere for a month, and maybe when they release me, I’ll have a different frame of mind.

I remember sitting in rehab about two weeks in, and then you know we had one of those relapse prevention counseling sessions, and they were asking about what—be it drugs or anything else—might be triggering.

KM: And your primary substance was alcohol?

JB: Yes, but only because I encountered it first; it could have been anything. So they asked this, and immediately in my head I’m like, ‘well, MDMA is great and not addictive, and I like techno, and it’s going to be amazing.’ It was like my relapse was already in there—there was no removing it, no fucking spiritual surgery that could cut it out of me.

I know people have spiritual experiences, and I know they have come to Jesus moments, and all kinds of things, but that wasn’t the case for me. What was it like for you? I’m just curious.

KM: My drinking started very much the way you describe yours. From the jump, I was like ‘this is the thing that will fix me.’ It didn’t matter that I was blacking out or barfing in a trash can—I just wanted to do it again.

I didn’t have the spiritual experience in like a one big moment way, but I ended up in the ER, and the psych ward, and everything around that broke through my denial and made me realize that I either had to stop drinking completely or I would die.

But I am conflicted about rehab—even though it unequivocally saved me—because mostly what it did was keep me away from alcohol, for 30 days. And thinking about how expensive rehab is...even as a “success story,” it doesn’t feel like it should cost as much as it does.

JB: I’m a huge fan of the YouTube show Soft White Underbelly. It’s a guy doing a lot of interviews with people on Skid Row in LA, but he interviews addicts, sex workers, and people who we don’t usually get interviews from. The first question that comes to mind is always, ‘Who helps these people?’

I’m in Canada, we have free healthcare, but even for that, like, when I wanted to go to rehab the second time, you know, they said there’s no beds available for two months. I could be dead in two months! Especially if I were an opioid addict, with all the stuff that’s on the street—two months is a long time. Even as an alcoholic, I couldn’t wait two months. I had to take out a loan to pay for it. Recovery is a privilege on so many levels.

KM: Even though AA and rehab are very different, that’s one thing AA has going for it: It’s free, available to anyone, and accessible, at least something.

JB: That’s true, and eventually, I went to agnostic meetings—I guess it makes sense that with so much traditionally religiously minded AA here, it would also be the hub of the Agnostic AA movement.

I chaired a meeting once, and I invited a speaker who was using psychedelics, and my meeting was so liberal that no one cared. They were like ‘fuck yeah, this is our church.’ No one said she was doing the Program wrong. So I’ve gone to the most liberal meeting you could possibly come up with, but that doesn’t mean it’s totally free of judgment.

It’s funny, I’m listening to you, and it sounds like we both don’t want to totally disregard AA because we got something out of it.

KM: Definitely. I got sober in the Bay Area, which is very different from the Bible Belt. The meetings I went to were pretty laid back about the God stuff. But that doesn’t mean I never encountered judgment. I take anti-anxiety medication. I know people who would consider that a relapse, and that’s just noise I don’t need in my head.

My addiction was to alcohol, and as long as I am sober from alcohol, I consider myself sober. If someone convinces me that an anti-anxiety pill before the dentist means I’m no longer sober, I’ve lost the plot of what my problem was in the first place. Because if I’m not sober, what’s to stop me from going out and drinking?

JB: I love that. I’m gonna try to remember that: if I weren’t sober, I would be drinking. In the past, I was on antidepressants and anti-anxiety medication as well, and I had a sponsor who was like, ‘By taking these, you’re not being sober.’ I had that exact thought of, like, OK, well, I’ll just quit [AA].

KM: That makes me furious. And annoyed, because AA is actually pretty clear about members not being doctors and how they shouldn’t give medical advice. You’re not really supposed to police other people’s recovery period.

JB: I think that’s part of why there’s so much shame around relapse. After Drunk Mom came out, there was a lot of attention—and a lot of bad attention. It was published at a time when people made fun of Lindsay Lohan, Britney Spears, and Anna Nicole Smith. My book comes out during this timeline, and it’s like, “Look at what a horrible mom she was.”

But then, on the flip side, I became this poster child for sobriety. I’m on television and podcasts, and I’m doing CBC [Canada’s National Radio] commentary about the Toronto mayor who relapsed. They’re asking me to do all this stuff because I’m sober, but I’m actually not sober; I’ve been relapsing, so I’m just like cosplaying sobriety. I was living this crazy, hellish life where I was like social media sober. Meanwhile, people are still writing to me about Drunk Mom, saying it helped them get sober. And I was so happy for them, but I also had incredible shame over being a hypocrite.

KM: Is that where “Unshaming” came from?

JB: Yes. I felt perpetually ashamed because of how much shame is attached to relapse. It’s cute when you relapse once and come back and have this story of redemption, but when you do it 20 times, or you keep doing it for years, it’s no longer cute. It just became a part of me. And I wasn’t necessarily drinking more, but I was drinking in a way where I gave up on doing anything else. So Unshaming became, intentionally this time, a memoir, where I wanted to talk about my experience, I wanted to talk about my experience with shame and relapse, I don’t think that’s something we talk about enough in recovery. I wanted to connect with others.

KM: I think that’s true for lots of parts of recovery. I can’t speak directly to relapsing on alcohol, but there can be shame around not being “fixed” by sobriety. Like, ‘why aren’t you better if you’re sober? Why are you still depressed or anxious? Why are you still engaging in other unhealthy and destructive behaviors?’

