'Drunk Mom'

• Drunk Mom
• Jowita Bydlowska
• Doubleday Canada (2013)

Having just finished reading her unflinchingly personal memoir, Drunk Mom, the prospect of meeting Jowita Bydlowska in person was intimidating to say the least. Released last month, the book recounts in confessional detail the year that Bydlowksa relapsed into severe alcoholism, right after the birth of her son. The Toronto-based writer holds nothing back as she recalls bruises, blackouts and covert "pump and dumps," a blunt name for breast pumping to dispose of alcohol-laced milk.

Born in Warsaw, Poland, Bydlowska came to Canada at the age of 15. She spent her twenties as a party girl drinking the nights away. At 27, she realized the running joke among friends that they were all alcoholics had gathered a painful sting of truth, at least for her. Bydlowska quit drinking and began attending AA meetings. Three years later, it was a glass of champagne to celebrate the arrival of her son that awakened the beast.

Drunk Mom, Bydlowska's first book, pulls the reader along through her often blurry descent into alcoholism. She invents elaborate strategies to hide her growing problem, from the secret compartments in the baby bag where she stashes mickeys, to the defensive lies she tells her partner, fellow writer Russell Smith. Her relationship with Smith is also laid bare as the two try to cope with parenthood and Bydlowska's urgent thirst.

Originally conceived as a fictional account of an alcoholic mother, one Bydlowska began work on in a state of addict denial, Drunk Mom eventually became her story. It's richly told in emotive, personal and at times rambling prose, and one that depicts the intense love, fear and anxiety that comes with motherhood -- coupled with Bydlowska's growing horror as she watches herself spiral out of control.

Now sober for nearly three years, Bydlowska spoke with The Tyee earlier this month about documenting her addiction, rationalizing rehab as research, and the compassion she hopes Drunk Mom inspires.

What made you want to write this book?

"I think in retrospect, I wanted to make people understand addiction. I wanted people who are addicts or maybe in denial to see themselves. And it's not as if I'm preaching. As an addict I always had a hard time explaining to people what it's like, because it looks so ridiculous. Like, 'Here's your baby and here's your family, how could you do this? Why do you keep doing it?' So I wanted to illustrate the internal battle going on with addiction. I also wanted to write it for people who are around addicts. This could be someone who is in a relationship with an addict or children of alcoholics. In no way is this book an excuse for addiction, but it's what [addiction] looked like for me."

Is the book in some sense an open letter to your son?

"Well, I've been saying that. I've had negative feedback from people saying, 'If you want to apologize, why don't you do it in private? Why do you have to do it publicly?' But the book is not dedicated to him or for him, but because I'm sorry. I do assume that he's going to read it one day and be like, 'What the hell? Why did you write this thing?' So it is a public apology. Sure, I could have written a letter to him and said, 'Open this when you're 14.' But because it's a book, of course I wanted him to understand where I'm coming from. Hopefully he will."

How did you approach writing the book? Was most of the writing reflective or written while you were in a state of relapse?

"I started writing this book as fiction. I was in so much self denial that I went back to my agent and said, 'Hey I have this great idea! What about writing about this mom who drinks?' That was during drinking. I was taking notes and removing myself from the situation, like I was such a great researcher that I had to do what I was writing about. And that's just part of denial; it's bullshit."

So at one point you rationalized drinking as something you were doing for your book?

"Absolutely. I went to rehab telling myself that I was going there for research. I went with a notebook taking notes, thinking it was going to be good for my book. But after that I started thinking, 'I'm going to die, it's on.'"

How did it feel to expose yourself like that, and why did you make that choice?

"Because I wanted it to be real. I think an addict has a certain degree of rebellion and defiance. I was a new mom, but at the same time I was thinking, 'I'm still young, I still want to be out there. I live in this fantastic city and all my friends are out there partying.' Although at that time I didn't really have friends, because I was very busy drinking and trying to not look like I was drinking. But I needed to be honest. Someone said I was nasty [in the book] because I made fun of people, and how they looked. But that's how my mind was. Maybe it was affected by alcohol, maybe I have this dark sense of humor, but when you drink you give the world a big 'Fuck you!' It's horrible, because you become this sort of machine of taking alcohol in and not considering what people think. I'm not proud of it but again, I wanted to be authentic."

Do you think that writing the book has been a healing experience for you?

"I'm not feeling very healed right now. (Laughs.) But I am happily surprised at the good support that I've had. For as many women -- or men -- that are shitting all over me, as many are supporting this and saying, 'Good for you.' And a couple of people have gotten in touch to say that they're struggling or that they know someone who is, so [that feedback] is awesome."

In the book you often discuss feeling alienated by a lot of methods of treatment and recovery.

"With any form of intervention support, if you're not into it then it's not going to work for you. When I talk about it in the book, I was really trying to distance myself by making fun of it. And yeah, it is cheesy. There are charts that I describe where there's a guy walking up the stairs and falling down and it says, 'This is recovery, sometimes you slip.' You feel very infantilized by a lot of it. But now that I'm sober I realize that, really, people were just trying to help me. I thought people were out to get me. Now I feel so much compassion for people that are trying to help, because that's all they're trying to do. Social workers aren't paid very well, so it's not like they have some secret motive. But I wanted to show that brat who thought this was all cheesy. All of it is awesome if you're ready for it. But if you can go (get help), even if you're not ready, even if you're going make fun of it, something may stick and later on it may save your life."

