The one year rule, Part 2

As revealed in Part 1 of this post, I fully ignored the romantic statute of the one year rule. I jumped into the dating ring a few months after I quit drinking, punching down and dirty. Fortunately, I muddled my way through dismissal and defeat by burying my head in exasperated poems, managing to distract myself enough to avoid drinking on my first lap sober around the sun.

Year two passed with somewhat calmer waters and one big unrequited crush that was vigorously tamed into a meaningful, platonic friendship (and poems, of course). That left me with empty arms but a lesson in restraint, sense, and sensibility that I sorely needed. I steadied myself with writing, reading, learning, and continuing to grow.

But after two years of sobriety and being stuck at home for the first eight months of the pandemic, I got bored and lonely. So I brushed off my dating apps and went on a couple of outdoor dates to see what the fresh air had to offer.

This time, unlike my first-year fortune, I met the person who would become my long-term partner on just my second date. Maybe I had a clearer picture of who I was looking for. Maybe I was unbelievably lucky. Maybe I was desperate. Having been single for quite a long time, I was chomping at the bit for things to work out.

But I also had a lot more self-assurance, calm, and clarity in my sobriety this time. That must have come across in my demeanor. Because – and only because – of those hard-earned qualities, eagerness worked out in my favor this time.

The big move

After a few dates, I learned that this guy worked in the Chilean foreign service and would be moving back to Chile in about a year. At first, I had no interest in coming along. I’d spent the past two-plus years settling quite nicely into my D.C. apartment, my job and routines. I had tight bonds with friends, family, and writing groups in the area. For some reason, the notion of leaving my apartment was the toughest hurdle at the time. I guess we’d gotten too close during the pandemic.

The idea of uprooting “home” was unnerving, to say the least. But I really liked this guy. And like I’ve mentioned, I was desperate. So the at-that-point-seemingly-distant possibility of moving didn’t seem like grounds to end things. I had time to think about it.

With time, I didn’t have to think about it at all – love made the decision for me. Six months after our first date, we were starting to plan. But I spent the greater part of 2021 worrying about the logistics of moving, along with how much I would miss my family, my friends, and my apartment… and whether I’d be able to keep my job.

All was headed in a certain direction – as love often is – with no escape that sparked my interest. Like a black hole, but with an invisible future that I could only trust would be bright.

And?

I won’t say things have been easy. I knew this would be one of the biggest challenges I’ll face in my life. I have been acclimating to the climate, to our living space, to a culture and its customs. Navigating new roads and a new language. Getting to know my partner’s family – their personalities, their stories, their quirks, and their needs. All with a language barrier that I’m fumbling to knock down, and while 5,000 miles from my own family and my usual comforts. I’m trying to make inroads. Balancing social obligations with introversion, the exertion of learning and self-development with mental health and rest.

But a lot of things have made this move easier – my partner’s support, his family’s warm welcome, and, I must admit, the privilege I wield being embraced as a white, blonde gringa – an American.

Trial has been tempered by excitement. Santiago is full of interesting neighborhoods, excellent food, and fun activities. Nested tight between the Andes and the Pacific, it’s rife with adventure. It’s a poet’s paradise – just listen to Pablo Neruda, and pay a visit to his favorite home on the coast, in Isla Negra. And that’s just at the latitude of Santiago, where nearly half of Chile’s population crowds itself. Last week, my partner and I finally paid a visit to see the more remote natural beauty for which Chile is renowned – a road trip eight hours south to the Araucania region of lakes and volcanoes.

Transitioning hasn’t been as tough as I expected. I like it here.

But I could not have settled in like this during my first year of sobriety. Probably not the second or third, either. I needed that time to heal, get to know myself, and learn that I had the strength and resilience to push through discomfort, tiredness, and the stress of uncertainty. To communicate, and confirm, that I don’t drink – that’s right, not at all – in a country of wine and pisco lovers where that’s pretty unheard of. To fall in love and develop a healthy relationship with someone who knows and accepts me… and finally, to learn to communicate effectively with that person even when I’m overwhelmed by tough emotions or circumstances.

Getting down to business

Not exactly planning it, but surely making things easier, I’ve taken the Big Three of the Rule one baby step at a time. First was my new relationship, which started a few months into year two of sobriety; then, the big move, which we didn’t make until I was approaching year four. Now, just passing 4.5 years, I’m in this uncomfortable space without work, watching my savings take a hit. Feeling like I’m hemorrhaging Chilean pesos even as I rub nickels together.

Being free from a job for a while may sound liberating. At times, it is. But along with anxiety about not bringing in any cash, I’ve spent the last month and a half setting up a business to conduct contract work, struggling to figure out what I need in terms of taxes and licenses… researching – or more accurately, stressing – on the internet. Discovering that U.S. tax law is impossible to comprehend. Waiting for responses from the powers that be. Getting pretty far along in my LLC setup only to learn that operating under one may not even be necessary or wise for my intended work. Hoping to find clarity by speaking with people who know more than me. More often than not, feeling completely out of my depth.

I’ve also worried about the availability of work and having to continually promote myself to secure it, while impostor syndrome deflates my confidence in my knowledge and skills. I’ve been anxious about whether I’m going in the right direction or will need to change course. In my worst moments, I’ve questioned whether continuing life abroad is a viable option.

It’s not that I’m dealing with these insecurities 24/7, but they sometimes keep me up at night. On an average day, I can put them into perspective, stop and breathe. Remember that these are growing pains, that I am competent and capable. That in a few months I will look back at this time and wonder why I worried so much. Recently, I’ve made it to the interview phase for a couple of contract opportunities, so my hopes are up.

Regardless, I’m here now – in the space between jobs, which is highly unpleasant.

But I can sit with it. And I have these past few years of sobriety to thank for cultivating in me that degree of endurance.

I’m trying to shift my mindset, to find patience and joy during this time of change. In a recent blog post, Ingrid Fetell Lee describes several metaphors to help with this. One is to envision yourself between trapezes, which happens to fit well with my professional reality. Lee cites Gail Blanke, who wrote the book Between Trapezes and explains the metaphor in this way:

“The reason I use the trapeze metaphor is because we all are ‘between’ in some area of our life, and because the wonderful thing about trapezes is that you can’t hold onto two of them at the same time. You’ve got to let go of the old one – the old view, the old way, the old idea, the old title – before you can reach out and grasp that new one. And in between, you‘re not holding onto anything.”

What else keeps me up at night?

One other big project is stealing my sleep. I’ll end the post on this note, as it’s a more positive one. Going back to the poems that brought me through year one of sobriety (and, truly, all the years since), I’ve been working on a poetry collection about my life before, during, and after quitting. It explores the shame and regret that emerged from drunken mistakes, the deliverance and unexpected challenges of sobriety, and the discovery of new identities and euphorias without alcohol. It’s a lot of the content I write about for this blog, but a lot more personal, lyrical, and raw.

More than any other project or activity, this book has grounded me in a consistency of identity as I hurtle through major life changes. It’s been a rock, something in which I feel proud and secure. As I carry out the final touches, I’ve been able to have even more fun with it – tying each chapter to a post on this blog, and – inspired by a friend who did something similar for her book – developing a Spotify playlist to accompany one’s reading.

I aim to release The Dark Dance in the next month or so. And when I do, I’ll be sure to let my blog readers know.

Pouring my time and energy into this project has kept me away from darker forces. Perhaps, at times, I’ve been a little obsessive with editing and sequencing… re-editing and re-sequencing. I know that comes from a similar place of obsession and compulsion that drove my drinking behavior. But the result is making me feel better and better – not temporarily better and then enormously worse. Using these personality tendencies for something permanent and positive, both cerebral and tactile, brings me a level of joy and fulfillment that alcohol never did.

I’ve discovered a deep passion and power in words – both in poetry and in blog – that has reciprocally empowered me in recent years. And I’m tougher than ever. Bring on the romance, the big move, and the job change. The lions, the tigers, and the bears. I have my pen.

–Dana G

The one year rule, Part 1

I’ve been itching to write this post for over a year! At long last, and with a huge sigh of relief, here it is.

We’ll start with the obvious question: What’s “the one year rule“? Fair question. It’s a guidepost that advises against doing three things within the first year of addiction recovery:

1. Starting a new romantic relationship
2. Moving a long distance 
3. Changing your job

Though I explored the Rule’s romantic guidance in an earlier post, I want to cover all aspects here – in depth and after two more years of life change and reflection.

And now, the less obvious question: Why did I wait a year to write this?

Because I’ve been too busy “breaking” every part of this rule, in a manner of speaking. Two years ago, I started dating someone (yes, we’re one of those pandemic couples). And about a year ago, I moved to another continent… to Santiago, Chile. What’s more, I just left my job and am considering how I’ll get the next one while living abroad.

Here we are – between jobs, across hemispheres, and a bit anxious in the “space between” – but very in love.

At four and a half years into recovery, I’m not really breaking the rule. I’m supposedly in the clear now when it comes to stability and resilience. But I know that recovery and mental health require lifelong attention, and that doing all these things at once is a risk. No matter how many sober years are under my belt.

Rules are meant to be broken

I recall learning about the one year rule during a Smart Recovery meeting a few months after I quit drinking. At that stage, the advice seemed clear and reasonable. I had wobbly legs in the world of sobriety. Thankfully, I was focused inward – working through feelings of shame and regret; finding new activities to fill my time; forgiving, reconstructing, and finally, loving myself. What’s more, I was cushioned by the heady and fruitful pink cloud. Writing, exploring my city, learning guitar. I was busy. I was eager. I was full.

I had no intention of looking for new work or moving anywhere. I was fortunate – my positions on the map and on the job front were stable. So I could, with what little confidence I had, check off two boxes under the rule. But there was a glitch.

Romance. That’s where I had a hard time. After just a few months of sobriety (nowhere close to a year), my attention was caught red-handed by potential love interests. I shot my shot. I was rejected. And oh, I wallowed in that rejection. My heart was as raw, as ill-fated as an open flesh wound in a school of sharks. I’d been rebuffed plenty of times, but never had it been so painful… well, at least not since middle school. And who would willingly return to that misery?