JB: That’s totally true. What you’re describing—I call it relapse because I’m talking in the context of addiction—but [often in recovery spaces] there isn’t a lot of room for repeating a behavior that [people in the recovery space] don’t like. It’s like ‘we’re gonna let you get away with it once, we’re gonna clap, we’re gonna have a welcome party for you, you crawl out of depression or addiction, welcome back, but don’t do it again.”

I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve relapsed. And I’ve had long periods of sobriety—I would have two years or six months, but, to me, anything past three months, I consider a period of sobriety. Even though my drinking wasn’t at all as bad as it used to be, it was still a crutch I was using and hiding.

I start Unshaming by talking about this horrible accident when I rode a bike into a cement wall and crushed my face and broke my cheekbones. I had to come up with a story the next day because I don’t want to tell people that I was drinking because I’m supposed to be sober. So I’m not telling the doctors, my coworkers, or my loved ones. , and and I have to come up with a story the next day, because I don’t want to tell people that I was drinking, so you know, I’m like, oh, I was on a bike ride, it was first thing in the morning, I’m not telling doctors what happened, I’m not telling my loved ones, and it was just getting harder and harder to cover up.

So I started to wonder, OK, what if I fucked up 20 times? That’s really bad. That means this is my pattern now, and I’m a chronic relapser. But then I also thought—and not in a toxic-positivity way, but genuinely—that it also meant I had hope 20 times. There are 20 times when I picked myself up and got back into recovery.

KM: That’s such a great way to think about it. And such an accomplishment! Because when you’re in [the throes of addiction], it seems so impossible to get out of it. Fighting for sobriety that many times is something to be proud of.

JB: It’s also just made me realize how individual recovery is for people, which is why AA doesn’t work for everybody. I use my relapse and recovery to explain the whole process of unshaming and what it means. I know it’s a made-up word; I’m not starting like an unshaming brand or anything—I don’t have a spiel. I know that the way you make shame smaller is by sharing your darkness and bringing more light to it. I probably picked that up from AA or even the Catholic Church, but I really believe it.

The key, though, is to share it with someone you trust. AA might be the safe place for some people, but it’s not for everyone. Maybe it’s a therapist or loved one. But sharing it with someone you trust definitely eliminates a lot of shame.

In the book, I talk about how, at the end of my last bout of drinking, everyone left: my son left, my partner was on a trip, and it was just this little Chihuahua puppy and me. I had no one to talk to, so I would whisper into his ear. Please get me out of this loneliness. Please help me out of this shame. And that was the first creature I shared my shame with. And, weirdly enough, that became enough of a connection, and I was able to get on Zoom and start going to recovery meetings again.

KM: When I first started writing about the messy and shameful parts of my drinking, there were definitely people who were like...“Why are you telling the internet this?” And there are still probably people thinking, “Why is she continuing to tell the internet this?” But I do it because it takes the charge out of the things I was ashamed of—especially if someone else can relate and feel less alone as a result.

In AA, they say you’ll eventually look at the past without regret. That’s not entirely true for me. I have plenty of regrets about the past, but I don’t feel shame about them the way I used to. And for me, that’s the difference between keeping something inside and saying it out loud.

JB: People need that. So many readers have written to me, but one of the most devastating is this one I got years ago from a woman who said, “I’m not looking for advice, I don’t want anything, I just want to tell you what I’m doing. I have four kids, I’m married to a doctor, small town in the Midwest, and I drink every day, and I drive my kids drunk. I just needed to tell someone that.”

I think there’s such a huge liberation in being open about all this darkness. Liberation in just being yourself and not lying to anyone.

KM: It’s important to have those spaces. I really believe there needs to be more space and support for people who take different paths. It’s not a straight upward trajectory, and it’s not universal; the more we allow each person to evolve on their own without berating them for how they should be doing things, the more people will start to examine their relationship with substances or addictive behaviors and look at what’s underneath that urge. But we have to give them room for that to happen.

JB: I absolutely agree, and this is why I also like your newsletter, because it’s clear you’re not trying to push your particular brand of recovery, which is what most people who publish memoirs or write newsletters do.

After Drunk Mom, that’s what people wanted me to do! I had so many people say, “Why didn’t you do anything with Drunk Mom [as a brand]? You could have blah blah.” I don’t want to. It’s not that I don’t care, but I’m only qualified to talk about what did and didn’t work for me.

KM: Exactly. It always drives me crazy when someone has a bad experience with AA and then writes a book about how AA is bad for everyone. Like, that’s not actually different from saying, “I had a great experience in AA, so it will be great for everyone.”

So, now that “Unshaming” is out, what are you working on?

JB: I’m primarily a fiction writer, but I am working on a third book about addiction. This one is about the loved ones of addicts. There are so many, obviously, in my own life and also the people I hear from.

I have learned that loved ones of addicts have a really hard time talking about themselves. Everything that they tell you is about what the addict did, didn’t do, how they were in relation to the addict, and I think that’s quite heartbreaking. I want to hear from a bunch of people: parents, sisters, brothers, and kids. My son is letting me interview him for it, so I wanted to...I want to know what we’re doing to them.

*

If you enjoyed this post, please like, comment, or share it. This helps others find the newsletter!

Share

Want to support AASL without committing to a paid subscription? You can toss a few dollars my way here.

Send questions and feedback to askasoberlady@gmail.com. By sending a question, you agree to let me reprint it in the newsletter with your name redacted or changed. Emails may be edited for length or clarity.

I’m not a doctor or mental health professional, so my advice shouldn’t be construed as medical or therapeutic. You are free to take or leave it.