Why These 3 Pros Are Also Cons When You Decide To Quit Alcohol

But you won't see it until you experience it for yourself.

Two significant events changed my life trajectory, and they both happened in the last 14 years. One was deciding to leave my first marriage. It was the hardest thing I'd ever done and the most painful. (New subscribers: you can read this three-part series here, here, and here.)

Making that one gut-wrenching decision opened the door to the possibility of making more uncomfortable ones. There is something to be said for doing one really hard thing: it emboldens you to take the next leap.

The second most significant life change was quitting alcohol 3 ½ years ago.

You can't see me right now, but I'm smiling that I wrote "3 ½." The last time I measured so precisely was when my kids were babies. Like most new parents, I kept track of the time they'd been earth-side from hours to days, to weeks, to months. Sobriety still seems precarious and even precious, so I carefully count my time here.

Before I quit, I entered a sober-curious phase, even though I didn't tell anyone. No one in my circle was even aware this was a thing. I learned the term eavesdropping on millennials intent on finding better ways of living than their parents.

To test the waters, I'd practice saying "no" to a drink I usually would have had. I wanted to see how uncomfortable I would feel when others let loose while I was still myself. Would the night drag on? How long could I tolerate them repeating the same boring stories and inhaling their stinky breath while I was stone-cold sober? Without the numbness of alcohol, how would I cope?

I also worried people would grill me about why I was abstaining. Would they label me an alcoholic? Would they give me the look? When I came across someone who didn't imbibe before I quit—and I'm not proud to admit this-I thought something was wrong with them. Who doesn't drink?

After all that analysis and overthinking, I only got a few questions from people, some surprised looks, but generally, people quickly moved on after they heard.

Apparently, it's not all about me.

“We think that we think clearly, but that’s only because we don’t think clearly.” Brian Josephson, Welsh theoretical physicist and professor emeritus of physics at the University of Cambridge

Yet, I was anxious about how anxious I would be. A few of you, dear community members, are therapists; I'd love to know if there is a term for anticipatory anxiety like there is for grief.

Nevertheless, I didn't have high hopes for a joyful, sober life.

Now that I’m on the other side of it, I’m so happy to have arrived at my destination. One of the best things that happened was that my creativity exploded. I explore the reasons why in this Medium article, which I offer you to read for free here: Where Alcohol Steals Creativity, Sobriety Supports in Three Generous Ways.

By quitting, I learned a few things about living life without alcohol that are simultaneously positive and negative.

First, my senses are heightened.

I am more of the person I used to be, finely tuned and aware. That is a great state to be in for writing and other creative work. You need to notice stuff to be inspired. An open radar to all frequencies sucks because, without alcohol as a filter, things bother me. I see, hear, and remember stuff that I don't particularly like and otherwise would have escaped me.

Second, I feel my emotions hard.

I didn't feel them as much before because I extinguished the messy ones with alcohol. Dealing with the jagged edges of anxiety and negative emotions by sinking into them until they pass is, to be honest, sucky. It hurts.

Luckily, I have yoga as a tool for dealing with the discomfort. I meditate and sit there even when waves of sadness, despair, and regret threaten to bring me down. Initially, I couldn’t tolerate certain feelings and would jump off my mat. I’d end up standing in my office asking myself to please sit back down.

Now, I also journal about my feelings, which helps me process them. There’s something about handwriting your thoughts that is therapeutic and empties the mind.

The third pro that’s also a con is that I have a surplus of time.

“Wait,” you say. “Who doesn't need more time?”

How can having more time be anything but positive? Being free of the chains of alcohol leaves a hole in your life. No more planning, purchasing, and pining for that next cold glass of Sauvignon Blanc. I first needed to figure out what to do with the new space I created in my day and in my mind. That’s never happened before. It was an adjustment to my routine and to certain rituals.

I also attend fewer events where drinking is the focus, adding more time to my day. Cutting out opportunities for social connection can be isolating, especially in a country like ours where drinking is so ingrained in the culture.

Complete abstinence from alcohol is a new way of living.

I walk this path alone. No one in my family accompanies me. Rarely do I come across someone on the same journey, but there are a few. I met

Michele Maize

who is a two-year veteran to sobriety and writes about her journey in her Substack publication called

THE MAIZE

. Please check her out if you want to read her beautiful essays on navigating sobriety.

I hope more join me in the future, but in the meantime, I tread quietly and cherish that I am no longer alcohol's slave.

Whenever you're ready, I’m here.

“We’re all substance abusers; it’s just a matter of degree and form.”

Andrew Holecek, Author

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A community member recently sent me an email to write about finding a partner as an older adult. I've written about the difficulty of making new friends as we age. You can read that here. Finding a romantic partner is equally, if not more, challenging.

I'm married and don't know what it's like to date post-COVID and as an older adult. Does any community member have resources or ideas on where to find a partner? Not everyone plays pickleball, so think outside the box. Comment below, or hit reply to this email, and I’ll share your advice.

Thank you for reading!