Luckily, I had poetry.

I poured my heartache and hunger into poems. The compulsive act of writing allowed me to channel my overactive emotions and the zealous wanderings of my mind into something productive and worthwhile. In contrast, alcohol, the sloppy salve of my past, almost always caused a nasty infection.

Doing the dirty work with ourselves

The one year rule exists because we are vulnerable in our first year of sobriety. Assuming we gave up alcohol because we recognized a problem with self-control, and not some other reason like general health or saving money, we’ve just acknowledged an essential fault in our character. We’re still in the process of admitting this weakness to ourselves and finding ways to communicate it (or not) in our social circles. We’re the weird one, the outsider. It’s distressing. It’s awkward.

Thanks to stigma surrounding challenges with alcohol and mental health, many people – often including ourselves – see sobriety as an admission of failure. We were weak. We couldn’t tough it out, couldn’t keep our head above water while the rest of the pack kept swimming in our alcohol-steeped society. Everyone gets too drunk sometimes… why did we have to be so dramatic and quit? We must have really had a problem. And now that we’re sober, we’re no longer fun.

Even if we tear through the binds of stigma and accept that this is a drastic but necessary step to turn things around, we know – and so do they – that we’re still new at this. As we adjust to a very different lifestyle, we must navigate what this means for our friendships and relationships.

Our energies are spent repairing the damage that we, under the heavy hand of alcohol, did to our minds and bodies. We are hyper-alert to omnipresent marketing messages from the alcohol industry, defending ourselves against cravings and urges while the circuitry of our minds ignites with new and long-unused connections. There’s a lot going on.

What’s more, we’re developing new coping mechanisms for stress, anxiety, anger, and more. We aren’t yet fluent in using those tools. The memory of how alcohol felt washing away tough emotions is still fresh. Haste and impulse are more likely to prevail.

Going the distance

Why are relationships, employment, and relocation called out under the one year rule? These are three of the most disruptive changes people have in their lives and can have a profound impact on our sense of stability, identity, and self-worth. Sure, the end results can be tremendously positive – but it typically takes a while to get to that destination.

In forming romantic relationships, we are connecting with someone new, which means exposing our imperfections and sometimes talking about “the hard stuff,” like our past. Particularly in the first few weeks of feeling things out, where the odds are against us, we expose ourselves to the likelihood of rejection or perhaps facing guilt over our own disinterest and desire to end things.

When we move, we’re tasked with searching for local pastimes, finding new comforts, and clambering for friends. This can be tremendously lonely at first. As we finally gain footing on the new map, we may miss our former home and our distant friends and relations – feeling conflicted even as we adapt to our new haunt.

In changing jobs, we must find footing in a fresh and confusing environment filled with unfamiliar coworkers, which shines light on our weaknesses, knowledge gaps, and apprehension. It can take months to learn the ropes and form connections with our colleagues. In the meantime, pressure and stress can rise in proportion to the expectations of our supervisors.

All three of these situations can be stressful, and the adjustments can take much longer than we expect. Year One typically represents the most challenging period in recovery. We can make this restless, dynamic time a lot more serene and fruitful if we pause and take time to do our internal work first. Powerful external factors can complicate, impede, or completely overturn that work.

Read Part 2 >

–Dana G

Creating drama to conquer trauma

The inspiration for this blog post came in the wee hours of the night, while I was scrolling through Instagram instead of going to bed at a reasonable time – as so often happens with my overstimulated “night owl” mind. In doing so, I was fed an enticing confluence of posts… well, two, to be exact. The first was from a psychoanalyst who described what we can do to resist a strange phenomenon called “repetition compulsion.” (Don’t worry, I’ll define that in a bit). The second was a reel from @therapyjeff about the feeling of loss that can accompany settling into a romantic relationship after the honeymoon phase dies down.

The result was me tying everything back to patterns of heavy drinking, like I often do, and furiously typing ideas into the Notes app on my phone before they escaped me.

So, how do these things come together?

Setting the Stage with Booze

I’ll get to @therapyjeff later on. First, I’ll need to describe “repetition compulsion.” The APA Dictionary of Psychology defines this as a concept from psychoanalysis involving “an unconscious need to reenact early traumas in the attempt to overcome or master them. Such traumas are repeated in a new situation symbolic of the repressed prototype.” It sounds a little wonky and convoluted, but this is how it works…

Traumas often lead to deep-seated and long-lasting fears, like the fear of abandonment, failure, or loss of autonomy. That fear (counterintuitively) can drive us to seek out situations of chaos and danger because they create a turbulent environment that resembles the one where our traumatic experience took place. Our fears, hurt, and anger have kept us stuck in trauma’s aftermath. By rekindling this dynamic, we prepare ourselves with a stage on which to reenact our response to the aggressor, another chance to do something where we once felt powerless, in the hopes of triumphing over whatever it is that threatens us.

You can find out more about repetition compulsion here.

A very straightforward route to creating this kind of chaos comes via alcohol. It’s a path most of us are unconscious of even setting foot on, as heavy drinking creeps up on us, entrenched in our culture’s coming of age. If we have unresolved trauma, particularly from childhood or adolescent development, it’s easy to fall into a cycle where we compulsively repeat both heavy drinking and the self-destructive behaviors that accompany it because doing so creates a tense environment that suggests the opportunity for change.

When we fail in effecting that change, we try and try again. But the pain and fear originating from past trauma persist, sometimes elevated due to the new consequences of our well-intentioned but ill-directed behavior.

One of the hosts of my new favorite podcast, Petty Crimes, described how alcohol can make it blatantly obvious when someone is going through something difficult, causing them to get belligerently drunk and to project their hurt onto those in their immediate vicinity. It’s clear that they lack attention where they really need it. They’re almost screaming for notice – forcing others to contribute that missing attention by taking care of and cleaning up for them.

In the case of myself and many women I know, relationship or breakup-related pain can give us cause to drink and act out – but pain and anger related to traumas rooted in family relationships, death and loss, discrimination and marginalization, and other factors can also lay the messy groundwork.

Scratching the Dark and Stormy Itch

Looking back, I can see that in my heavy drinking years, I was trying to overcome the shattering sense of abandonment I’d experienced due to a breakup that impacted me in a way that I can only define as deeply traumatic. In its wake, I drunkenly sought out romantic entanglements that without fail led to rejection, hoping against hope that someone would pull through and give me the sense of security and validation I so deeply lacked. Instead, I only led myself to experience that rejection pain over and over again… and to do or say other things I regretted as a result of alcohol myopia.

At times, I felt the fresh (albeit, soft) breath of empowerment at the back of my neck when I moved on from someone without a feeling of unrequited desire. That was all the soothing I needed at the time – just enough to nudge me onward in the same compulsive cycle. More often, I was out there conducting the “petty crime” of getting obnoxiously drunk because there was a gaping void inside, and I wasn’t well-versed in healthy ways of expressing that or fixing it.

In the long term, compulsive repetition didn’t work for me – and it rarely works for anyone else. Cycles only feed themselves. Recreating traumatic situations by acting out in unhealthy ways increases the salience of the pain we’re trying to overcome. It reinforces an ugly pattern. We’re scratching an itch, and the more we do it, the more infected it gets.

Heavy drinking tends to fuel the pattern. It’s very difficult to break out of repetition compulsion without quitting or cutting way back. Despite my most desperate efforts, I didn’t come close to resolving or triumphing over any of my earlier traumas until I gave up alcohol. Only sobriety could provide me with distance from that pain, giving me enough clarity of mind to break free from the vicious cycle.

This pattern of creating turbulence has been difficult for me to escape. Even now – though I do it in much smaller ways, and in my head, through rumination. I also occasionally self-soothe by catastrophizing and imagining myself mistreated by loved ones or strangers. There is a sort of righteousness in feeling wronged. But I’m aware of this tendency, where it came from, what it serves and what it doesn’t. I understand the cathartic nature of the exercise. I can acknowledge these thoughts, contextualize them, and move on. Still, the effects of trauma don’t leave easy.

Self-reflection isn’t always enough to get over this pattern. Doing so may require a support group, therapy, or other means. I’m a believer that therapy is a good option for just about everyone at some point in their lives. I participated in both a Smart Recovery support group and individual therapy for a year or so after quitting. And I don’t think I would have had as smooth, as enriching, or as enlightening a transition to sober life if I had gone about it on my own.

Stretching Our Way Out of the Doldrums

Back to @therapyjeff… it’s here where I start to see a lot of parallels between what he describes as a lull of boredom and disillusionment after we’ve been in relationships for a while, and what happens in sobriety after we come down from the initial excitement of the “pink cloud.” In both cases, things tend to settle into a more regular rhythm. Like those who’ve experienced war, leaving the toxic environment of drinking or the early stages of a developing relationship – often as chaotic as they are exciting – can lead us to feel jaded and disappointed. Many people start to feel an unexpected sense of loss or grief.

With sobriety, we also give up our simple source of generating the tension we relied upon to work towards triumphing over our fears. We must deal with those fears and the traumas that created them directly. This is harder… and scarier. But it’s also more effective.

Stability is the aim of overcoming trauma. But when it arrives, it may not feel like the nirvana we expected. At least not permanently. When the sameness sets in, we sometimes miss the stimulation and euphoria of drinking or the honeymoon phase with our partner – the acute desire, the drama, the ups and downs, the unknowns, the story ever unfolding. We resent our new steady path, forgetting the hurt, desperation, and anxiety that often accompanied the earlier chaos.

Periodic boredom is a given. But we can create a spark in healthier ways and have fun with that process. Getting outside of our comfort zone can help us to add novelty and grow in ways we never imagined, gaining a real, lasting sense of empowerment and self-efficacy, as opposed to the facsimile of stability we sought through reenacting our fears and traumas on the drunken stage.

