Updated: June 20, 2019
Originally Published: June 15, 2019
I don’t label myself as “sober.” That term feels more appropriate for those who wrestle daily with their addiction, making conscious decisions to reclaim their lives. What I’ve done doesn’t quite compare to their struggle. I wouldn’t classify myself as an alcoholic—I merely stopped drinking, almost inadvertently, over time.
I consider myself fortunate. Given my family history, my years of drinking could have easily led to a battle with addiction. I started at about 14, exploring various substances throughout college. My drinking habits were what many would deem excessive; I had a routine of consuming four or five drinks before rushing to the bathroom to purge, only to start the cycle again.
After completing grad school, my drinking evolved into something more refined—usually a glass or two of wine in the evenings, sometimes three. It never felt like a necessity; I was fine if it ran out, and I rarely craved it. During the holidays, however, I indulged heavily as my family gathered, consuming strawberry daiquiris and white zinfandel while we enjoyed competitive rounds of games. Social events and work conferences often saw me drinking, too, fueled by the expectation that a mom deserves a glass of wine after a long day with kids.
I even drank in hopes of enhancing my writing. Inspired by a quote attributed to a famous writer, I believed that alcohol could unleash my creative potential. After my children were asleep, I would pour myself a glass of wine and write, only to find the next morning that my “brilliant” ideas were nothing more than mundane thoughts, and my eloquent phrases had turned into nonsense. It turns out, the saying about writing drunk and editing sober wasn’t even true for the writer I admired; instead, he was a meticulous craftsman who revised tirelessly.
Eventually, I began swapping wine for coffee or tea. My productivity surged, sometimes doubling or tripling. My writing improved significantly, and I felt a strong urge to create more while drinking much less.
Not long after I reduced my wine intake, someone dear to me admitted to being an alcoholic. I had shared many drinks with him, completely unaware of his struggles. He never displayed signs of intoxication, and we always enjoyed our time together. Learning about his hidden battles was eye-opening; alcohol had wreaked havoc on his life, jeopardizing his job, family, and well-being. Witnessing his recovery has been inspiring, and I cherish the sober version of him.
Last year, I hosted a potluck dinner and game night for friends, providing drinks for them while I stuck to coffee. It was my first time completely abstaining from alcohol in a social setting, and it turned out to be one of my favorite nights. I was fully present, engaging in the games and laughing heartily without the fatigue that usually followed a few drinks. When the night ended, I felt energized enough to clean up before heading to bed, waking up to a tidy kitchen and no hangover. It was liberating.
I don’t resent those who choose to drink; I respect their choices. However, I can’t ignore the chaos I’ve witnessed in others’ lives due to alcohol. Many people I care about have faced regrets after drinking too much or have struggled with addiction. Brené Brown discusses this in one of her blog posts, expressing how witnessing the impact of “civilized drinking” on families has led her to avoid it altogether. In her case, she quit drinking after confronting her family’s history with alcoholism, realizing that she needed to prioritize her authenticity.
My reasons for cutting back on alcohol aren’t as profound as hers. I haven’t completely banned myself from drinking; I simply don’t desire it. What I’ve discovered is that I genuinely enjoy my time more when I’m completely sober.
According to a recent article from CNN, I’m not alone in this choice. An increasing number of people are opting to abstain from drinking for various reasons beyond addiction. One notable trend in New York City is the rise of “sober bars”—social spaces that offer non-alcoholic drinks in a nightclub atmosphere.
While I have no issue with others drinking, I admit to feeling a twinge of resentment toward alcohol itself. I perceive it almost as if it possesses a consciousness, capable of understanding the damage it can inflict, and it should be ashamed. Though I appreciate its flavors, the memories attached to alcohol have left an unpleasant aftertaste.
In the past year, I’ve only had a couple of drinks on a few occasions, and even then, it was just one or two over several hours while enjoying a quiet conversation with a friend. The thought of drinking in a crowded space or getting “drunk” no longer holds any appeal for me. I prefer being the authentic me—sharp and clear-headed—rather than a foggy version of myself. Nevertheless, I don’t judge those who drink; in fact, I’d be happy to be your designated driver.
In summary, I’ve made the choice to limit my alcohol consumption, finding joy in sobriety without feeling the need to label myself as “sober.” My experiences have led me to appreciate my true self more fully, and I’m excited to continue on this path.