Asterisk

Maybe I should’ve started here. With the word I tiptoe around, the one that shifts the tone of a room faster than politics or money ever could: sobriety. Maybe this should have been the opening note. But things land where they need to land. I’m learning to let that be enough.

So let’s talk about it. And when I say “it,” I mean alcohol*. The asterisk is important. It’s the symbol I use when I want to tell the truth but still leave room for nuance – for the fact that this could apply to whatever your thing is. Alcohol just happens to be the easiest umbrella term. Culturally accepted. Legally sanctioned. And more dangerous than we like to admit.

We drink for everything. And I mean everything. You broke up? Shots. You got a new job? Shots. You made it to Friday without punching someone? Shots. You finished installing subway tile in your rental kitchen? Obviously – shots.

It’s the background noise of every event, the punctuation mark of every milestone. Not drinking? That’s the weird part. That’s when people cock their heads and ask if you’re pregnant or sick or “doing one of those cleanses.” They don’t ask why you stopped – they ask when you’re starting again.

I’m not diving into the history of Dionysus or why clinking glasses before a toast used to ward off poison (although yes, I did fall down that rabbit hole – you should too). That’s not what this is.

This is me laying the groundwork. Because even though most people know alcohol is a toxin – like, scientifically – it’s still everywhere. It’s still glamorous. It’s still celebrated and poured and posted and shipped in monthly subscription boxes. It still gets a seat at the table, every time.

Let me break it down anyway:
Alcohol is legal. And it is – without hyperbole – poison. It affects your body, your mood, your sleep, your organs, your decisions. But more than anything, it affects your mind. Your brain, made mostly of water, becomes a sponge wrung dry. And the thing about dehydration? It makes it really hard to think clearly. Or remember. Or regulate your emotions.

You don’t need to take my word for it. You can look up “ethanol and brain function” or “cognitive decline and alcohol” or whatever else your curious fingers want to type. The information is out there. It’s just rarely printed on the label.

But this isn’t a PSA. This isn’t some moral stance or attempt to tell you what’s right for your life. I’m not on a soapbox. I’m just trying to explain why I don’t drink anymore.

After more years spent drinking than not, I got honest. And I mean actually honest. The kind of honesty that leaves you stripped-down. I didn’t get sober because I couldn’t stop. I got sober because I didn’t want to keep lying to myself about what it was doing to me.

Here’s what most people don’t tell you:
You can still be high-functioning and deeply disconnected from yourself.
You can laugh and host and build Ikea furniture while slowly dulling the sharpest parts of your own truth.
You can convince yourself you’re fine until one day, the silence feels unbearable.

The truth is, I don’t have cravings. I’m not resisting anything. I’m not longing for “one more glass” or romanticizing rooftop drinks in July. I know what alcohol gave me: temporary comfort, delayed grief, distorted priorities and the illusion of connection.

I didn’t quit because I hit some dramatic low. I had plenty of those. More than I’d like to admit. And yes – right up until the end. But the truth is, I didn’t need another rock bottom to finally ask, “What am I even doing anymore?” I quit because I knew I deserved better than numb. I wanted to meet myself fully – without the static.

And here’s what I’ve learned:
If you’re still drinking (or using anything else to buffer, blur or bypass) – you’re not healing. Not fully. Not deeply.

I’m not saying that with judgment. I’m saying it because I’ve lived both versions of me. The one who drank to take the edge off and the one who decided to actually face the edge. Sobriety didn’t magically fix me. It just removed the noise. It handed me back every visceral emotion I had shelved for later.

And that’s where healing starts. In the discomfort. In the clarity. In the painfully awkward moments when you can’t hide from yourself anymore.

I’m not saying never drink again. I’m not even saying alcohol is the enemy. I’m just saying: take a sober beat. Not a performative “dry January” or a week off to prove you can – just a stretch of time where you let yourself feel everything. Without the filter.

Let yourself notice what you reach for when you’re lonely. Let yourself hear what your silence says when there’s no wine to drown it out.

Because healing asks you to be present. And presence is sharp. But it’s also where your power is.

You might surprise yourself. You might actually like who shows up. And if you don’t, well – at least now you know who needs the care.

That’s the thing sobriety gives you that nothing else does: A reunion with the real you. Messy. Awake. Unedited.

So if you’re still drinking* – Just think about it.

That’s all, Sugars.