In my case, this has meant writing, learning a new language, joining interest groups to push myself out of introversion and broaden my connectivity to others, and other exciting adventures that I’ll leave for my next post. What constitutes novelty and getting outside of one’s comfort zone will vary. Stretching the self is an independent endeavor, contingent upon what motivates and challenges each one of us.

Of course, just as with our limbs, flexibility takes time. We must be careful not to overstretch in the early stages of sobriety. For some changes, like starting new relationships, transitioning jobs, or moving long distances, the results are unpredictable. While our self-image is still healing and vulnerable, failure can hit us hard. So proceed with a healthy amount of caution, especially at first. With consideration of risk and your own resilience. With sober baby steps.

But do proceed, as getting out of your comfort zone can open new worlds of possibility. And this innate resource of ours will be critical when the lull of sober normalcy hits.

Challenging Ourselves Toward Empowerment

When confronted with fear or reminded of trauma, turning to negative coping behaviors or crutches like alcohol may seem easier at first. But it will, almost without fail, route us toward heavier drinking and the vast extended family of self-harming behaviors that accompany it.

Fear is an inherent and inescapable human emotion. When we recognize that and cut off destructive inputs that only make it worse, we can define our own, healthier coping mechanisms. We can seek security and safety in more constructive ways. With heavy drinking and its toxic friends out of the picture, we’re able to create chaos elsewhere – by challenging ourselves with pursuits in other realms like the creative, intellectual, athletic, and charitable.

Sobriety allows us to create new identities for ourselves and to nurture previous ones that were drowned out by booze. What’s more, we develop a personalized and reliable accelerator to help us through times of boredom and disillusionment.

The repetition compulsion isn’t unique to heavy drinkers, but it’s certainly common among them. Everyone experiences some degree of fear. Regardless of whether we drink, it’s critical to find and nurture our own healthy spark to combat it. For those with trauma to overcome, challenging ourselves provides us with a way out of the chaos loop, a path forward. And that is where we create a real, lasting sense of empowerment.

Re-entering a world that drinks

The world is changing, yet again – and as always. In the U.S., people are getting vaccinated, infection rates are dropping, and most of us are now able to visit the friends and family we haven’t seen in 3D in what feels like ages. It’s a strange sensation, this whole in-person socializing thing, and sometimes a bit awkward.

For many, the past month or so has seen a surge of social activity, and an adjustment (some might see it as more of a threat) to the new routines they developed and came to rely on for comfort and a sense of normalcy during the pandemic. For both drinkers and non-drinkers, the shift can feel like a loss of control, causing anxiety over the rate of change around us.

black and white image of woman with hands over her eyes, with man standing in foreground — Photo by The Humantra on Unsplash

Sobriety and introversion

Giving up alcohol changes the nature of social companionship, causing most of us to spend less time in settings centered around alcohol and more time in groups where drinking isn’t the focus, such as those based around common activities or creative interests. Quitting can also lead to spending more time alone, in more introverted pastimes.

For me, that adjustment happened well before the pandemic. Though I’d joined a few writing groups that met regularly, I was spending a lot more time alone writing and editing, practicing guitar, and doing other activities to re-engage my mind as it worked on recovering synaptic connections that had been somewhat sluggish in the years prior.

This made the transition to prolonged isolation at the beginning of the pandemic rather easy for me compared to how I imagine it felt for people who’d been more accustomed to frequent social time in the months leading up to it. I was in my sober comfort zone, spending hours upon days upon weeks in my apartment – reading, writing, working, and watching TV. I had one needed “escape” from the indoors, which consisted of long bike rides through the city, but even that was something I did alone.

woman laying on a couch reading a book — Photo by Matias North on Unsplash

It must have been nine or ten months after the world shut down that I really started itching to get “out there.” It took another five months for most of the world around me to get vaccinated. In that time, I began dating someone and spending loads of time with them. Needless to say, my routines changed dramatically. Together, we built new ones – though they were still, out of necessity, rather insulated (which was fine with us!).

Social gatherings in the opening world

For me, the last few weeks have felt more like a slingshot than a gradual, comfortable transition back to social activity. We went from near-total isolation (and with it, total control over our daily and nightly routines) to seemingly constant pressure to catch up with everyone we haven’t seen in a year and a half. We’re making frequent plans and spending fewer evenings in the ways in which we’d become so comfortable. Mostly, the change is refreshing and welcome. But it’s also quite fast, and quite consuming.

Humans are creatures of comfort. Whether someone is sober or drinks, routines have a calming effect and reassure us when we experience anxiety, emotional triggers, or painful memories. Each time those routines are shaken up, it takes us time to adjust. That happened for the entire world during the pandemic, and it happened for me again with my new relationship. Now, the norm is shifting rapidly yet again, from one of isolation and virtual communication to one with increasingly frequent in-person hangouts.

reunion of people holding hands on a beach at sunset — Photo by Tyler Nix on Unsplash

It may seem odd, but I’ve struggled to elicit, feel, and express excitement recently when invited to social outings. My first emotion is often irritation at the consistent chipping away of my free time – mixed with guilt for having that reaction to the prospect of seeing people I care about. It can take me hours to rally enthusiasm about doing something and then accept an invitation. The vast majority of the time, I’m quite happy to be there once I go, though I’m even happier when the gathering doesn’t last more than a few hours. Something about giving up my independence and me-time has been quite difficult.

What’s more, a lot of these reunions and social gatherings involve quite a bit of drinking, taking place in the heat of summer. During the pandemic, I was spoiled with not having to feel like the “odd woman out.” I’d had a nice, long break from navigating the emotional and social complexities of sobriety in party environments. And I’d forgotten what a challenge those can be – especially, as in my situation, when you’re meeting a lot of new people (friends of a significant other) and hoping to make a good impression.

There’s also the challenge of being surrounded at restaurants, bars, or parties by enticing alcoholic drinks that activate our sensory pathways. After over a year of evading that pressure within the confines of our homes, the reminder that we have to resist these delicious, exciting things can create a fresh hell.

group of people at an outdoor social event with a bar — Photo by Antenna on Unsplash

I find myself questioning more often why I’m doing this. Is it a personal choice or a necessity? Am I the same person I was three years ago when I quit drinking? Or might I have the willpower now to have a drink or two, but adhere to a limit? How long would it take me to push that limit? In truth, I know that both my psyche and my relationship with alcohol are more complicated than that. So I make the decision over and over to reflect on what I’ve gained and maintain my sobriety rather than test my limits and backtrack on personal progress.

Fear and projection surrounding control

Despite these sources of anxiety, I usually feel like I’m in the driver’s seat with my emotions and reactions in drinking environments. But in the past month, a few situations have taught me about something that causes me significant distress and can force me out of that driver’s seat. When I see someone I care about drinking past their threshold, I can turn into a ball of angst – knowing first-hand where that can lead, worried they’re heading there. I project onto them my fears about losing control of oneself, and one’s life.

I know that we’re all responsible for our own behavior and its outcomes. And I’m consciously aware that it’s quite normal and okay for people to drink a little more heavily at times. But when I see it happening, I can’t help but imagine the worst and feel the need to step in and protect. If I can’t communicate effectively in the moment – whether it’s due to the person’s drinking, the presence of others, or my own lack of clarity about what the “problem” is – I can become exasperated and feel disconnected.

woman holding her head in frustration — Photo by Uday Mittal on Unsplash

I hope to come to a better understanding of myself and my place in the “drinking world,” which is, for better or worse, the only one that exists. I’ve learned that I need to be calmer and more cognizant of what causes these negative reactions to other people’s alcohol intake. Is there a real threat, or are my fears triggered by my own past mistakes and traumas, like how scary it felt to lose control and have no memory of what happened the next day? I’m starting to realize the latter is often the case. Perhaps this is a residual symptom of some form of PTSD.

Getting back out there

I’ve learned that I don’t have to say “yes” to every invitation that comes my way – particularlyif it’s a gathering that’s likely to involve more than a little drinking. Like anyone, I don’t want to miss out on the fun, but there’s nothing wrong with occasionally staying home.

Nevertheless, so far I’ve lived my sober life with the belief that it’s better to put myself in somewhat uncomfortable situations because they help me learn and grow. Comfort zones can be very restrictive, and my approach is more like “exposure therapy” – with the goal of empowering me to handle anything that comes my way. That might not work for everyone, but it has worked for me so far.

person standing on balcony with see-through glass floor — Photo by Tim Trad on Unsplash

We can’t (and probably shouldn’t) live life attempting to completely shed anxiety. It’s rooted in past experience, and it’s adaptive. We need it in order to detect real danger and prepare to cope with our environment. So I have to continually deal with it, assessing where it’s coming from and how I can better manage it.

Like everyone else, I’m just starting to figure out how to be back in the social universe after a world-changing pandemic – in my case, as someone who doesn’t drink and is in a new relationship. Though we sober folks had a bit of a reprieve during the pandemic from steering our awkward course through drinking environments, the reality is that we’re back to it now.

The world keeps spinning, and it certainly keeps drinking. If we want to remain a part of it, and stay sober within it, we must pay attention to what’s spinning in our heads. And then we need to adjust, becoming our best selves to the friends, family, and loved ones who give us purpose.

–Dana G

group of people sitting at a table outside at night under strung lights — Photo by Valiant Made on Unsplash

Grief over lost time and potential

The COVID-19 pandemic has caused people to experience grief in varied and layered ways. Most of us feel like we’re missing out – losing our ability to go places, have new and exciting experiences, spend time with those we love, or reach and celebrate life’s milestones. Many have lost opportunities and livelihoods, jobs and homes. Infants and young people at formative ages are missing out on critical social interactions and in-person learning experiences. College students have had to forego scholarships and foundational coming of age interactions. Many people are deeply lonely, isolated from family, and struggling to form or maintain romantic and friendship bonds. And, of course, some have experienced the ultimate loss, the death of loved ones.

