Beyond Dry January
If you're thinking of making it stick.
When I first quit drinking, I was really nervous about being The Sober Friend™ (among other things). Despite this initial anxiety, however, I’ve found it’s actually pretty great — one of the best parts of sobriety, even. In the years since I quit, my friendships have grown deeper and more meaningful. I’m able to be there for my friends more fully and more consistently, even as we’re scattered across the country.
As The Sober Friend™, every January I get a few random texts from people looking for recommendations on getting through Dry January. I’m always happy to pass on the resources that helped me, especially in the early days, whether they’re just taking a break, looking to make a lasting change, or aren’t really sure yet. But almost every time, these conversations veer into deeply personal territory. They open up, sometimes just a little and sometimes a lot, about where they’re at with their drinking.
Even with a close friend or an old friend or a trusted friend, it’s hard to be this vulnerable. It’s scary to show another person our bellies — those soft and vital parts of ourselves that we spend our lives protecting — with only the hope and a hunch that we can trust them not to gut us. I’ve been there: wondering what’s normal, wondering what’s wrong with me, wondering why I feel the way I do and if it’ll ever get better, wondering what I’ll do if it doesn’t and what a different way of living would even look like. (You can read more about that here.) Taking that first step toward another person, without knowing if they’ll meet you halfway or leave you hanging, is hard.
For all my concerns that quitting drinking would somehow hurt my friendships (what if no one invites me anywhere anymore, what if I get boring and stop being fun, what if I miss out on the moments that create lasting bonds, etc.), being able to step up and be there for them in these moments, to whatever extent they need me, has been one of the true honors of my life. It’s not something I could have done before and as sweet as it is to never get hangovers, this is far and away the real reward.
It makes it so much less scary when you finally fess up to your fears — drinking related or otherwise — and the other person says, no that’s not crazy, or been there lol, or even I don’t know what that’s like but I’m still with you. That last bit is what I find the most rewarding, reminding my friends that they’re not alone. We love our friends, faults and all, that’s just friendship. But when we let them, our friends can show us how to love our own faults, how to even believe our faults could be worth loving. That I’m able to help do this in any small way when my friends are grappling with a tough question is worth 10,000 drunken conversations.
What I’m saying is, if you’re worried that cutting alcohol from your life will hurt your friendships, it won’t; at least not the ones worth having. Some will fall by the wayside but the ones that stay will deepen and strengthen. It doesn’t happen overnight, but little by little you change and your relationships change. I’ve found that change to be uniformly for the better.
I can be an independent and secretive person to a fault. I didn’t tell anyone aside from my husband that I’d quit until I couldn’t put it off any longer. If I could’ve gotten away with it I probably wouldn’t have told him either. There’s no reason for this, it’s just who I am, for better or worse. But it meant that in the early days, I didn’t have many people to talk to about it (or, it’s not that I didn’t have them, but I kept myself from them). Instead, I relied heavily on reading and listening to strangers’ stories.
So as Dry January comes to a close, I thought I’d put together a list of some of the things that helped me. Why now, when Dry January is almost over? Because it’s just an arbitrary set of dates. I tried and failed many alcohol-free stints, made and broke a million rules, and ended up quitting on a random September afternoon when it all finally clicked. While I appreciate Dry January for making it easier for people to experiment with the idea publicly — without worrying about labels or what their loved ones will think or being sober forever — I don’t think a month is nearly long enough if you’re looking to feel significant shifts. That’s when all the interesting things just start to happen.
My biggest piece of advice, though, is to tell somebody what you’re feeling. You don’t have to tell the world. You don’t have to tell them the entirety of what you’re feeling. But crack the door and start the conversation. We’re social animals and when we hear people’s stories, it makes us feel less alone. When we feel seen, it’s harder to hide — from others and ourselves.
NA drinks are specific to personal taste and I mostly stick to sparkling water these days anyhow, so I won’t get into those recommendations. Instead, here are some of the books and podcasts that helped me in my early days. Some of the podcasts have ended, but their archives are still good. Use these as a jumping off point and explore until you find the things that resonate with you.
One last note: I’m not a doctor or a recovery professional and these recommendations aren’t enough for everyone. If you think you need more serious help, please seek it out.
Memoirs & other books
Caroline Knapp — Drinking, A Love Story
Augusten Burroughs — Dry
Mary Karr — Lit
Catherine Gray — The Unexpected Joy Of Being Sober
Sarah Hepola — Blackout
Judson Brewer — The Craving Mind
Sameet M. Kumar — The Mindful Path Through Worry and Rumination
Annie Grace — This Naked Mind
Podcasts
There are hundreds of recovery podcasts. If none of these do it for you, keep looking.
Editing and Drinking Our Lives (don’t let the bad name dissuade you!)
- — When do you know it’s time to stop drinking? (this episode just came out last week and showed up in my feed randomly, it was a great conversation and introduced me to , which I subscribe to now!)
This week’s song on repeat:
I *can not* wait for this album release next month.
I said love is the fing.
