I just hit the 3 year mark of sobriety, but it didn’t feel like an accomplishment. In fact, I didn’t feel anything.
Just 5 years ago, taking a full month off drinking was a cause for celebration. I’d give myself a proverbial pat on the back for my unwavering self-discipline and willpower. Drinking was something I felt like I couldn’t live without. It was woven into the fabric of my social life, family gatherings, dinners out, and even at home—no romantic dinner was complete without a glass of wine (or three). I believed that by not drinking, I was making a serious sacrifice and missing out on a huge part of life. Yet now, 1095 days after taking my last drink, when I think of how far I’ve come, it not longer feels like a big deal.
What exactly changed from then until now to have such a radically different perspective on drinking?
A lot. But one of the biggest shifts was feeling like my sober state is my normal state, so no matter how much time has elapsed, it doesn’t feel like a cause for celebration. I no longer feel temptations, urges, or cravings to drink. None whatsoever. To turn down a drink takes no resistance or willpower at all. To me, an accomplishment is overcoming a challenge or persevering when times get tough. Sure, I did a lot of that when I first stopped drinking, but over the last few years, it’s become second nature.
Things have changed a lot since I first announced my sobriety with friends, family and on social media. I’m not sure if it’s the fact that I’m blessed with a supportive friend group or that society’s perception of alcohol is shifting, but I no longer receive harsh judgment or intense lines of questioning when I opt for a Coke Zero instead of a beer. No one cares. Being sober feels normal and the truth is that sobriety is our normal, human state.
You drink to get the feeling of peace that someone who is not dependant on alcohol always feels—Annie Grace, This Naked Mind
The reasons I quit drinking for good are long and complicated, and I’ve gone into them in my book, Find Your Stride and previous blog posts, but it mostly came down to the fact that alcohol was doing nothing for me anymore. As I took longer chunks of time off drinking, I felt progressively worse when I’d indulge in a drink—even just a single drink made me feel like a trash can. Drinking was taking more than it was giving. It was taking my money, my health, my self respect, my motivation, and my love for life itself. It was a toxic “friend” who coaxed me into feeling like I’m getting so much out of the friendship; leaving the impression that they will bring out the best in me, but in reality, sucked the life out of me like an energy vampire, spiking my anxiety and stealing money from my wallet. Pure toxicity. When I was drinking, deep down I knew this supposed “best friend” wasn’t really a true friend, but they were just so fun to hang out with that I denied the fact that drinking was ruining my life.
In late December 2021, I was on a trip in Cabos with my partner at the time. Following a night of conflict, I was feeling that tense, anxious, shame-ridden hangxiety that one feels when they’ve acted out of character and when the previous night’s events were somewhat of a blur. It was our last night in Mexico and I had a single glass of wine at dinner. It tasted terrible, and I instantly had acid reflux, feeling my stomach turn. That was the last drink I ever had. Annie Grace in her book This Naked Mind suggests taking a last drink before you rid yourself of alcohol for good. Not something you typically enjoy, but something that you hate like a straight shot of vodka or a drink that makes you wanna gag. I didn’t take that last drink knowing it would be my last, but it sure did the trick in turning me off the sauce.
After I got back to Calgary, my partner and I broke up and I moved back to Waterloo with my parents. Before I left, I had written in my journal that I wanted to write a book that coming year—a project I’ve always wanted to complete, but was never able to “find the time.” With alcohol out of my life, I had a lot of time, newfound energy, and nothing stopping me. I decided to do a 6-month alcohol-free experiment so I could focus on writing and let myself process the heavy emotions surrounding the break-up in a healthy way. On a whim, I took a trip to Vancouver and ended up staying put. It took me a while to find community, but everyone that I’ve met here since moving has known me as sober. I didn’t have to explain my change in lifestyle choice, it was simply who I was. A fresh canvas.
In last year’s post on The Sober Life, I compared the experience of “coming out” to my existing friend group as sober as being similar to coming out as gay to my friends and family. While this may seem like an absurd comparison, the feeling of dread accompanying sharing the news that I no longer drink with people I habitually drank with was the same feeling of telling people who knew me my entire life that I was into women. In both cases, I felt like I needed to justify my choices of who I was, which in neither case was truly necessary because why would you have to explain to others who you are? You just are who you are and if someone doesn’t like it then byeeeee!