This is related to a feeling of grief that many undergo after they quit drinking – usually after the initial high of the pink cloud subsides and we return to a more regular emotional rhythm. It’s a sense of having lost time and opportunities in the important years of our life due to heavy drinking. We may feel that we’ve completely missed out, burned some bridges, or gotten behind on reaching our personal goals and life’s milestones. Maybe we expected to be married by now, with kids or grandkids. Maybe we didn’t pursue a track of study or work that we were once passionate about.

image of a woman shot from the back with a train rushing by in the foreground — Photo by Fabrizio Verrecchia on Unsplash

The amount of time, and the opportunities that feel lost, vary greatly among those who’ve cut back or given up on alcohol. Regardless, this sense of grief can be tremendously painful – and it can feel impossible to make up for those losses.

Many sober people who once drank heavily go on to do amazing and impressive things with their lives, like winning marathons or publishing novels. When we hear those kinds of stories, we may compare ourselves to those individuals and wonder why we can’t make similar strides in our own lives. What about the perfectly average among us? Even though we may improve our lives in considerable ways and be more stable and resilient, we sometimes feel like we’re not living up to our potential.

light coming through a large industrial door — Photo by Hermes Rivera on Unsplash

My own grief during the pandemic

A few months into lockdown, I started experiencing this sense of grief myself. I’ve become increasingly aware of what I lost – or didn’t build – during the years I was drinking heavily. The feeling was worsened by the isolating effects of the pandemic. I also don’t feel that I’m making as much progress with passion projects as I was before all this started. I’d been prolific with writing poetry, excited about learning guitar, and fulfilled as I got to travel for work and vacation. My eyes had been opened to a world of possibilities brought on by my sobriety.

But all of that growth got turned on its head on March 12, 2020, when my office shifted to full telework. Along with the rest of the world, I had to shut my doors to face-to-face interactions, travel, in-person poetry workshops, guitar lessons… all of the things that had been making me feel alive and whole for the first time in years.

soccer ball outside of a black iron gate — Photo by Bruno Kelzer on Unsplash

Sure, a lot of these activities can be continued or replicated in the virtual environment, and I’m taking advantage of that. But just like everyone else, I quickly burned out on video calls and other virtual hangouts. And I’ve lost my internal fire for a lot of my hobbies. I feel more scattered and less focused, with a general sense of malaise.

Though my sobriety at first made me feel more secure and resilient during the pandemic, recently it’s begun to hover a magnifying glass over my life, homing in on what’s meaningful and what’s not. This has forced me to question my identity, my purpose, my career track, my relationships, and even the value of my new passions. It’s made me wonder whether I should (or could) go back to school and pursue a career in something that interests me at a deeper level. But then I worry that it’s too late, that I’d be too far behind – or maybe it wouldn’t feel quite right, or that I still wouldn’t feel fulfilled in that area of my life.

signpost pointing in various directions against a pink and blue sunset — Photo by Javier Allegue Barros on Unsplash

I’ve also become more aware of holes in my knowledge, such as history and geopolitics, which can feel embarrassing and painful. I begin to criticize myself, thinking that perhaps I wouldn’t have those gaps if I hadn’t been so absorbed in meaningless activities that involved drinking. If only I’d been focused on finding the right career path and enriching myself intellectually. I know that I’m still fairly young and curious enough to fill many of these gaps, and that everyone has knowledge gaps – we don’t need to be ashamed of them. But I still stress over this awareness, and knowing that our minds are substantially less elastic after our 20s adds to my frustration.

With all this uncertainty and reflection comes a lot of pressure, a sense of only having one life to live and wondering if I’m doing enough with it. Am I even capable of making some large change, and if so, what would it be? I worry about both my capabilities and my purpose, unsure of what I really want out of life. I wonder if this is drinking’s legacy or just one step in sobriety?

image of a woman from behind with her hands and face pressed against a small window — Photo by Mario Azzi on Unsplash

When it comes to finding answers to these questions, I know I’m not there yet and should go easy on myself. At a high level, I’m aware that these aren’t unusual things to ask yourself in your early 30s, often a transitional time in life. In fact, it’s typical to compare ourselves to our peers throughout our lives, questioning whether we’ve made the right choices. I also recognize that this is a newer feeling that must be due in part to the pandemic. It’s probably temporary. It may also be something I need to experience to have some significant realization of a change that’s needed in my life. Or perhaps incremental changes will add up to transformation over time. I don’t think I can know any of this yet.

In the meantime, when I let my emotions overtake reason (and I recognize that’s normal and okay sometimes), what I experience is uncomfortable and demoralizing. It’s grief. For my own well-being, I must acknowledge that what hurts is to know that I might be in a different place – fully content, more successful, and thriving – if I hadn’t handed over many of my formative years to drinking. Or, it may have had less to do with drinking, and more to do with other decisions I made at pivotal times in my life.

image of a flat, calm ocean with blue sky — Photo by Dimitri Houtteman on Unsplash

In truth, I can’t disentangle how much of this uncertainty is related to having had problems with alcohol in the past, and how much of it’s related to other factors like my age, the pandemic, my personality and other psychological factors, or things outside of my understanding. I can only be patient with these unknowns, and hope that a path forward will become clear eventually. Most likely, that will be after the pandemic finally ends. And that’s a good reason to avoid making rash life changes right now, knowing that this is such an unusual time.

It’s not about “fixing it”

A work acquaintance recently told me she’d just found out her husband of 26 years was having an affair. It was the first thing she said on our call, with tremendous pain in her voice. Though it wasn’t the most professional way to kick off a work call, it was evident she just needed someone to recognize that the situation entirely sucked – that nothing could hurt more than this did right now. The last thing I wanted to do was tell her it would get better. Instead, all I said is that the situation was completely awful, and that I was so sorry she was going through this on top of all the other challenges the pandemic has brought.

turquoise chair against a wall with peeling wallpaper — Photo by Julius Drost on Unsplash

I’m no expert on grief counseling, and in fact struggled with how to respond in the moment. But I know it can be counterproductive to succumb to the knee-jerk response of telling people things will get better. During the pandemic, we’ve grown desensitized (even annoyed) by empty, optimistic clichés like “we’re all in this together” or “hope you’re okay during this trying time.” They either fall flat or run directly against our lived experience. Though our human instinct is to want to alleviate pain and make things easier for one another, that’s not always the next step for someone in an early stage of grief. So the goal of our social interactions can’t always be to fix things for one another.

Our pains – and their impacts upon us – are diverse. Some of us are struggling with a sense grief due to missing out and experiencing loss due to COVID-19. Others, like me, feel they’ve lost opportunities and time in the wake of a long period of heavy drinking. Perhaps you’re struggling with grief due to something else, like my work acquaintance. Regardless, the simple acknowledgement of pain (not to mention, counseling or therapy) can go a long way. I think that may be all we can do, for ourselves and for each other, right now. Recognize loss, acknowledge pain, and let the answers come in their own time.

–Dana G

silhouette of a woman against a dark sunset — Photo by pawel szvmanski on Unsplash

Refocusing the narrative of memory

As we progress through alcohol sobriety and work to improve other areas of our lives and ourselves, adjusting what we choose to focus on from the past can be healthy. It can also be difficult, as we’re conditioned to think that anyone who gets sober after a history of heavy drinking must have a serious personal problem and a sordid past full of regretful behavior. Some recovery groups encourage making amends with those we have “wronged.” Sure, many who drink too much have wronged or offended plenty of people – and apologies can have great benefits all around. But we don’t need to beat ourselves up forever.

Because we stigmatize alcohol problems so deeply in this society, shame can be a powerful, but often unproductive part of the recovery process. Focusing exclusively on bad memories related to alcohol can be unhealthy and lead to toxic shame. A certain degree of repressing positive drinking memories may be healthy and protective up front, but eventually, it can be more useful to put bad memories in context by recalling good memories as well.

The bad stuff

Sometimes I focus far too much on the negative aspects of my drinking days – on things I regret having done or just feel uncomfortable about. I know this is partly protective, a way for me to feel secure in my decision to quit drinking. It keeps me from dwelling on what I’m missing out on. It also makes me more committed to improving myself and pursuing meaningful change.

But it can also expose feelings of residual shame when they should no longer have a place, causing me to feel generally uncomfortable in my own skin and unable to move forward in my life. A sense of toxic shame, or negative self-judgment to the point that it becomes “a paralyzing global assessment of oneself as a person,” can creep up on me. Having these feelings arise when I’m not expecting it – usually when I’m anxious or frustrated about other life challenges – prevents me from developing the self-esteem and confidence I know I ought to have.

When left unchecked, shame can lead to harmful beliefs such as perceiving yourself as a failure, a bad person, or unlovable, and that you don’t deserve to be happy. It can cause “feelings of deep inadequacy, lack of worth and the need to hide,” and over time can contribute to the development of depression, other mental health issues, and substance abuse.

I’m a strong believer that reflection and introspection are imperative to understanding our own psychologies. But scrutinizing our past behavior so much that we punish our prior selves is not productive. My heaviest drinking took place in my late teens and early twenties – a time when most people are still developing their sense of identity and leap at immediate rewards, disregarding risks and long-term consequences. They have a uniquely strong need for social connection and validation, as well as a sense of invincibility.

With alcohol being a flawed catalyst in this process of coming-of-age, these developmental factors can mix one volatile cocktail. There was nothing all that unique in the way I drank during and after college, and there’s no reason for me to feel ashamed of it long after stopping. Only distress can come from atoning forever in my now-sober mind.

The good stuff

By over-focusing on negative experiences with alcohol, we may also be fooling ourselves. For most of us, there were good times, too. Those positive experiences played a part in the development of who we are today. If we ignore them, knowing we aren’t being completely honest with ourselves, we might become doubtful and disillusioned by our decision to give up alcohol. That can put us at a greater risk of lapsing back into drinking.

