Evening Gerry Finally Had a Voice

Introducing My Two Selves

I’ve come to understand that there are multiple selves within me.

Not in an unhinged way, but enough to cause confusion and conflict when they act independently from one another.

I have named the most conflicted and frustrating of these selves Morning Gerry and Evening Gerry. Not that creative, I know. But bear with me.

Morning Gerry wants peace and calmness to start his day. He takes pleasure in looking after himself both physically and mentally. He loves the rhythm of his morning routine, often waking early to look after his body and his mind. He knows that a good morning sets him up for a productive day.

Evening Gerry is less drawn to routine. He can feel worn down by the day and simply wants to switch off. But more often, he is keen to get out into the world and away from his desk. He can be impulsive and gets a buzz from spontaneity. He likes to say yes, and often finds himself reaching for a beer along the way.

That's when the problems start, because one beer often leads to two, then three… You get the idea.

Even a couple of drinks is enough to take the shine off the next day, leaving Morning Gerry feeling groggy and asking why he is the one dealing with another hangover he didn't ask for.

Morning Gerry often finds himself whining and moaning about Evening Gerry.

Evening Gerry doesn't even acknowledge Morning Gerry exists.

This dynamic has played out for years.

Battle with the Booze

Alcohol has lubricated most of my adult life. And quite frankly, I loved it!

It was the social glue that bonded me with my family and my friends.

However, as I got older, the payoff from all that fun and frivolity became harder to accept.

It took more than it gave.

Looking back, I can see that the issues started in my early 40s. Morning Gerry was evolving, but the old part of me was still running the show, and that caused a lot of internal conflict. Subtle grumblings at first, but eventually spilling out in the form of depression and a general breakdown of norms that forced me to stop and rethink who I was and who I had become.

I changed.

Matured.

Whatever you want to call it. A new part of me wanted different things, but it took me a long time to even recognise that, let alone understand and accept it.

At the heart of all that was my battle with the booze.

I saw it as the evil nemesis that pulled me off course and held me back from being truly happy. Morning Gerry would wake and journal each morning, regardless of the hangover. He had a voice in all this, and he was not happy with Evening Gerry. My journals frequently became rants about this irresponsible, selfish self who never stopped to think about his actions.

This resentment grew, tearing me up each morning. Brewing an unhealthy self-loathing that would bubble away throughout the day until the evening came. It got to the point that Evening Gerry would drink simply to mask the shame and guilt he felt.

This is when you find yourself drinking alone and in unhealthy measures.

I spiralled.

Reconciliation

Things changed when I started to name the two selves. Giving them an identity helped me stand back and observe them as individuals who needed different things at different times. I was able to objectively observe the dynamics between them and help them recognise each other.

This sounds weird even now, but it allowed them to develop compassion for each other.

They both had a place. And no matter what they wanted, they were inextricably tied to each other. So they may as well try to get on.

Seeing this was a lot easier for Morning Gerry. He had his journaling, a space where he could observe and explore his feelings with more clarity. He came to realise that Evening Gerry didn't need a slap, he needed a voice of his own. He needed to be heard. His needs were genuine but misunderstood. He needed more clarity of his own.

Morning Gerry decided to write a letter to his counterpart.

This felt a little silly at first, but once I overcame the awkwardness, it felt just like any other email or letter. Only it was to myself. The plan was to read it the next time I was drunk and on my own, which, I’m embarrassed to admit, had become frequent.

I actually introduced myself in the letter (so weird!), and then went on to explain how the relentless hangovers were affecting me. I tried to acknowledge his needs and to understand the urges and habits he was accustomed to. Then I simply asked for a little more compassion from him regarding the constant mess I had to deal with each morning.

It wasn’t long until I was drunk and reading it on the sofa at night.

I actually can't remember how reading it made me feel at the time. But I did write back, and I was surprisingly emotional in that letter. I was clearly carrying a lot during that time, and it poured out. It was a mess, really; layered and rambling at times. But it clearly felt good to get it out because it kick-started a period when I would journal at night.

Evening Gerry finally had a voice.

Chinks of Light

I sometimes journaled while I was drinking, but these became emotional rambles that were not particularly constructive.

However, I also started to open my journal in the moments before I drank. When the internal conflict was burning bright. Part of me really didn’t want to drink, yet another wanted to hit the fuck-it button and release myself from it all.

My choices in these pivotal moments defined whether I would continue to spiral or not.

And it was here that the compassion for my other self came to life.

Did I really want to ruin another morning for myself?

Did I really want to break another promise to myself?

Did I really want to become this kind of man?

Or did I want something else?

Something better.

It didn't always work, but chinks of light started to appear in what was becoming a dark headspace for me.

Self-compassion was the key.

And that all started with the letters and journals I wrote to myself.

The Pause

I’ve learned that discipline and effort are rarely enough to break unhealthy habits or addiction in the long term.

What was missing for me was self-compassion.

Learning to tap into that compassion in the small moments before the impulse took over completely changed things for me.

Just pausing long enough to breathe and think about the impact my choices would have on the other versions of myself was enough to change direction.

It didn’t always work, but sometimes it did. And that filled me with pride.

I didn’t need to beat Evening Gerry out of me to be happy. I simply needed to listen to him.

These days, they coexist quite happily.

And we still get to enjoy a few beers from time to time.