Celebrating Sobriety: Navigating the Path to Alcohol Recovery and Renewed Life​

I remember my first drink. I was 18, having recently graduated from high school. On a dreary summer night in June, my friends and I gathered at a lake house and played card games while I had my first ever alcoholic drink. I remember feeling confused and saying “I don’t feel anything”. Laughing, they encouraged me to stand up. I stood up and I floated away. 

It starts out fun and innocent for most people. What I didn’t know was that I was genetically predisposed to like the alcohol a lot more than I should.  That night, I flipped a dormant switch that was passed down to me genetically. I didn’t know that alcohol would nearly cost me my life. I didn’t learn that it wasn’t my fault that I didn’t drink alcohol the same way my peers did until much later. 

In retrospect, there were many red flags along the way. As a person who struggles with anxiety and depression, drinking alcohol falsely made me feel carefree while I was consuming it. It gave me false confidence. I went to college and binge drank every weekend (red flag). I had my first blackout (red flag) in college. Blacking out is when you consume so much alcohol that you don’t remember what happened. I thought this was normal. (Hint: it’s not.)

After graduating, I began to have a drink every few nights to “unwind” after work. What used to be social drinking gradually became drinking at home alone (red flag). I thought I had earned it by working through my social anxieties through the day. Quickly, it became a daily occurrence (red flag). My partner first expressed concern when we were both living together in a small apartment shortly after college. I told him that he was being irrational (red flag). I bargained and said I would only drink beer or wine (red flag). It didn’t work. 

To quote Bojack Horseman, when you look at the world with rose colored glasses, all of the red flags just look like flags. Alcohol was my rose colored glasses. 

I went to my first Alcoholics Anonymous meeting at 23 years old as a means to appease my partner. I sobbed hearing the description of an alcoholic. This was me. These people were telling my story. The word “alcoholic” still makes me cringe a little bit because I think it’s hard to give yourself labels sometimes. I’m so much more than a label. I still use it sometimes, though, because I want to change the narrative and stigma of what society thinks an alcoholic is. It’s not just a person who is unhoused on the street. It’s a summer camp counselor whose first stop on the way home from work is to the gas station to buy a 6 pack of beer. 

As the years went by, it got worse. So much worse. My tolerance increased rapidly so I had to consume more to feel anything. This is common with any drug. Yes, alcohol is a drug. I know we say “drugs and alcohol” like they are too separate things, but alcohol is a drug in the same way that caffeine is a drug. Just because society has conditioned us to think it is normal doesn’t mean it still isn’t exactly that. (I do love my coffee, but that’s a battle for another day.)  

I became dependent on it. It was an obsession of the mind. I worked so I could buy more booze. I found little pleasure in much else. For a while, I was what is called “high functioning”. I could hide my usage to the average person. I still showed up for work and smiled. It wasn’t long before I started using too many sick days and having tremors. A colleague asked me once why my hands were shaking so bad I couldn’t write. I told her I had gotten on a new medication. The doctor said my liver was starting to show signs of early cirrhosis. 

I tried to quit drinking many times. I always failed because I wasn’t willing to follow the guidance of the trained professionals around me, including my therapist. I clawed my way through life. 

Some parts of the old me were still there, and I tried desperately to nurture that drowning part of myself. It’s for this reason that I chose to produce a show for This Is My Brave. I thought if I poured my heart and soul into a project, I would lose the desire to drink. Unfortunately, I later learned that it is a disease so it’s not that simple. I was able to produce a show I was proud of but not without the overwhelming support of the woman who volunteered as the assistant producer. (Katrina, if you’re reading this – I owe you the world.)

One of the storytellers in our show touched a part of my heart in a way that’s hard to explain. His story of recovery moved me to tears. I wanted that freedom desperately, but I knew I needed to take drastic measures. I quit my job, and two weeks after our show was live, I went into inpatient rehab for the first time. 

I went to rehab 3 different times before it finally stuck. I finally listened to the experts. I did what was recommended. The most recent time was for 30 days and with the assistance of medication, I have been able to proudly identify as a “person in recovery from substance use disorder” since January 8, 2020. I walked out of rehab on February 12, 2020. What a time. I honestly don’t think I would have survived this pandemic without my sobriety. 

If you’re feeling alone, please know you’re not. There are marketing teams with an abundance of cash trying to convince you that alcohol is the only way to have fun – that it is your fault if you can’t drink in moderation. 

I celebrate my 30^th birthday on April 20^th of this year. I can’t express how deeply grateful I am to be here writing this for you today. I must have been rubbed with a four-leafed clover as a baby because after having childhood cancer and a battle with alcohol abuse, my heart is still beating today to the tune of my favorite Jason Mraz songs and the chirp of the birds outside.