I occasionally find myself feeling deeply reminiscent of alcohol’s original pull – the sense of euphoria and connection it brought, and a fiery (yet often destructive) way of feeling alive that is utterly remote now. That nostalgia can come on with surprising vividness, as if I’m experiencing it all again. In a way, it’s invigorating, like seeing an old friend or having a childhood memory come back clearly.

But in another way, it’s tremendously painful – like the hallucinatory shimmer of a mirage that I know will fade in the dry desert heat. I’m reminded of a sense of excitement and abandon that I’m not sure I’ll ever experience to the same degree. For better or for worse, the feeling passes quickly.

Photo by Roberto Carlos Roman on Unsplash

Nostalgia is natural in the recovery process, but “euphoric recall” or selective memory can be dangerous, causing us to forget the negative effects that once weighed heavily on us. It’s absolutely something to be cautious about. For my own healing, however, I think it’s important for me to allow certain positive feelings and associations with alcohol to exist – to recall that not everything alcohol brought me was terrible. I’d rather not delude myself, for I’ll know I’m doing so and eventually resent myself for it. I can only put my history in context with who I am now by letting all of it – the yin and the yang – simply be.

Negative experiences with alcohol have imprinted on my memory and contributed to my decision to undergo a massive change and healing process. A certain healthy level of shame and regret made that possible. At the same time, many elements of my personality, my humor, and my outgoing nature were fostered in the hands of alcohol. By remembering that, I don’t have to feel so remorseful of years “wasted” drinking. Those years were part of my life, too. And I can’t change them. So I might as well acknowledge what good they brought me.

The full circle

When it comes to alcohol, the negative ended up outweighing the positive for me. But I can’t discount the fact that I had a lot of good experiences, spending a large chunk of my formative and most exciting years under the influence of alcohol. I’ve come to understand that it’s perfectly healthy to grieve the loss of some once-cherished parts of my life and my identity that involved alcohol. And, contrary to popular opinion, I can do that while recognizing that the other side of alcohol’s capricious coin caused me significant distress. It resulted in my decision to quit drinking and catalyzed the development of the fuller and more conscious person I am now.

Though doing so can help in the initial months or even years after quitting, putting any good memories and thoughts about alcohol off limits forever can feel disingenuous and build temptation. In order to openly reflect on positive alcohol-related memories, one has to be at a certain point beyond strong cravings, wary of the dangers of letting the positives outshine the negatives. But if it becomes possible for you to do so safely, reflecting on the good can be rewarding, healing, and help you to create a fuller picture of how you became who you are today.

–Dana G

Feeling powerless

One day after the next, we continue to push through life in a time that makes many feel powerless – especially if you’re in the U.S., a nation so divided that even public health is political. We’re witnessing unconscionable negligence from the powers that be in both reopening society and ignoring systemic problems in areas such as policing and criminal justice. It’s easy to feel that our voices are unheard, ignored, or trapped in echo chambers. And even small victories seem few and far between.

On top of this, the strain of long-term isolation and anxiety about the future affects each of us personally. People are stressed, lonely, and if they live with others, may be dealing with household and relationship conflict. Parents are worried about balancing their children’s needs with work responsibilities, many of them preparing for a dangerous school environment and inconsistent educational methods. We’re struggling with the challenges of remote work or unsafe in-person work environments, with unemployment, and with financial stress. Some of us are worried about or grieving those who’ve fallen ill or suffered the ultimate fate at the hands of COVID-19.

woman peering up through a window — Photo by frank mckenna on Unsplash

Other factors could be causing stress and anxiety as well. Maybe you’re stuck in an urban environment with no way to experience nature or breathe fresh air. Maybe you miss life as you once knew it, and the ability to visit friends without masks, or deep anxiety about spreading a deadly virus. Maybe you’re recognizing personal habits that are bigger or uglier than they once seemed.

What can you do when you feel powerless?

First, know that you aren’t suffering alone. You’ve probably expressed the cliché yourself: “we’re all in this together.”

That phrase has a dual meaning when it comes to social progress. There are things we absolutely can’t fix on our own – global political battles, societal rifts, the economy, and the minds of stubborn adversaries. But we can take steps and celebrate small wins, gaining a measure of control. That could include becoming better informed, donating, having hard conversations with friends and relatives, or making calls to members of Congress. Taking initiative, even screwing up and learning from it, allows us to develop an internal locus of control. That can instill a sense of empowerment as we make a measure of difference.

mural of diverse women with American flag colors — Photo by Matt Briney on Unsplash

Maybe what’s creating a feeling of powerlessness is household dynamics, interpersonal conflicts, or behaviors that have gotten out of control – such as drinking, overeating, scrolling through social media, or gaming. Many of our habits have come under the spotlight during isolation. Everyone needs a little me-time and escapism. But if you only have one or two coping mechanisms that function as escape, they probably aren’t sustainable and won’t make things easier. If you know there’s something you could be doing differently, it can only help to try.

If you don’t know where to start or just aren’t ready, try simply contemplating a change. Journal about how it would look. Read about or talk to other people who’ve successfully done it. You can learn about others’ experiences by searching podcasts, TED talks, or YouTube. If you have the resources, I recommend trying virtual counseling. Learning and starting with small steps can help you feel energized, supported, and encouraged to make a plan.

journal with a pen on top — Photo by Thomas Martinsen on Unsplash

Alcohol consumption during a global pandemic

I’m not here to say that all drinking is bad. The human relationship with alcohol is far more complicated than that. I’m a big proponent of recognizing good and bad qualities in all things, and the continuum between the two. Alcohol is no exception, though I regard it as a primarily negative influence in my own life.

Despite harmful consequences for many, alcohol has been a catalyst of communion throughout history. In the present moment, virtual social drinking is helping people to stay connected and entertained, find a sense of discovery even in our confinement, and deal with disappointment about the world’s most stubborn problems. We might also be using alcohol to cope with stress and loss – not just lives lost, but as Dr. Argie Allen Wilson puts it, “the loss of the lives that we once knew. Loss of the engagement that we came to enjoy so much.”

close-up of an eye with a tear in it — Photo by Aliyah Jamous on Unsplash

Unfortunately, however, the pandemic is causing some people to drink more than ever, justifying doing so with the need for relaxation and distraction during prolonged isolation. They could be under pressure from friends or those they live with to drink, or perhaps feel the need to isolate from those they live with through alcohol. Some are drinking more because they’re alone, succumbing to a daily routine and separated from those who typically witness or judge their behavior. There’s also a greater risk now for sober people to lapse back into alcohol use.

Whatever the causes may be, many people are recognizing that they don’t have as much control over alcohol as they once thought. They may see effects and behaviors they didn’t notice before, and even have deep regrets. Many are convinced each morning that they’ll change but feel powerless once evening rolls around.

It’s summertime in the northern hemisphere. With the heat and our longing for the excitement that summer typically brings, more people are drinking in large groups despite the pandemic. In addition to lowering inhibitions, alcohol causes us to become myopic, or short-sighted – we give in to the pressures and enjoyment of the moment, less aware of events that seem distant. So in addition to the usual risks of alcohol, we become less focused on the impacts of congregating in large groups and slip up on things like mask usage and 6-foot spacing.

pink flamingo floatie in water — Photo by Vicko Mozara on Unsplash

Moderating or eliminating alcohol consumption

Plenty of people are able to mindfully moderate their alcohol consumption. And even those who can’t moderate may try doing so before making a sweeping decision to give up alcohol altogether. If you feel out of control and want to limit your drinking, now might be a good time to put it under the microscope and take some notes.

Pay attention to what triggers your consumption, and how alcohol affects your mood and reactions. If you could use some outside perspective, ask a trusted friend or relative what they see. When a trigger arises, mix in other responses so that alcohol isn’t the only thing helping you to adjust or escape. Try a different treat or activity like a favorite food or a form of exercise you enjoy, boosting your dopamine level in more sustainable ways and giving yourself a broader self-management toolkit.

multi-color camera lens — Photo by Agence Olloweb on Unsplash

You can also place alcohol out of sight so it’s not so top-of-mind when you need release. When you are drinking, pace yourself. Alternate between alcohol and water. Consume plenty of food. Space out your drinks and count them – determine and heed your limit. Furthermore, educate yourself about the signs of Alcohol Use Disorder so you’re cognizant of any patterns that might arise in your drinking or that of loved ones.

Some of us are good at putting boundaries in place. I was not. Despite wanting to control my alcohol intake, I’d continue to let myself finish the wine bottle, waking up feeling sick, empty, and helpless, and going through the daily motions until I could settle into the comfort of the next night’s bottle of wine. I may not have had a single “rock bottom” moment but did several things over the years that wounded my sense of pride and self-worth.

It took me several years to realize I was incapable of moderation and couldn’t drink “normally.” I first tried using a calendar to reward myself with stickers on nights when I didn’t drink or only had a couple glasses of wine. Some weeks were more successful than others, but by and large, there weren’t that many stickers.

pile of wine corks — Photo by David Brooke Martin on Unsplash

Gaining power from theories of behavior change

Becoming familiar with some of the many theories on behavior change helped me to better understand and respond to my behavioral motivations. It might help you, too. This article provides a great overview of some of these theories; below, I’ll share what is really a cursory overview of how I applied them to becoming sober. Though the article focuses on challenges with food consumption and exercise, there’s a good deal of overlap between overeating and excessive drinking. And there are several more theories that I don’t have space to address here.

For me, self-determination theory, which revolves around “intrinsic motivation,” was key to successfully giving up alcohol. “Intrinsic motivation does not rely on external pressure, like rewards/approval or punishment/disapproval from peers or health professionals. It exists within the individual… [who] must believe the behaviour is enjoyable or compatible with their ‘sense of self’, values and life goals.” By examining my thoughts and feelings, and adopting new hobbies, my sobriety became something desirable – not just something I had to do.

mountains at sunrise — Photo by Tyssul Patel on Unsplash

In addition, the principles of Cognitive Behavioral Therapy were built into my experiences in counseling and a recovery group. They helped me to challenge dysfunctional thoughts, assumptions, and coping mechanisms while I developed accountability through peer support.

