Life without alcohol seemed dreary and intolerable. Impossible, really. How could I live without the boosts and blurs of booze? I’d accepted that some people could quit drinking and never look back, but this was not me. No one desired or depended on alcohol the way I did. Or so I thought. It turns out, putting down the bottle would be the simpler part—not easier, but simpler. And that’s saying a lot for a woman who’d spent years quietly drinking and shrinking herself into a secret, dark hole at night. But once I’d finally managed to clear my body and mind of alcohol for a substantial length of time, the real work of getting and staying sober began. Emotional sobriety is the long, slow path of self- awareness, acceptance, and accountability. It’s the ability to feel all of one’s feelings without blame, avoidance, or self-destruction. It’s uncovering and dealing with “the thing beneath the thing.” These messages were drilled into me in early sobriety— both directly and indirectly. I’d sat in recovery meetings, nodding along from my folding chair while people spoke of “doing the work.” I’d filled journal after journal with diligent notes and inspiring quotes gleaned from my therapy and intensive outpatient program (IOP) sessions. I’d completed every homework assignment doled out by my sober coach and subscribed to every self-improvement/self- empowerment newsletter I came across. My burgeoning “quit lit” collection soon outgrew my bookcase, and I began swapping out music for recovery podcasts on long solo walks, hikes, and drives. True recovery from alcohol addiction is so much more than putting down the bottle. Everything has to change— at least it did for me. Deep down, I’d known this truth long before I had to own this truth. And this knowing is what kept me stuck in active addiction for years.
I was doing it. I was all in. I finally got it. And yet, not really.
Because in the back of my mind, I was still focused on what lay farther down the road. I strained my eyes for mile markers, wondering how long I’d have to drive before I could loosen my hypervigilant grip on the wheel and take my foot off the gas a bit. I wasn’t comfortable yet traveling without a destination or road map. I wondered when the time would come that I could switch over to cruise control—one year? Five years? Longer? I didn’t know the answer, but I was quite certain that I did not want to be that person, decades into sobriety, who still counted days and attended meetings, and collected chips. Sure, I loved sitting amongst “old timers” and benefitting from their hard-earned wisdom. And yes, I cried and clapped from a genuine place when I heard them speak of what it was like, what happened, and what things were like now. But this was never a vision I had for myself.
“Why are they still coming to so many meetings?” I wondered—secretly, of course.
In early sobriety, I was wrong about so many things. And this way of thinking was no exception.
I am now inching along in my third year of sobriety— feeling worlds apart from that woman who’d once been so utterly ruled by the bottle. Despite all my fears and doubts, I did manage to quit drinking, but I personally will never stop looking back. Remembering is all part of the reawakening. I continue to do all the things, all the time and have zero intention of changing. I used to wish away hours of the day, and now there simply aren’t enough. I still read just as many books, scribble just as many notes, and attend just as many meetings as before— only now my mindset has shifted from “I have to” to “I get to.” These are not tasks to dutifully check off a daily life list; these sacred rituals are my life.
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HOLA SOBER | MADRID
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