Quitters Win
I stopped drinking alcohol on February 15, 2021.
My story is not dramatic, but it is true, and the truth is interesting and sets you free (so does sobriety).
This is how it happened. I was sober-curious. I envied nondrinkers and wondered what was wrong with them. What were they thinking about? Were they human? How sad, I’d think. How cool, I’d think. This duality built until I drank too much one night—martini, martini, martini, barf—and I decided to find out the answer.
Monday, February 15, while my coffee brewed, I packed the contents of my bar into a large plastic bin. An hour later I texted Marisa who was out of town, “I put all my alcohol in your driveway. Do with it what you will. I don’t want it back. Also, I had to pee, so I left that in your driveway, too.”
Eight months in, I’ve learned that cognitive dissonance, lost time, and stagnation were a few of the side effects I was imbibing with my cocktails. Today, no longer sober-curious, but sober and curious, I’m reaping innumerable benefits.
Deep down, I knew I wouldn’t own my brilliance until I challenged this habit. I knew because I’d read books and highlighted quotes like this one, which spoke a truth I wasn’t yet speaking.
“I realized to my horror that I’d become one of those people who were stagnating creatively and covering it with addictions.” —Gay Hendricks, The Genius Zone
I don’t fancy myself an alcoholic, rather a habitual drinker; a mom on a slippery slope, using cocktails as crutches.
Pure, Solid Gold
The greatest gift I’ve received since I stopped drinking is knowing that my experiences are pure. I am unaltered. When I’m sad, I’m sad. Happy, worried, alive, they’re all me. The variables are plenty, but alcohol isn’t one of them. One less intruder. How freeing.
My beautiful mother passed away on April 27. 2021. When I ask myself how I’m doing, because I do, my response is true and unobstructed. This knowing is pure, solid gold.
“You drink to get the feeling of peace that someone who is not dependent on alcohol always feels.” —Annie Grace, This Naked Mind
One hundred percent, this! Life without alcohol is a plateau, which doesn’t satiate the drama-hungry. It’s too damn normal. There are rocks, but the rise and fall are too small to feel your stomach drop.
Twenty-Five Hours
More gifts. Time. Literal time, as it relates to the clock, relative time, as it relates to brain space, and then actual space.
My wind-down cocktail before, during, and sometimes after dinner chilled me to inactivity. Time would pass and I had nothing to show for it, except the taste of a damn good cocktail and a misleading buzz. But night after night, the compounding effect never took hold. I’d wake up in the same place every day, with enough variation to keep me believing I was moving.
Sober, I now stay up at least an hour later. For someone who has no qualms about getting into bed at 8:30 pm., this is a game-changer.
Now for relative time, brain space. The stuff you can’t see, but you feel. Cognitive dissonance is internal conflict from holding contradictory values, ideas, or beliefs. It’s exhausting. It clogs the soul. It’s a silent war with yourself. You don’t know you’re at battle until you’re not. Then the world opens and the expansiveness you feel is otherworldly. It’s one less “thing” to think about, to weigh, to wonder about. Your brain relaxes and it feels like you’ve gained time.
There are disadvantages. Sober people lose friends and receive fewer invitations. It’s hard news to swallow, but it’s better for your body and mind than alcohol. Loneliness and solitude are not the same things. Loneliness is the experience of being without, left, or alone. Solitude is the state of being alone, by intention.
I’m more solitary than I was, though I’m anything but lonely. Stripping away alcohol strips away the people and things that don’t serve your highest good. This happens by nature, and it can be a scary road to venture down. The people-pleaser in us holds onto these relationships, fearing that separateness is loneliness.
It’s not. Because now you have a far better friend in yourself.
Presents
The next gift, in a long line of them, is confidence. I can do hard things. If I can climb this hill, go against the grain, and witness a new view, what else am I capable of? A LOT. Knowing this is invaluable.
Alcohol is addictive. You will be drinking more in five years than you do today. This is how alcohol works. I don’t say this to scare you. I say it to relate to you. “When did drinking every day become part of my world?” I would say to myself. “It feels like it happened overnight.” It didn’t.
Cheers to pure, solid gold.