Especially now, almost out of necessity, technological resources are worthy of exploration – whether that’s an app, an SMS (short message service) that sends motivational messages, or telemental health, such as video counseling. These interventions can be affordable, convenient, and less stigmatizing because they’re private – all factors that were integral in my decision to use video counseling in my first few months of sobriety.

Reading about theories of behavior change and related tools helped me to gain greater control over the factors that impact my behavior – from the personal (beliefs, knowledge, attitudes, skills, genetics) to the social (interaction with friends, family, community) and environmental (home, workplace, economy, and more). It gave me the knowledge I needed to turn the right valves and find the confidence to make changes in my life. I hope it helps other people, too.

fall leaves changing colors — Photo by Jeremy Thomas on Unsplash

Wrapping Up

Whatever might be causing you to feel powerless, I hope you’ll find the resources and motivation to begin making a change. Even small adjustments can be empowering. Yes, many things fall outside of our control. But we have more influence than we think, both in our own lives and in the world around us.

Actions – even small actions – can have compounding effects, and we can use that to our advantage. We aren’t living in a vacuum, even if physical distancing makes it feel that way at times. While you’re working towards personal or social change, don’t forget that sharing supportive words can have a massive impact on others’ sense of empowerment, prompting them to push for change in their own lives and circles.

patterned reflection on water — Photo by Lee Jeffs on Unsplash

So, take your me-time, indulge in self-care, and dive into the escapism you need. Read that fantasy novel. Take that midday nap. If you’re someone who can drink alcohol moderately, have that glass of wine. But think of those things as hitting “refresh” rather than being the only way out. And manage each one on your terms.

It’s fine and only natural to feel overwhelmed and powerless right now. But by adopting a defeatist attitude and failing to recognize what is within our power, our lives and the world around us move from the threat of limited setbacks to certain ruin. Let’s not let that happen. An ounce of hope is all we have, and with the right tools and a measure of effort we can make that hope a reality.

–Dana G

rainbow sky with a person hiking at the top of a mountain — Photo by Simon Berger on Unsplash

Discovering old and new passions (VACI)

It’s easy to become bored when you initially give up alcohol. Your calendar may open up with free time that can’t be spent in the same way with friends who still drink. Maybe being around alcohol causes anxiety or cravings, and you need other activities to occupy you. Boredom and uncertainty about how to fill time may be exacerbated at this strange time when we’re engaging in long-term physical distancing (I’m calling it “physical” rather than “social” because there are still ways to be social, virtually!). Fortunately, a tool known as VACI from the science- and empowerment-based recovery organization SMART Recovery can help, whether you’ve given up drinking or just cut back.

What is a VACI?

VACI is short for “Vital Absorbing Creative Interest” and refers to any activity that not only helps fill time, but is also pleasant, healthy, and riveting. A VACI could be anything from taking up a musical instrument to painting, learning a language, or restoring a car. VACIs can help you to become more engaged, curious, inventive, and contemplative in your everyday life. They can even help you replace some of the benefits you once perceived alcohol to bring, such as euphoria, feeling funnier or smarter, and reducing social anxiety.

VACIs allow you to reflect on and revisit what you used to enjoy before you started drinking – and to explore new activities that you’ve always been curious about but lacked the time, energy, or motivation to try. Maybe you didn’t think you could try them in the past, but have developed a new sense of self-assurance and are ready to do so now.

colorful paint brushes — Photo by RhondaK Native Florida Folk Artist on Unsplash

Many of us feel just as busy despite physical distancing with things like work, cleaning, taking care of children, and keeping in touch with friends and family. This post is certainly not intended to tell people they should be just as productive or more than they would be under normal circumstances. These are not normal times, and many people are struggling and mourning.

But if you live alone or have a lot of idle time (or perhaps you’re getting tired of a single activity you tend towards such as gaming or streaming video), trying out new VACIs can broaden your go-to activity set and open you up to things that may be surprisingly fulfilling. These may also serve as welcome distractions if you have roommates or family members who live with you and are still partaking of alcohol.

Even in normal times, it’s a good idea to explore activities you enjoy doing alone, because you can’t rely on people in your circle to be available when and how you need them to be. That said, if you can find supportive friends to have one-on-one or small group hangouts to do these things (virtually, for now), that’s great. Or, you can find local and virtual communities in which to do them.

cat observing photography on a laptop — Photo by Tim Mossholder on Unsplash

One thing to remember when exploring VACIs is that not every activity is enjoyable for every person. It’s important to “try things on” and see how you respond. Does a new hobby feel a little awkward or uncomfortable? Does it fit just right and fill you with excitement? Are you eager to explore it further? It’s also a good idea to engage in VACIs moderately, so you aren’t replacing one addiction with another. Weigh any comorbidities you may have, such as bipolar disorder. Mood states like mania and hypomania may cause you to react differently to the development of new hobbies – especially if you’re experiencing the pink cloud.

When I was in the pink cloud, I got a little overeager trying to juggle too many new balloons. I felt like I had to do every new VACI every evening – from practicing guitar to creative writing to exercising. These things shouldn’t have been stressing me out… they should have been exciting. To overcome this, I started thinking of VACIs as a menu of activities I could decide between on any given evening, letting myself pick and choose.

Eventually, I found myself gravitating towards some activities more than others. I joined local creative writing workshop groups and co-writing spaces, diving back into writing poetry. In addition to feeling smarter, and more creative and capable than I had in years, this helped me to overcome social anxiety toward meeting new people and sharing things I’m passionate about. I’ve developed new and enriching friendships, honed my craft, and feel more connected to a community that holds endless possibilities for engagement and growth.

black coffee and a journal — Photo by Brandon Cormier on Unsplash

You might finally delve into a passion or hobby that excited you years or even decades ago. Or, you could fall in love with an activity you didn’t think you would – opening a door you never knew was closed. That can be tremendously empowering, helping to pull you through the difficult and sometimes isolating experience of early recovery. Eventually, the VACIs you explore can lead to bigger goals, and a more focused sense of purpose.

Not sure where to start? Here’s a long list of ideas to help. If it’s a bit overwhelming, try selecting and exploring just a handful of activities. Create a table to rate how fun and fulfilling each of them seem, both before and after you try them.

Activities that can be done during physical distancing:

Entertainment and Education

Read a long book series, or a number of books from a favorite author or genre
Take an online class in something you’ve always wanted to learn more about through a service like edX or Coursera
Learn a new language, or at least the basics, through an app like Duo lingo
Virtually visit museums all over the world
Become an armchair expert by reading up on something like history, psychology, astronomy, dream theory, or the history of your favorite genre of American cinema
Take an acting or art class
Learn a new technical skill such as writing code, programming, graphic design, or web development

laptop opening with rainbow light — Photo by Andras Vas on Unsplash

Creative Writing

Write a novel, play, screenplay, memoir, short story, poetry, or stand-up comedy routine
Look online for writing prompts to generate ideas
Engage in introspection and keep a journal on a theme such as gratitude or surviving the 2020 quarantine
Write reviews of streaming movies or shows
Start a blog or podcast on something you’re passionate about – perhaps one of your other VACIs

New Artistic Skills

Learn a new musical instrument or pick up an old one
Practice singing or songwriting
Try a new craft such as knitting or other textiles, woodcraft, model-building, pottery, jewelry-making, book-binding, or calligraphy
Start a project in an art medium such as painting, drawing, sculpting, collaging, mixed media, or writing comics
Explore your creative “eye” with photography or videography – though for now, your subject may have to be yourself, those you live with, or your living space
Perfect a new skill like knitting or woodworking, and starting a side business selling your wares

person playing acoustic guitar — Photo by Ahmed Rizkhaan on Unsplash

Exercise and Movement

Explore new forms of exercise such as walking, jogging, running, cycling, high intensity training, bodybuilding, or yoga
Take a virtual martial arts class
Dance – learn new dancing styles, or just dance to your favorite music for fun

Other

Serve your community as a volunteer, mentor, or tutor
Try new recipes or refine a cooking skill set
Arrange a virtual party where you and your friends present 3-minute PowerPoint presentations on topics you’re passionate about, or have everyone present another person’s PowerPoint
Color or work on puzzles while binge-listening to podcasts or audiobooks
Garden or landscape, if you have access to a yard or outdoor space
Delve into strategic gaming, such as chess, video games, word games, or board games (many of which can be played virtually)

chess board — Photo by ErnAn Solozábal on Unsplash

Activities for the future:

Here are several more activities that aren’t actionable right now, but that you can look forward to trying out after this period of physical distancing:

Entertainment, Education, and New Skills

Take yourself to the movie theater and treat yourself to soda, popcorn, and/or candy
Write reviews of the movies you see
Go to local museums or see what classes you can take locally
Try your hand at live storytelling or stand-up comedy
Explore film photography, if you live near a public darkroom where you can rent developing and print-making equipment

Sports and Outdoors

Go hiking, camping, swimming, or cycling in nature
Go on an adventure with activities such as rock climbing, kayaking, mountain biking, or skydiving
Follow or play a favorite sport
Go on long walks or bike rides to get more familiar with the area where you live

Lake with blue sky and hiking path — Photo by Pascal Debrunner on Unsplash

Clubs and Community

Join clubs or community organizations
Join interest-based community groups, locally or online (I’ve linked to this before and I’m sure there are similar services, but meetup.com is a great place to find these. Many group meetups are being conducted virtually right now.)

Shopping and Collecting

Visit and support local businesses such as restaurants, shops, music venues, and theaters
Browse flea markets for art, jewelry, furniture, collectibles, and unique gifts
Collect something that brings you joy – anything from stamps to antique decor to photo books

lamps at a market with blue background — Photo by Sujith Devanagari on Unsplash

Travel

Make it a goal to visit all 50 states, or all the national parks
Take trips with friends, family, or by yourself – and not necessarily to faraway places (perhaps you can spend your free time getting more familiar with your home state)

You can peruse hundreds more hobbies here, from Parkour to cheese-making to robot combat. You must choose your own adventure. Whatever you try and gravitate towards, VACIs can be both fun and enriching. I hope you enjoy, and maybe even discover a lifelong passion in the process!

