Six weeks sober will not be what you think it will be. Less a ritualized, rejuvenated yogi, living your best life; more a pile of reality bricks hitting you harder than the fear of catastrophic boredom. Every responsibility, mundane job, meaningless conversation, so inescapably mediocre. Having to engage with people, sober, desperately one of the most exasperating quests a human can encounter. Okay, I am being slightly dramatic, death and destruction surrounding us excluded.

The inner narrative starts to howl, contemporaneously every day. “You are not a real alcoholic”. You are a baby alcoholic. You participate in drinking alcohol, whether you identify as part of the “mummy wine culture” that is being thrust upon us at great and hypnotizing force as a friendly requisite to parenting, or you are a “hardworking man that deserves a beer at the end of the day” culture that has been with us since the beginning of unionization. Each narrative is layered carefully, upon our deeply embedded institutionalization of alcohol within our society. In this society, from the beginning of time, traditions and celebrations are marked with alcohol. Catching up with friends requires it, watching sport requires it, hell even merely being a hot day requires it. The nervous looks on people’s faces when they thought maybe my sobriety would come with some sort of self-righteousness or the connotation that, perhaps they would have to question their own alcohol consumption, were pellucid.

As a sober person I would power through tedious job, after tedious job, cooking dinner, downing alcohol-free drink after alcohol- free drink, muttering thoughts along the lines of “it’s just a craving, you don’t have to fulfill it” searching for any other forms of dopamine I could. The inner narrative of institutionalized alcoholism constantly in the background reminding me that alcohol is the only way you can ever have fun. How dare I even try and challenge that?

I would desperately think, after such a tedious day, one must surely be allowed to encounter a little escapism. Alcoholism is at such an acceptable level in society, that breaking free of its grips is harder than any other drug. You get social doubt, rather than encouragement and for the individual that actually has to deal with the aftermath of drinking, well, where is society then? Who is responsible for that? The individual. You, and only you. No one is there to help. Especially if no one allows you to have a problem, in case that would mean, God forbid, that they did. Trust me, when I want a drink, the evening narrative will come back strong and hard; “Alcoholism is when people abuse their kids, or wet their bed, or don’t remember anything from the night before. I am none of those things, we are allowed to mark occasions with alcohol.” “Blah, blah, blah.

Depending on whether I gave into the narrative would entail how the next day would go. For six weeks I did not give into the narrative. It got easier, but then harder. The only suitable answer for why you are sober for a woman, seemingly presents as pregnancy or admitting you are an alcoholic. There is no in-between, otherwise you are thought of as just a bit strange.

Once the cravings are overcome, the magic happens. Allowing new feelings to come through, ones of peace, relaxation, safety, comfort were certainly forming. Waking up without having to assess the damage felt better than any high. The boredom started to feel more like joy. You have more time, better dialogue with the kids, being more present, and yes, you do feel a bit weird with all this excess energy, and increased awareness, yet when things go wrong, you kind of think “fuck where will I get my dopamine from”. But you can sit with hard feelings without escaping, I mean it sucks…but suffering is part of the human experience also.

After six weeks I felt so good, that I was almost fearful of the unknown. And then, in one fell sweep, I wanted to be like everyone else and have a margarita. So, I did. And then here we are again, eight weeks later, wishing I was feeling that catastrophic boredom once more. Even just a slightly disturbed sleep from a few glasses of wine with dinner, or absolutely bending it waking up requiring immediate assessment of damage, leading to the roller coaster of emotions, that we know and loathe. (And if you don’t know the roller coaster, then hey you probably don’t have any issues with alcohol and have no idea what this blog is going on about.) They all equally feel shit, no matter what level of damage.

Imagine, just not having to deal with any of this. Imagine, just being free of any cycle, and living your life without it. Well, it’s possible.

Sobriety is not only for the weird, alcoholics and pregnant people. Allow people to take the journey, however many times they need, whenever they need to, without it threatening your way of living, without demanded answers. Alcohol is a drug, and we should be allowed to take a break whenever we want without having to explain why. The inner dialogue that we face is monstrous enough.

From a person that can sometimes struggle with alcohol but will never dare use the term alcoholic, because I can stop at two; yet, has used it, pretty consistently for 25 years, minus the 798 days of pregnancy, whether it to celebrate, be happy, sad, face weddings, funerals, parties, death, heartache, anything really- let me give you a life hack, you can have fun sober. You can be sad sober. You might have to drink an exorbitant amount of coffee, take a lot of baths, and sit with the trauma that led you to drink in the first place, but it can be done.

Let’s create a community that is okay with people taking a break from alcohol.

Urgh, I hate the word community.

See you in another six!

Summer xx