Three years ago, drinking was the norm and being sober was abnormal, just as homesexuality is divergent from the quote-on-quote “normal” hetero world in which we live. When one goes against the grain, against the herd, one is met with resistance and even backlash. The people that were most uncomfortable with me not drinking were those that had a questionable relationship with alcohol. Think about it like this: people who are insecure or unhappy with their own life choices, don’t like to be around people that are the opposite: happy, confident, and secure in who they are. These people want to be around others who sink down to their level—who make them feel that their life choices are normal. Heavy drinkers like to be surrounded by other heavy drinkers.
In the decade in which I drank often (and at times, excessively), it wasn’t so much the alcohol itself that I was craving, but it was the belief that alcohol improved my life and that I’d be seriously missing out if I wasn’t drinking. That’s what made it so hard to quit. When I turned 30, I began seeking out resources that would change my belief system, and make me no longer want alcohol. I was looking for an easy way to quit for good.
The best books I’ve read (and that I strongly encourage you to read if you want to start questioning your own beliefs surrounding alcohol) are An Easy Way by Allen Carr and This Naked Mind by Annie Grace—the latter which has been the most paradigm-shifting for me. I had to un-program my beliefs surrounding alcohol, unlearn what I thought I knew, and become aware of all the lies society told me about how much it added to my life: that the world would be an insipid place and that I would no longer have any fun doing anything, without a drink by my side. I was able to remain sober for so long because my beliefs changed, because I experienced first hand the pernicious effects alcohol had on all aspects of my life, and because of the supportive people I surround myself with. The community I have in Vancouver are either sober or drink moderately. None of my friends judge me for my choices, but instead, accept and encourage me to be who I am.
Community and our social circle are highly influential when it comes to our behaviours and lifestyle choices. I like to think that I’m an independent thinker, completely devoid of what other people think of me, but I’m not. While I still hold my own opinions, I have enough humility to realize that yes, conversations that I have with my friends and what we do when we hangout do influence me. If I only hung out with people who partied all the time and drank heavily, I’d probably be tempted to go back to my old lifestyle. If this is you, you’re likely going to need to make a choice…to cut ties with your old drinking life, you may need to cut ties with your old drinking buddies, especially if all your gatherings are centralized around alcohol and alcohol only. Is this going to be an easy choice? Hells no! But if you really want a better life for yourself, you need to surround yourself with people who will support you and make you feel good about your decisions.
If you shape your life according to nature, you will never be poor; if according to people’s opinions, you will never be rich. Nature’s wants are small, while those of opinions are limitless—Epicurus
Luckily, there are communities popping up all over the place to offer that dose of support. A Sober Girls Guide is an online community where women can connect with other women who want to become sober or drink less. There’s also Sober Babes Vancouver, which is a queer centric meet-up for those who want to do activities that don’t involve drinking. My friend started a group called Sweats and Snacks for introverts that want to connect with other LGBTQIA+ and build community. While I’m not equipped with advice on specific communities or treatment centres that can help with recovery, Alcoholics Anonymous has worked for many. There may be in-person communities like this in your area and if there isn’t, an online community can be a good alternative (there’s plenty of those).
The fact that I feel like 3 years sober isn’t really an accomplishment means that I’ve come a long way; sobriety to me is normalcy, and drinking is abnormal—not the other way around. Perhaps not feeling like the sober life is an achievement is an achievement in itself.
If you’re starting out on your sobriety journey, know that you too can share this sentiment. You’re not going to live in this perpetual state of missing out forever. Who wants to live like that anyway? As long as you put in the work to unlearn what the world has tried to program so hard into you—that drinking is a necessity of life—and find the people that will support you along your journey, half the battle is won. You’re still going to encounter annoying people who interrogate you. The media is still going to tell you that drinking is the bees knees. But you know, deep down, that life is much sweeter sober and that is enough to finally provide you with peace. I now have that peace. Perhaps that is an accomplishment after all.