Thoughts on casual-sobriety after 16 years sober

Earlier this year, I crossed a milestone: 16 years with no alcohol. 

At the beginning, I was the only person I knew who wasn’t drinking, but sobriety seems to be en vogue now as we wake up to the consequences of using the most harmful substance known to man. We see the data that says it’s killing us, yes. But lots of people are giving up alcohol for the same reason people stopped smoking — because it became cooler not to.

I’ve been thinking recently about why it is becoming cool to not drink. As near as I can tell, like most cultural movements, it’s driven by young people. And young people say that not drinking makes them feel better. Easy enough. They wake up sharper, clearer, and ready to take on the day. More productive. Happier. 

I absolutely agree (although I haven’t felt the aftereffects of a hangover in many years). And I have also noticed that I can eat pretty much whatever I want and not gain weight even as I sail into my late 30s. Score one more for the good effects of not drinking. 

But to me, none of those are the main benefit of quitting drinking: the opportunity to use sobriety as one method to learn why you drank in the first place – and to work with whatever comes up to expand your psychological flexibility.

A women with her head laying sideways on a table. All you can see is her mouth, as the rest of her face is distorted by a glass full to the brim with a clear liquid.

Sobriety as a tool to expand your freedom within discomfort

Alcohol is a mood alterer. And like all mood alterers throughout human history, it’s primarily used to help a person move away from an uncomfortable state of being, whether boredom, anxiety, loneliness, etc. When you quit drinking without recognizing the reason you were drinking in the first place, without identifying the mood you’re seeking to alter, you’ll just replace the habit of drinking with another distraction. 

Habit replacement is what I see in most newly sober people (and if I’m honest it’s what I did early on, too) — they stop drinking and immediately fill the space they used to fill with drinking with something else. Weed is common (California sober, is what I’m told they call this), but work is also really high on the list. Or TV, exercise, or sleep. When a person stops drinking, having not explored WHY they drank in the first place, most often they simply replace one unconscious habit with another and continue to avoid the space that could be created in its absence. 

But sitting in that space, diving into the void that comes up when we simply sit quietly with ourselves, is the true opportunity in quitting drinking. 

If you step away from a repeated behavior with an understanding that your habits come from somewhere—they occur in response to some inner state, and they are functional in that they change that inner state in some meaningful way—then there is a significant learning opportunity to be had by simply quitting the thing, and then intentionally not replacing it. 

What comes up will be the thing/feeling/realization you have been avoiding. And you’ll have the opportunity to integrate it. To stop running from it or medicating it, but instead to really look at a part of yourself that has felt dangerous and see what’s there. This is scary shit, at first. But there is no other sustainable way to gain any freedom in this life.

Honeycomb

In exploring this topic, I’ve realized I still do this sometimes even though I’m more than 16 years sober. Every night, after I put the kids to bed, I go downstairs to spend time with Laura. During our adult time, which I really value, I find myself automatically grabbing a snack. Honeycomb cereal. Like clockwork. 

Until recently I chalked this up as an easy, low cost way of having tasty things. What’s the harm in a little Honeycomb? From a physical health perspective, Honeycomb is about as tame as it gets. 

But the cereal isn’t the issue. As I became willing to be honest with myself, I saw that the automatic quality, the subconscious need to have a little snack, came from the same place as my need to drink once did.

After a hard day, after a happy day, after any kind of day, I’m tired. And it feels so easy to just sit and medicate myself. Even though I know how lucky I am. Even though I have the opportunity, every night, to engage fully in my life. To sit in the space Laura and I cocreate and savor that moment with her free from distraction. I’ve written before about how conscious I’ve become about dedicating creative energy to my relationship, and every night I have an opportunity to show up and do just that. To learn deeply about this wonderful woman I’ve married. Not the person I’ve always known, but the person she’s becoming. The mundane, sometimes intense, intimate work of building a relationship.

Despite that, every night, Honeycomb. Without thinking. Without realizing that in that moment, it feels better to some part of me to mindlessly snack than to engage fully in this potentially intimate moment. Even though it’s the opposite of what I say I want from my life, I found myself falling into my habit of snacking, and then later on wish we’d spent more quality time together.

And then one night last week I saw the pattern. Clearly. And, seeing it, I chose to not eat Honeycomb. I didn’t eat anything. 

It was uncomfortable. It felt weird. I was in my own home with the person who’s most important to me in the world, and I felt uncomfortable. Like I needed something to do. 

Instead of resisting, I touched that feeling, that discomfort. I didn’t reach for alcohol or cereal or anything else. I just sat with it. Boredom, anxiety, sadness. It came in a swirling cocktail, and then it went. 

And then a minute or so later, it was just Laura and me. We played Scrabble, and Laura kicked my ass. 

And I think that’s the real opportunity for us as a society. The thing I really hope people try on. Instead of just replacing drinking with something slightly healthier or more socially acceptable, give yourself a chance to experience the reason why you were drinking. And expand your window of tolerance to hold it.

Because quitting things isn’t just a form of loss. It can be a path to freedom. But only if you see how you’re putting up the bars of your own cell.


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