What is getting sober like?
I hear that one of the biggest questions people have when they are exploring quitting drinking is how it will change their lives. I have to admit that I kind of skipped that question in my conscious mind, but I’m sure that my unconscious mind held me back for a long time because of it. My conscious mind knew I had to quit - for my health and the prospect of living longer basically. But I know that a lot of my identity was wrapped up in drinking, and that was unconscious for a long time.
Getting sober sucked. It was really difficult for me. I tried really hard for a year, and the middle of that year looked a lot like me giving up altogether. But I was piecing together the tools I needed, like collecting little bits of twigs and string to build a bird’s nest. It didn’t happen all of a sudden, and it wasn’t pretty. But it was beautiful in the way it unfolded and revealed things to me about how I thought, how I worked.
First I had to want to get sober. I had to do it for myself in the end, because begging the universe to let me get sober for my family was not working. My version of wanting was a desperate period of time when I was taking the bus a lot. I would plan out very long routes so that I could read This Naked Mind. I subscribed to Holly Whitaker’s “Mantra Project” emails, daily reminders to nudge me along. When I finished This Naked Mind after a few days, I had a blissful pause from drinking, about six weeks.
I don’t know why I started again–or better put, I can’t remember–but I did. At this point I had told a few people I had quit. My pride kept me from admitting that I had started again. I hid my habit, which I think got worse, and only drank alone, in a little room, and only after my family had gone to bed. It was awful for a couple of reasons: first because I was drinking a ton in a very short amount of time every night, and second because I was lying to people around me (mostly by omission) and tying my brain in knots with the cognitive dissonance. Every time I said “I don’t drink” out loud my brain was like “the fuck you don’t.” The cravings were nuts.
I joined an online recovery group that autumn. For reasons I’ll discuss in another post I didn’t want to do anything in person. A key part of the online group was face-to-face group meetings. There was no obligation to be sober (though you couldn’t participate with your voice if you had been drinking that day) or even to turn your camera on. But I jumped in head first and participated with my voice and with the camera on. Sometimes I would drink after the meetings, sometimes I wouldn’t. When I did drink I would usually say so in the next meeting.
A lot happened during that time, but the key for me was that I was in a caring community that did not judge me. I could just be me: sloppy, messed up, ugly-crying, damaged, in pain. I howled with pain, mental pain, even physical pain sometimes.
My brick wall was 10 days. I would commit to stopping, but at 10 days I would slip. This seems to be common, and there are physiological reasons for it. But remember how I was collecting the twigs and string? After a few of those 10-day rounds, in community, being vulnerable, doing all the new things I was learning (meditation, routines and habits, etc.) I built a nest. And then I broke through. Eleven days. Twelve. It didn’t stop. Seriously - once I got past 10 days the brick wall never reassembled itself.
What happened next was the most important part of my recovery: I didn’t stop. I kept collecting twigs and string. I threw away the ones that didn’t weave into my nest well (or at all) and widened my search for materials for my nest. I kept going to as many meetings as I could and kept listening and sharing. I volunteered as a peer in my group to show others the ropes and text encouragement to others who were suffering, too.
I did not take my breakthrough for granted.
And it changed me. I opened this post saying people wonder how sobriety will change them. At a high level, it has changed my routines. Bluntly, I no longer drink alcohol, and hours of my week don’t revolve around sneaking out at night to quietly drop bags of empties into the recycling bin and then replenish my stores from bodegas farther and farther from my home. I don’t wake up feeling like shit. Hangovers had stopped years ago, but the fogginess remained, and that is gone. I’ve become… a morning person.
Peel back behind those behavioral changes and I have renewed purpose. I care more about what I’m doing. I take my time. Meditation has become really important to me and mindfulness infuses my days. Making my bed in the morning began as a single task that, if completed, meant that I had accomplished something for the day. Now it is an act of care that I can’t do without, the first of many steps in my day that bring peace and some order to my mind and space.
I found spiritual purpose. I don’t believe in god, but when I think about my purpose on this Earth, I think that maybe it was to get really drunk for a long time so I could learn how to stop being drunk all the time and hold space with others who want to do the same.
I realized that the labels I had applied to myself–I’m an IPA guy, I drink my bourbon neat, I’m living proof that you can smoke tons of weed and drink yourself to sleep and still get up and go to work–those didn’t actually define who I am. I will be honest with you: I still don’t know who I am fully, and I probably never will. But I have more access to my life and my emotions and I have more control than I did before to experience all of that and behave in ways that move me forward in love, care, and joy.
Was that too abstract? How about this: I’m happier. I don’t feel like such a victim (though I’m very much a 4 for you Enneagram folx). I’m more open to new experiences, which is something that is important to me as I get older. I’m still David. Most people I haven’t seen in a while are surprised to hear that I’m sober.
Thank you for letting me share this.
Love,
David
