A Decade Sober: Holy Shit

No one is more surprised than me!

Well hello and how are you and yes this newsletter is late or extremely early, depending on your preferences of which I have none. The thing is, it’s a big day. Specifically, I’ve been sober for ten years today. A decade of no drinking. A ten-year-old’s entire life of beverages that contain no alcohol. (I mean, I remember my tenth birthday — ten years is a long fucking time!) This is a milestone! And one I certainly was sure I wouldn’t make it to circa May 8, 2013. I remember thinking about Christmas without mulled wine and wanting to cry. “Everything will suck!” is a thought I had while debating whether or not I had it in me to get my shit together. Spoiler alert: it did suck! It still sucks sometimes! But I’m relieved to be enduring said suckage (Jesus Christ) completely aware of what’s going on.

I’ve learned a lot over the last decade. Perhaps most importantly? That there isn’t a one-size-fits-all approach to sobriety. I didn’t go to AA or do 12 steps. In my case, I told everybody I was close to (and especially my therapist, who I worked with very closely) and made sure they knew I wasn’t being “sober curious.” I needed them to know I had a problem and accountability would keep me on the up and up. I talked to my parents and sober pals, and I spent a long time digging down into the core of where everything started and what had kept it alive. I learned to say “alcoholism” and admit that it was something I had, and I also learned that we could peacefully co-exist without me engaging it. Yes, I’m an alcoholic. No, we don’t need to invite it with us to the dinner table.

I learned that one’s relationship to alcohol is personal, and that the right way to ensure it’s a healthy one is to do what you know works for you. I know that I can’t have just a sip of wine or enough champagne to cheers with because to me, that’s the green light down a one-way road to drinking enough to feel nothing at all. I also know that I can drink fake beer and fake wine and a million mocktails and not trigger myself because drinking (for me) was never about the experience or the taste, it was always about losing myself in my weapon of choice. I can’t tell the difference between wines or beers or ales or most liquors, but I can tell you how I was feeling during the days and nights I shelled out for the cheapest so real life would feel a little more rosy. (Minus fake gin. Fake gin, I love you, but you give me the blues.)

I learned that I like to leave parties before everyone’s adorable tipsiness spills into messiness, and that it annoys me when somebody is too hungover to keep our plans. (But in all fairness, I’m always annoyed about everything.) But I also learned that my inability to interact with alcohol in a safe and healthy way isn’t anybody else’s fault: it doesn’t bother me to hang out with people who are drinking, or people who are drunk (within the confines of adorability). It bothers me if someone gets defensive about their choices in response to my lemonade order or if they undermine my “oh, just sparkling water for me!” assertion — though admittedly, that hasn’t happened in literal years. I’ve learned that yes, it’s difficult sometimes to maneuver through a drink-heavy society, but that it’s not fair for me to project my own issues onto people who can somehow have one glass of wine and leave it at that. I have no idea what it’s like to drink something out of sheer enjoyment. I can’t imagine opening a bottle of real wine and not drinking it to myself and welcoming that very fleeting feeling of warmth. I didn’t know most of my friends didn’t feel the same way about alcohol until I started talking about how drinking made me feel. Feelings! Turns out they play a big role in literally everything, but especially addiction!

I think, though, ten years out, the biggest thing I’ve learned is that most people want to understand. Most people are supportive. Most people want other people to feel healthy and happy and not to blow up their lives. People, despite what we tend to see across various worst-case scenarios (see: social media), are not dicks by default. When I stopped drinking, I was terrified that I’d lose my friends and my humour and the best parts of myself. But the opposite happened: my friends had my back, I’m still funny (I think? I make myself laugh and that’s the important thing), and I like who I’ve morphed into. (She’s still a real piece of work, but at least she isn’t slurring her words.) Deciding to stop drinking was like a break-up, but the Hugh Grant/Bridget Jones type: it was always doomed, but now I walk around with earned confidence, hearing “I’m Every Woman” in my head. Life isn’t perfect, but it is better, and it is my own.

But I won’t lie, either: I still think about drinking and sometimes dream that I’ve started again (one of two recurring nightmares), and during the 2019-2022 shitstorm, it was hard not to do it. Sobriety is like everything in that it’s never done, it’s just part of the expansion pack. I’d be taking everybody for a ride if I sat here pretending that after [insert terrible news here], my first thought wasn’t regret over not being able to wash it away. Or that impromptu wine nights wasn’t always terrible. (They were fun! I had fun! Until I wasn’t having fun!) I’m not fixed or all better, I’ve just spent a lot of time acknowledging and understanding my demon, and instead of letting him call the shots, I keep him in the same bag I do my grief and cynicism and everything attached to the general human experience. He’s there, but he’s not there. (I also imagine him with big sideburns and wearing a turtleneck. He thinks saying the “j” in “jalapeño” is fucking hilarious. We all know someone like him.)

I still have a lot to learn, despite having learned a lot. But I’m proud to have gotten to this point. I’m happy with who I’ve become over the last decade. I know I wouldn’t be this version of myself if I hadn’t let go of something that hurt the more I clung to it, and I’m less afraid of feelings and vulnerability than I used to be. (Still afraid, just . . . less.) So here we are! Ten years out. Hopefully many more tens to go. Maybe you’re reading this post and are thinking, “Shut up already, holy shit.” Or maybe you’re reading it and wondering if it’s time for you to stop drinking or whether it’s something you can actually do. I think you can. I don’t know you, but I know that I didn’t think I could, and now we’re all hanging out sipping root beer-flavoured sparkling water. The only universal truth I subscribe to about drinking and/or addiction is that you know in your gut when it’s something you’re not in control of anymore. It took me a few years to parlay that feeling into concrete knowledge (we all have a tipping point), and looking back, I know I wasn’t ready to commit or put the time in. Do I wish I’d quit sooner? I don’t know. I maybe wish for it in the same way I wish I’d saved up and bought a Barbie Dream House: it would’ve been nice, but life would’ve turned out much differently.

So there we are. Ten years! A feat! A whole human child! Life comes at you fast, time is a flat circle, etc.! Thank you to everyone who’s helped, listened, and coached, and thank you to you, my gorgeous reader, for letting me talk to you.

- A.

Housekeeping! A few very kind souls pledged actual dollars when subscribing to this newsletter, which I absolutely can’t believe but am certainly grateful for. So a reminder —> you can pledge if you want, and I will happily accept any dollar, but this newsletter will always be free because I’m unreliable.

THE END.