A big part of becoming a sober person is figuring out things to do instead of drinking. It seemed like every weekend, celebration, disappointment, social visit and sporting event centered around booze. What the crap am I going to do instead? Turns out, I still do lots of the same stuff, I’m just more picky about it.
Early on in my alcohol free journey I spent a lot of my time with the dog, I took her on numerous walks and I think she got a bit tired of me always taking her out – she does require about 5 hours of naps each day you know. But dogs are intuitive, they can feel when you are sad and offer comfort at the moments when you need it. She had never been a really cuddly dog, but I think she knew when I struggled. When I was at home alone on a Saturday night as I had either left the bar early or stayed in entirely she’d snuggle up by me closer than normal and just be there for me. This cartoon isn’t a depiction of exactly my first Saturday sober, but a metaphor for the first few months. I initially struggled with going out with friends, I couldn’t stay out for long, I felt like everyone was looking at me weird because I didn’t have a drink in my hand. I felt like I had to explain myself to people about why I wasn’t drinking. I felt like everyone would rather I be the ‘entertaining’ shit show I used to be. I felt lonely, lost and even scared. I mourned the ‘party girl’ that I knew so well and was ‘comfortable’ maneuvering as. So I often stayed in and chilled with the dog.
The brain works in strange ways, I think we are so programmed to be part of a group that I even got resentful that I wouldn’t have the same kind of stories to share about the night before. I wanted to be with everyone else, sipping mimosas hungover at brunch the next day. It seems to me now that Sunday boozy brunch is the epitome of “misery loves company”. Did it really matter that I felt like shit, had a blinding headache, barfed in a public trash can on my way there and was filled with self hate? My husband used to joke that I only “rented breakfast” on Sundays because I’d be so sick that I’d eat brunch and lose it a few hours later. We laughed a lot about the title “Tiff, Queen of the rental breakfast”. If you can’t laugh at pain, all there is is shame and well, pain.
Did the pain and shame matter if I could still be one of the gang rehashing the tales of our triumphs on the dance floor or crazy shit that happened while trying to get food at 3am? Or more precisely, people telling me the shit I did as I didn’t remember. Wasn’t it all worth it to feel like I fit in and my friends liked me? Fuck yes it matters, I was sick of hating myself to fit in or to do what I think others think I should be doing. That’s what I told myself to get through the early days. I did a lot of recalling the shitty times, curled up on the bathroom floor, or missing out on something fun because I was too hungover. I had to remember the shit, and not glorify the party. I don’t want to be that girl anymore, I just don’t know how to let her go. I told myself that for now, I’m going to leave early, say I have to work, avoid events I am scared to attend and awkwardly tell drunk people at bars around 11pm “I have to go home to walk the dog”. It was hard, but the gains far outweigh the ‘losses’. I certainly have enough stories of extreme late night fuckery to last a lifetime.
I’m past needing most of these techniques now. I’m happy to go to events, bars, concerts and dance like a fool. In fact, I now know what I really like to do (not what drunk me just does). I like to see great bands, I like to go out for extravagant meals, I like to stay up late and play cards and I definitely love to dance. I don’t like to stand around and just stay up late for the sake of being incoherent and escaping my inner demons. Now, I don’t actually give a fuck what anyone thinks (about me being sober anyway). This alone is one of the greatest things to ever happen to me. I’m totally happy to be honest and tell people “I’m planning to go to bed at 9:30 pm on Friday after enjoying an episode of Ru Paul’s Drag Race and reading a book”.
Since being ‘my true self’ for a nice cliche, I’ve had a number of people come to me privately asking about my choice with genuine curiosity. They tell me about how they’d like to cut back on booze and love that I own going to bed early and do my “own thing”. Often this was from people I really didn’t expect. But then again, lots of people didn’t expect it from me, so there you go.
More later on how I turned the corner, how being proud of myself became the hard thing I had to learn to do. How I am still learning that I don’t have to beat myself up for not being ‘perfect’ just because I’m sober.
The Graphical Bear 