In the autumn of 2016, a close friend reached out with life-altering news: she had been sober for six months and hoped it was a step toward a permanent change. This was a woman with whom I had shared countless joyful drinks during our junior year abroad in London. As mothers later in life, we even joked about sipping vodka—playfully calling it "water"—while our children bathed.
A Mirror to My Own Struggles
My initial reaction was one of shock and confusion. Why would she do such a thing? I thought. But almost instantly, I realized that my response said more about me than it did about her. Deep down, I knew my own drinking had become a serious issue. I was constantly setting rules for myself—only on weekends, just one drink per night, only with friends—only to break them repeatedly. Attempts at dry January left me irritable and defeated by mid-month. My tolerance had skyrocketed, and I was consuming more alcohol than I let on.
Finding Guidance in Recovery Literature
When I asked my friend how she managed to quit, she pointed me toward resources that would change my life. She was listening to the "HOME Podcast" hosted by Laura McKowen and Holly Whitaker, authors who focus on recovery and alcohol culture. She also recommended Annie Grace's book, "This Naked Mind," which I devoured eagerly. Grace's perspective was a revelation: she placed the blame on alcohol itself, not the drinker, highlighting its inherently addictive nature. This reframing offered me immense relief.
I stopped drinking in October 2016, committed to being a non-drinker. However, I struggled with the term "sober," as it felt synonymous with "alcoholic" in my mind. I didn't fit the stereotypical image—no DUIs, no one had flagged my drinking, and I was a high-functioning mother and writer. But beneath the surface, the problem was real.
Life Changes and a Slippery Slope
The next 15 months brought significant upheaval. I went through a difficult divorce, navigating grueling negotiations and emotional turmoil. During that time, I was grateful for my clarity and ability to be fully present for my child. By 2018, with the divorce finalized and my debut novel on the horizon, life felt remarkably good. So good, in fact, that I convinced myself my past drinking was merely a symptom of an unhappy marriage.
Slowly, I began drinking again. Despite a sticky note on my refrigerator—inscribed with "Clear eyes, full heart, can't lose" from "Friday Night Lights" as a promise to never drink in my new condo—I broke that vow. The note became a silent accuser as I reached for wine at lunch on ordinary Tuesdays, slipping back into old habits.
The Turning Point in 2021
By spring 2021, I knew I needed a change. Laura McKowen and Holly Whitaker's memoirs had gained traction in the "sober curious" community, inspiring me with their examples of successful women embracing sobriety on their own terms. They rejected stigmatizing labels like "addict" and "alcoholic," focusing instead on personal recovery work and critiquing how the alcohol industry targets consumers, especially women.
I also noticed that many creators I admired, such as Glennon Doyle, Anne Hathaway, and Julia Cameron, cited sobriety as foundational to their success. I yearned to join their ranks, realizing that my 2 a.m. wake-ups, brain fog, and wasted resources were holding me back.
Finding Community in Recovery
Research taught me that staying sober alone was nearly impossible. Fortunately, the pandemic spurred the growth of online recovery communities. I explored options, including 12-step meetings, but nothing felt right initially. For about six months, I was "sober-ish," occasionally drinking in secret and grappling with self-loathing afterward. Holly Whitaker's reassuring posts—"You ARE doing it"—reminded me that the messy process of starts and stops was part of the journey.
A pivotal experience, which I've only shared in recovery circles, left me waking up with a genuine desire for sobriety. That night, I joined a Zoom meeting for The Luckiest Club (TLC), a membership-based sobriety support community founded by Laura McKowen. Immediately, I knew I had found my place.
Embracing Emotional Sobriety
I began attending regular meetings, forming friendships with women I now connect with daily. One has become a ride-or-die friend, with near-daily communication for over four years. As I told a Zoom room of familiar faces, TLC was the community I had been seeking through alcohol. These individuals understand my struggles without judgment, sharing stories that have taught me about anxiety, anger, and acceptance.
Once the cravings faded, I discovered that true recovery lies in "emotional sobriety." For me, this meant healing my relationship with myself, addressing finances, learning emotional regulation, and building healthier connections. Emotional sobriety, which I now equate with recovery, is a lifelong path. On this journey, I've stopped seeking drinking opportunities and instead pursue meaningful connections, enriching my time with loved ones.
The Gifts of Sobriety
In over four years of recovery, I've learned to fill my life with lasting joys rather than fleeting highs from a bottle. I read more, am fully available for my teenage daughter, and have gained the strength to trust my inner voice. Fellow sober travelers have made me a better writer, mother, and friend. We proudly call ourselves "sober badasses."
While my annual TLC membership is a privilege not accessible to all, we respect every path to recovery. Finding your own way is key to making sobriety stick. In an alcohol-saturated world, choosing sobriety is a counter-cultural act. The work is challenging and requires consistent effort, but it has been the greatest gift I've given myself in the past decade.