-Dana G

cozy reading nook with candle — Photo by Alisa Anton on Unsplash

Maintaining a socially distant sobriety

The spread of COVID-19 has posed enormous challenges to people across the world as individuals, as communities, and as societies. While so many of us are social distancing, potentially for the long haul, our concerns vary widely across geographic locations, financial and occupational circumstances, family situations, living environments, mental health challenges, and so much more.

There is no one-size-fits-all approach to tools and information for getting through this, and I’m not equipped to put myself in the shoes of every person struggling through every situation. But I’ve tried to categorize some tools based on five particularly widespread problems for those of us working to maintain sobriety during this period of isolation.

smiley face with safety facemask — Photo by visuals on Unsplash

Problem #1: I’m struggling with cravings.

Avoiding temptation can be especially hard when dealing with a variety of unknowns and spending so much time at home. If you live by yourself and being alone is a trigger, it’s probably not the best time to have alcohol in the house. However, many people live with family members or roommates who drink. Though that can be tricky, the silver lining is that the presence of alcohol and the exercise of willpower to avoid it can help you to develop strategies to avoid alcohol in the future at restaurants, bars, and parties.

If alcohol is there to stay, and even if it isn’t, try to make sure you have enough of your favorite foods and non-alcoholic beverages on hand. These, along with activities and hobbies you can do in your home, can serve as a satisfying distraction from urges – holding you over until they subside. Dedicating time and energy to some other kind of pleasurable activity when cravings arise helps me satisfy what feels like it’s missing – whether the activity is on the less-healthy end, like snacking on something sugary and watching Netflix, or on the healthy end, like reading, writing, or trying a new recipe or workout video. I’ve also shared earlier posts that may be of use if you’re looking for strategies to manage cravings and treat yourself with things other than alcohol.

cutting board with ingredients laid out — Photo by Katie Smith on Unsplash

If you have time, reading books or blogs about sobriety can reinforce your decision to cut back or quit. A few are listed on the R esources page of this blog. I often listen to audiobooks while doing things like cleaning or working on a puzzle, which require time but not a lot of brainpower. Listening to these reminds me of how bad things can get with alcohol, and of the physical and mental health benefits of quitting. Feeling down and lonely sometimes triggers the memory that I used to drink to make those emotions subside – so for people like me, the advice in the following section is also relevant to overcoming cravings.

Problem #2: I’m feeling anxious or depressed.

This, for obvious reasons, is going to be a challenge for a lot of people in the weeks or even months of isolation ahead. If you’re suffering from negative thoughts, anxiety, or depression, but aren’t able to maintain virtual counseling services with your usual in-person or online counselor, there are many virtual services that can help. You can also check out recommendations from therapists for helpful apps and resources during this time. If you have a pressing need to talk to someone but don’t have the resources or aren’t ready to commit, some online counseling services offer a few free appointments or tiers of service.

web search — Photo by Glenn Carstens-Peters on Unsplash

The CDC also offers advice on managing mental health in the midst of COVID-19. This is just a sampling of the tips and resources available. I recommend searching more widely online to find resources specific to your circumstances, and reaching out to friends, family, or acquaintances who may be able to share additional advice.

Apart from counseling services, there are a lot of things you can do in daily life that might help. Try to maintain your regular sleep schedule, and practice a morning routine such as journaling, making breakfast, exercising, or getting ready for the day much like you usually would. Not everyone needs to do all of these things. I, for one, have no plans to leave pajamas until at least July. Just do what makes a difference for you and don’t be afraid to try new things.

coffee, books, and plant — Photo by freestocks on Unsplash

You don’t have to be exceptionally productive just because you’re at home, but new habits can take your mind off old ones. It may help you to stay fairly busy, even indoors, with a range of activities (see the next section!). If you’re feeling stuck, identify a few things that make you love your living space, or rearrange the furniture. Meditation, mindfulness, and breathing exercises may help you manage anxiety. After a rough couple of evenings last week, I decided to start my own daily blend of exposure therapy and meditation. You can find more tips if you’re having a hard time staying occupied here.

If you’re glued to your phone, or if following social media or the news is making you feel anxious (or paranoid!), consider putting your phone across the room for a while. I’ve realized that I’m checking Instagram far more than usual. Despite the short-term relief, connection, and humor I’ve found, it can be draining. Checking our phones can become a compulsive behavior that acts on the same reward system in the brain as activities like gaming, over-eating, over-exercising, and even drinking.

It’s hard to pinpoint a “healthy amount” for behaviors that are essential to survive and feel connected to others. I’ve started leaving my phone on the kitchen counter when I realize I’m using it compulsively, and will only check to make sure I haven’t missed any urgent texts or calls if I’m getting up to do something else.

woman looking bored — Photo by niklas_hamann on Unsplash

All of this said, some stress and anxiety is inevitable right now. People are dealing with changes to their routines, concerns over their own health along with that of loved ones, job and financial losses, and major uncertainty in other areas of life. Don’t let anyone tell you that you have to feel okay all the time or seize the day as if there weren’t a major virus sweeping through the world’s population. Do what you can to manage your mental health challenges and feel more comfortable, but remember that everyone is having a hard time. It’s okay to worry and feel sad, and to adjust your expectations for yourself right now.

Problem #3: I’m getting extremely bored.

Another widespread concern is how to keep our minds and bodies occupied while spending so many hours at home. You don’t have to be productive all the time – as with our mental health, it’s okay to take a step back from the bustle of everyday life and settle in to what will be our new normal for some time. But if feelings of intense boredom are beginning to weigh on you, staying occupied with a range of activities may help.

You can start a puzzle, escape on an adventure through a good book, learn something new in a free online class, attend a virtual concert, or explore other opportunities for streaming art, education, entertainment, and more. You could clean or reorganize your living space, or declutter a closet that’s been grating on you. It might also be a good time to reach out virtually, and regularly, to friends and family – particularly if you live alone.

mason jar full of paint brushes over a white backdrop — Photo by Debby Hudson on Unsplash

If you’re feeling creative or are up for processing emotions, you can write, journal, draw, make or listen to music, or work on other crafts. If you’re feeling restless, try to make it outside to get some fresh air or go for a walk. Just maintain your six feet of distance! If going outside right now falls outside your comfort zone, there are tons of companies and social media “influencers” offering free virtual exercise classes during COVID-19.

Of course, if you’re hooked into the streaming services, there are plenty of shows and movies to keep you entertained. I’ve been trying to limit my viewing because I know how addictive they can be for me. But some evenings, I don’t have the motivation to do much else (I plowed through Tiger King in two nights). There’s a wealth of good entertainment media out there nowadays – with just as much junk. It’s all fair game right now!

laptop opening up — Photo by Ales Nesetril on Unsplash

And don’t forget about others. Perhaps one of the best ways to mitigate harm, fill time, and build yourself up during this crisis is to find ways to help. Check on neighbors, friends, and family. If you can, donate to charities that are on the front lines. And look for ways to volunteer in your community. The list is likely to grow. You may find yourself dropping off food and supplies for older neighbors, or making masks for your local hospital or other essential workers. Service itself can be healing.

Problem #4: I’m feeling really lonely.

This is a tough one, especially if you live alone, like me. Loneliness is inevitable, given the fact that social distancing requires us to do the very thing that makes it worse – to physically isolate ourselves. Despite being dispersed, we can keep in touch in virtual ways. This could be as simple as a daily phone call to a friend or family member, or if you have the resources, you can conduct a video chat. There is a range of technology, much of it freely available at this time, to support virtual hangouts.

Zoom app on smartphone and laptop — Photo by Allie Smith on Unsplash

As you’re likely to have noticed, virtual happy hours and boozy brunches are growing in popularity. Joining friends – even virtually – who are drinking might not be the easiest thing to do when moderating or avoiding alcohol intake. But if you’re able to join and enjoy your coffee, selzer, or other drink of choice without struggling with temptation, this can be a good way to meet friends where they are and stay in touch. In fact, it may be a bit easier than meeting in a bar, where the smell of alcohol, not just the festive atmosphere, surrounds you.

There are also interest-based activities prompting people to gather in virtual spaces. If you’re into creative writing, something that has worked for me is joining friends on video chat to work on separate writing projects and to share feedback. Meetup.com, a platform for gathering people based on common interests, just added an option for virtual meetups. You can also play virtual video and board games or create a spreadsheet where friends can add recommendations for books, movies, streaming series, activities, and more.

woman using Smartphone — Photo by Glen Anthony on Unsplash

Problem #5: My usual recovery meeting isn’t meeting virtually.

Some recovery groups are offering virtual meetings during the COVID-19 outbreak because physical locations are closed. If your regular group happens to be offering a phone or video meeting, attending is a good way to stay accountable to your goals and feel less isolated as we endure this. If no virtual meeting is available, you may be forced to look for alternatives.

Some recovery organizations (such as SMART Recovery) have online meetings, resources, and anonymous discussion boards. Browse the website of your recovery group of choice to see if they’re offering these. If you haven’t explored recovery groups but feel that now would be a good time to do so, you can learn more about different types of recovery groups here and here. You can also download the free Connections app for support in your recovery.

yellow flowers and blue sky — Photo by Masaaki Komori on Unsplash

There are substantial benefits of attending virtual meetings during COVID-19, from providing a source of connection to other people who aren’t drinking to sharing strategies for coping with all the uncertainty. In another blog post, I shared some of the ways I’ve personally benefited from attending a recovery group. In addition to taking advantage of online resources and meetings, reading books and blogs to hear stories from other people who have quit or cut back can be helpful when you’re managing that process on your own.

