ð Content Note:
This post includes reflections on casual alcohol use, blackout drinking, and personal relationship to substance use. It’s written with humour, honesty, and self-awareness — but if you’re in recovery, navigating sobriety, or sensitive to these topics, please take care while reading.
July 14, 2025 21:37PM
If you’re feeling overwhelmed, unsure where to turn, or just need to talk — please reach out.
Drinking doesn’t have to be a lonely thing, and neither does healing.
You’re not weak for needing help. You’re Inuk — you were never meant to carry it alone.
NunaQpa (Mental Health & Addictions Services – Nunavut)
• Offers culturally relevant services
• Connects people to local mental health nurses, counsellors, and addiction treatment resources
• Available in every community
• Readers can ask their local health centre to refer them to support
• Website: nunavutmentalhealth.ca
July 14, 2025 21:37PM
âĶ EDIT* A Small Reflection (Since Posting)
When I wrote this, I felt free. Honest. Brave.
And I still do.
But after it went up — I started to think.
Not because I regret it, but because of what it stirred in me, and maybe in you.
This blog wasn’t meant to glorify drinking.
It was meant to admit that sometimes, connection feels out of reach — except through a bottle.
And for some of us, especially Inuit, drinking is the only space we’ve had to cry, to laugh, to let Patricia out, to forget.
I said drinking isn’t black and white — and I meant it. FOR ME.
But now I see: it’s also not harmless.
Some of you might’ve read this while sober and proud.
Some might’ve read it while deep in something hard.
Some might’ve had a drink since who knows when after reading, wondering if that meant anything.
I’m not here to judge. I’m here to share.
And now I want to say: if this blog made you feel empowered — good.
If it made you feel sad — that’s okay too.
It means we’re feeling. It means we’re paying attention. It means we’re human. It means we’re in it, together.
I don’t have all the answers, I’m not deleting this blog because to erase it would be to erase the stigma around drinking, too; I don’t want shame to keep going.
And to erase the nuance.
And to erase the truth that so many of us live in every day — in our homes, our families, our memories.
But I believe in writing through the fog — not after it clears.
I’m not here to tell you what to do. I’m here to say: I get it.
And maybe that’s enough for now.
This isn’t a guide. This isn’t permission or judgment.
This is just one voice, one experience, out loud.
We come from survivors. Thrivers.
We come from silence.
We come from laughter around the kitchen table, from grief in the shadows, from strong bloodlines that are still healing.
Please be gentle with yourself.
Whatever you’re carrying — you don’t have to do it alone.
Let’s keep trying. Keep talking. Keep being real.
We are worth soft mornings. We are worth loud joy. We are worth second chances.
You are not broken — you’re Inuk.
Some people say healing should be quiet. That it’s more “mature” or “dignified” when you keep things to yourself.
But if silence could heal me, I would’ve been fine a long time ago. I wouldn't be writing blogs so publicly.
My healing has always needed sound.
So if you hear me, see me, or read me — it’s not a cry for attention.
It’s a reclamation.
This isn’t oversharing. This is over-surviving.
And if you’d rather do it quietly? That’s okay too.
But don’t mistake my voice for weakness.
My story just doesn’t live in silence anymore ð
With all my heart,
– Annie Qimirpik
Drinking isn't Black and White by Annie Qimirpik
July 12, 2025 19:27PM
I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it louder:
Drinking isn’t black and white.
Not for me, anyway.
Sometimes I drink. Sometimes I don’t.
One time I blacked out at 8 p.m. and went to buy pizza with zero memory of the visit (true story — the staff said I was a pleasure to be around, bless them).
Sometimes I have one drink and go straight to bed like a tired little grandma.
That’s also real.
Sometimes I day drink because I get too tired at night.
Sometimes I drink because I’m bored, or I want to feel something new, or because it’s the only time I get to bring out Patricia — my not-so-sober, confident, wild little alter ego.
Sometimes I want to connect with others and drinking has to becomes part it. That's okay.
Sometimes I don't drink at all - not because I'm being "good" but because I genuinely don't feel like it.
Most times it's just for fun.
She doesn’t always come out, but when she does, she’s a good time. (For a few hours at least… then the hangover hits like karma HAHA)
Drinking helps me let loose once in a while. Not always. Just sometimes.
And no, I don’t count sober days. I never have.
Not because I’m avoiding anything — but because for me, it’s never been about the number of days.
I don’t treat drinking like a milestone or a relapse or a virtue. It’s not a big deal in my own world — it’s just something I sometimes do, and sometimes don’t.
But the hangovers? They are a whole other beast. (Respectfully, 0/10. Would not recommend. Always have Orange Crush pop in the fridge for the next day)
Drinking, for me, isn’t rooted in addiction.
It wasn’t modeled by my parents when I was a kid.
But it came later — slowly, messily, through experience.
And now it shows up in my life depending on the day, the season, the company, or the mood.
If you’re reading this and relating, cool.
If you’re confused because you thought I was “anti-drinking” based on my past blogs — well, welcome to nuance.
I’m not writing this as a warning or a confession.
I’m writing it because it’s true for me.
And because I think more of us deserve the space to say:
Hey, my relationship to drinking is complicated. It shifts. I’m still learning. And that’s okay.
So no, this blog isn’t a cry for help.
It’s an invitation to reflect and maybe laugh — especially if you’ve ever woken up and had to ask the Northern staff if you embarrassed yourself buying frozen pizza while blacked out.
(They said I was sweet and polite, by the way! 5 stars.)
Cheers ðĨðĪŠ
— Annie