To anyone who is currently in a similar position to the one you were in, who might be a new mom experiencing addiction, do you feel like you have any advice now?

"I would extend it to any sort of issue, because I think postpartum depression is one of those big secrets too. And usually people try to contain it within family. I think a lot of people keep that pain to themselves because they are embarrassed or ashamed. I don't know about advice. Talk to people that you feel comfortable talking to. Talk to professionals like your doctor. My doctor is amazing and I've kept in touch with her. Even as a mom, talk to your girlfriends because you never know. After this, I've had people contact me and say, 'I feel so terribly guilty that you never told me and I was never there for you.' Back then I didn't [want to talk] because I was so terribly embarrassed. But it's easier to ask for help than to keep secrets."

For those who haven't experienced addiction, what do you hope they would take away from reading Drunk Mom?

"I hope they would understand what it's like. I'm hoping that it may make them feel some compassion, and maybe from understanding comes compassion. And also come to understand that none of it is their fault. I know there is this term 'enabler,' but it's so hard if you love someone. I've been around friends who are addicts and can't get sober, and it's heartbreaking. You think, 'Oh my god, I have to help this person, but I can't because there's nothing I can possibly do.' I remember taking someone to a [AA] meeting and getting on the streetcar and them running out the other door. I'm hoping that by reading it, it will help people to see what it's like and maybe try to work with the addict. I think people get angry. Addicts are disgusting sometimes. You feel sorry for them, but you're so angry at them at the same time. You think, 'I don't know if I want to slap you or help you.' So I'm hoping that [the book] will be more of a 'before you slap me, maybe you can help me' kind of thing."

Excerpted from Drunk Mom: A Memoir. Copyright © 2013 Jowita Bydlowska. Published by Doubleday Canada, a division of Random House of Canada Limited. Reproduced by arrangement with the Publisher. All rights reserved.

After that one bottle is found, I drink my sparkling wine away from the house. I develop a new ritual.

My ritual involves going to the grocery store first to get formula, followed by a visit to the liquor store to get sparkly, and then getting a bottle of Sprite in a convenience store. Next, I march to the nearest grocery store or coffee shop and lock myself in the bathroom. I have the perfect excuse too for staying in there for a long time: I always ask about a changing table.

In the bathroom, I first fill a couple of baby bottles with formula. Next, I empty the bottle of Sprite into the sink. Then I gently tap the cork of the sparkling wine and twist it while holding it. It always makes the loud, hollow popping sound, of course, but nothing so crazy you'd have to make up stories. I usually remember to flush the toilet at the same time, just in case.

What a loud shit I just had.

The baby is fascinated by what's going on -- all those purposeful movements, the opening of formula cans, the popping of the bottle, and liquids being poured in, out and in while I talk to him.

I tell him that he's a very, very good baby. This is all for you, baby, I say and I go on with my performance until the bottle of Sprite is filled up again. We can go now, I announce, and we go.

I imagine a pimply-faced teenage grocery store employee discovering the empty formula cans, the bottle of Prosecco in the trash, forced to suddenly think all kinds of suspicious, troubling thoughts about her boss.

After the bathroom I can go for a nice final walk in the cold, taking big sips out of my Sprite with stiff, freezing lips until I'm ready to go home and do whatever I do there. If it gets too cold I smuggle it into a coffee shop. In the chaos of strollers, coats, hats and boots, nobody ever notices the little sips.

People wandering around like me -- are they, too, locking themselves in the bathroom, mixing their concoctions? Are they looking to discreetly throw out their empties? Are they hiding things in the linings of their purses and strollers and coats?

Can they tell I do it too? How could you tell? Because if you were to look at the evidence tape you'd see me and I look nothing like a drunk. I look good. In fact, if you'd known me before I relapsed, you might even think that I seem better than ever, and that motherhood serves me really well. Example? I've lost some weight. You can see my cheekbones.

Still, I keep looking for cues in others. When I'm out on my walks, I watch other moms. The city is filled with them, rain or shine -- the days belong to new moms.

We are an army of stroller pushers. We all push equally -- the healthy-looking yoga ones and the ones who are like rock stars with tattoos and lipstick, the butchy ones, and the ones who, like me, treat these daily outings seriously and dress up for the occasion in fur vests, killer dresses and hats. And I just know that many of them are carrying empties in their diaper bags. And some of them are walking around with open cans of beer or sparkly wine mixed with Sprite secured in the stroller's cupholder. Or they're cooing to babies in coffee shops while taking discreet sips out of their bottles of Sprite.

Right?

I look in their faces and a lot of them smile back the way first-time moms do to one another when we recognize our common plight, new children and all the pushing.

I look for signs of secrets, but I can't read anything into all these smiling stranger faces.

And this makes me feel as though I'm the only one. This makes me feel so alone. And so superior the way a secret makes you feel, even if it's a bad secret, even if it's killing you.

I stop and take a big sip from my bottle of Sprite to calm my nerves.