The power of sobriety during the COVID-19 crisis

With a world of uncertainty about the future, and abrupt transformations taking place in our everyday lives, it’s quite normal to not feel “okay.” Some things will quite simply not be okay. Many people of all ages and backgrounds are getting sick and dying. We’re not only faced with discomfort and isolation right now, but also grief at very real losses. We’re dealing with financial, occupational, and family challenges that are shifting faster than we ever imagined – and faster than the world of information can keep up. Everyone is being asked to figure these things out rapidly, and at the same time, to be unnaturally patient sitting at home awaiting the latest updates to guidelines for interpersonal behavior.

two arms holding a clock together — Photo by Danial Mesbahi on Unsplash

When things like this happen, we are often told to “take things one day at a time.” That’s familiar territory for folks avoiding alcohol – it’s the very strategy we use to stay sober in normal situations. That training, along with the fact that we have a little practice in social distancing, can help us to stay strong and get through this.

Pandemics have hit the world many times before. And although everything around us is changing and setbacks are inevitable, we will get through this. Some semblance of normal life will resume. I’ve written here about just five out of innumerable problems for people at this time. While many face significant changes in areas like work, education, finances, and health, we can all do our part to help each other deal with challenges and losses and help ourselves in the process. Patience, and for some of us, the power of sobriety, are the vehicles that will get us there.

–Dana G

outstretched hands color block artwork — Photo by Tim Mossholder on Unsplash

Traveling while sober

I am blessed (or cursed, depending on the day you ask) with a job that allows me to travel frequently to major cities in the U.S. For most of the day during these trips I’m occupied with job-related tasks, but evenings are usually free, and I often add a day onto the beginning or end of my trip to enjoy whatever city I’m in. I’ve also taken two trips internationally since giving up alcohol – to Portugal and Brazil – and nearly went to Japan a few weeks ago but canceled due to concerns over COVID–19 (coronavirus). Of course, PLEASE play your part in socially distancing to “flatten the curve” for the time being – I only hope to offer an ounce of virtual escape with this post.

*Batalha Monastery (Portugal) by Dana G*

I’ve also found myself in some truly challenging scenarios for a non-drinker. In Portugal, I attended a wedding at a winery in the Douro Valley and participated in the harvest, even stomping the grapes. I was in Rio for Carnival, and in New Orleans for Mardi Gras. These were all self-imposed challenges, and in some cases, big ones. I’m not recommending that everyone exploring sobriety should attend rowdy, drink-heavy celebrations when they travel. But being able to avoid alcohol at these events was deeply empowering and eye-opening for me – so I thought I would share what they felt like and how I dealt with emotions as they came up.

In some situations in life, you just have to suck it up and do things that make you a bit uncomfortable, or left out. The wedding in Portugal was only three months into my sobriety, and wine was my thing. Talk about hard – snipping grapes off the vine and macerating their squishy, yummy bodies in a two hundred-year-old stone tub – then not being able to taste it! Yes, I know – first-world problems – and perhaps the most woe-is-me, privileged-sounding sentence I’ve ever written. But obviously, that was hard in the moment.

Douro Valley views (Portugal) — Douro Valley Views (Portugal) by Dana G

What’s more, I was not experienced yet in talking about my sobriety. I still sounded uncertain, and the few times it came up, people looked at me oddly for turning down a glass of wine and pouring a soda. We were literally at a winery, at the source, and I was turning down the nectar of the gods. It was probably even a bit rude, as far as modern-day social dynamics go, and in the perspective of those who didn’t know about my past experiences.

But this was a family event, and our trip involved all kinds of sight-seeing up and down the coast of Western Portugal. We visited cathedrals and shorelines galore. It was worth feeling a bit of discomfort over a couple of days in order to celebrate the profound love of some of our closest family friends and experience so many of Portugal’s historical wonders.

Bucaco monastery (Portugal) — Buçaco Monastery (Portugal) by Dana G

When traveling with friends as a sober person, you have to make compromises. The reality of the modern world, at least in cultures like mine, is that most people drink. The non-drinker is the odd one out. When planning our trip to Brazil, I was most excited about going to the Amazon. I grew up on that wondrously addictive video game “The Amazon Trail”. I could probably have spent weeks in the jungle without wanting to come home, but seeing as I didn’t want to travel all by myself, I needed to weigh my own desires with what my travel companions wanted to do and see. So we went to one of the most exciting celebrations of culture and color and excess in the world – Rio’s Carnival.

Sambadrome Procession (Brazil) by Dana G

We had plenty of opportunity in Rio to go sight-seeing and wander the beautiful coastline, but we also went to several wild street parties called “blocos.” I preferred the ones with music, dancers, and other welcome distractions to the fact that I wasn’t drinking, yet was surrounded by people who were – often very young, reminding me of my carefree and careless past. We never spent more than a few hours there at a time because my friends are amazing and supportive (and, thankfully, getting older like me – ready to leave parties at a “reasonable” time). My one friend often says she’ll turn into a pumpkin if she doesn’t leave a party by 10 or 11 p.m. My kind of woman.

Mardi Gras was much different, but only because I went with my mother, who also wasn’t drinking. We spent most of our time strolling up and down Royal Street – one road down from Bourbon, which we only visited once or twice. We were more focused on appreciating the history, the architecture, and the food – and, yes, the people-watching – in the French Quarter. I rarely felt a strong sense of longing to be part of the party, and maybe that’s because I was much further into my sobriety than I was on my other trips. We also did a ton of walking, rather than standing in one place, so I didn’t have a chance to get too “in my head” about what I was missing.

Cafe Amelie (New Orleans), edited with Prisma by Dana G

Now, to think a little more deeply about how I’ve felt on these trips. To be honest, in the first year of my sobriety, I had mixed feelings at major drinking celebrations. I’ll start with the negative ones. If I was stuck somewhere for long, I’d feel resentful, thinking about how I could be doing other, better things with my time like writing or reading. That’s still sometimes the case.

The intense stimuli around me can cause another wave of emotion that arrives almost as if carried on the scent of wine. I’ll miss being a “part of the party” and in the same mindset as everyone else, in that truly carefree and euphoric place. I’ll feel stuck with an energy drink or a soda that isn’t doing anything, not really – besides keeping me awake and giving me a little more energy so I can stick it out and socialize.

If I’m standing in one place, especially in a crowd, the smells and sounds of wild bars and parties can conjure vivid memories of very negative things – blacking out, being unsafe, hangovers, injuries, and more. External stimuli can cause a tug-of-war in which I’m both drawn to the things I’ve given up and repulsed by what I know was associated with them. If I’m really feeling stuck somewhere, I’ll try to make space for myself by focusing on something that distracts and interests me (the beautiful colors and costumes of a festival, people-watching, the lovely architecture) and to remind myself that I will be able to return to the safe space of my introverted “me time” soon enough. No craving, no discomfort, is forever.

Once I’m on the other side of those situations, the positive feelings start to emerge. I realize that I made it through one of the craziest parties out there without drinking. I stood there, I talked to a person or two, I often felt really good and happy – and I didn’t need alcohol to get me there. I also don’t have a hangover or any injuries or regrets to speak of (or, more likely, hide and let fester inside me). Getting through these events is a really intense kind of medicine that helps me heal, as I’ve come through the gauntlet and shown that I’m more powerful than the “pull” of alcohol. Something a former version of me couldn’t have imagined. Really, who but a masochist goes to Mardi Gras for anything but to drink?

Traveling to events such as these requires a careful balancing act that might not be wise for everyone early on the path of sobriety. I could have easily caved in Portugal or Brazil. But I know other people who’ve had similar experiences a few months into their sobriety, so it isn’t unheard of. It really depends on whether you have a desire to test your willpower, the nature of your cravings and urges, and the confidence you have in your ability to find determination from within when in uncomfortable environments. For some people, this just isn’t the best way to prove that they’re strong. They have better methods to prove that to themselves, or no interest in putting themselves in uncomfortable scenarios when it isn’t necessary.

Escadaria Selarón Mural (Brazil) — Escadaria Selarón *Mural* (Brazil) by Dana G

I’ve put myself in these situations because of how empowered I feel after overcoming the social expectations and my own urges in high-pressure drinking environments. It makes me feel less like I’m missing out on the world, and that I can overcome anything. It takes a great deal of vulnerability, but that’s a prerequisite for courage and fulfilment, according to Brené Brown. I also get a chance to experience the things outside of alcohol that make these events so culturally important. The music, the community, the food, the tradition. Alcohol just happens to be one factor mixed into many cultural traditions. It’s probably there to stay, but if I can ignore it, I can appreciate the other parts of the recipe.

It’s like a vegetarian at a dinner party where chicken pot pie is the only thing being served. They can choose to eat it and pick out the chicken, but they are still going to get some chicken bits (at a drinking party, that might come in the form of wine splashed across their shirt). Still, they get some tasty carrots and potatoes. Sometimes I choose to avoid the pot pie entirely, and there are many perfectly good reasons for doing so. At other times, I don’t feel like eating alone.

If you are inclined to challenging yourself like I was or know that you might end up in drinking environments despite not planning or wanting to, here are a few pointers. You’ll probably have times where you recall fondly what you’re missing. Focus on the negative consequences you’re also missing out on. Don’t forget that you can usually opt out of attending an event if you aren’t up for it. Before you arrive, determine your travel and sightseeing priorities and make them known. There may be situations where you want to ensure you have an “out” or an opportunity for down time – or can at least balance experiences in less comfortable environments with site-seeing and non-drinking activities.

Figure out what you’ll say if others ask why you aren’t drinking. You can have more than one response ready for people who ask you in different ways. Some people may make you feel more comfortable and willing to open up than others. Having travel companions who respect your needs and who drink responsibly – or, at least, fairly responsibly – makes a big difference. Finally, determine your go-to beverages in restaurants, on airplanes, and in other environments, and get excited about them.

And don’t forget that in the end, you might save a lot of money – and feel refreshed and empowered when you return home!

–Dana G