Still Under the Asterisk*
I didn’t set out to get sober. That’s the first thing you should know.
There wasn’t some big announcement. No final-night-of-chaos epiphany. No stranger shaking me awake or lowest of the low moment. I just got tired.
Done explaining things away.
Done shaving myself down to fit the shape of a life that didn’t actually fit me.
Done pretending that quiet, consistent drinking wasn’t still a kind of damage. (It was.)
It’s a strange thing, realizing something you’ve relied on to socialize, soothe or just get through the week is actually holding you back. And not in a dramatic, “I lost my house and crashed my car” way. Just… in a slow erosion of self-trust. I wasn’t spiraling. I was treading. And eventually, even that gets exhausting.
People always want the “why.”
Why did you stop?
Was something wrong?
Did something happen?
Yes. I happened.
I realized I was starting to disconnect from my own life, one sip at a time. Not blacking out or getting messy. Just… disappearing. I was numbing the edges of things that actually needed to be felt. Dulling moments I should’ve been inside of. Muting truths that had started to whisper louder than I wanted to admit.
And here’s the part no one tells you:
Sometimes, you stop drinking not because you’re falling apart –
but because you’re finally ready to come together.
That was me.
I didn’t get sober because I hated myself. I got sober because I was finally ready to meet myself.
Fully. Sober. With a clear head and an open heart and no buffer.
And let me tell you – it wasn’t graceful.
There were tears. There was boredom. There was that one dinner party where someone handed me a glass of wine without asking and I just stood there like I’d been offered a weapon instead of a Merlot.
But there was also sleep. And breath. And clarity. And space. Space to actually hear myself. To understand the whybehind the old habits. To sit with my sadness without pouring something over it.
There’s this idea that sobriety is a punishment. That it’s something you do because you’ve messed up and need to repent. But that’s not what it’s been for me. Not even close. Sobriety, for me, has been one of the kindest things I’ve ever done for myself. It’s not loud. It’s not performative.
It doesn’t demand applause. It’s just honest. And honesty, when you haven’t had it with yourself for a while, can be the loudest thing in the room.
These days, I don’t count days. I don’t tick off milestones on an app. I just live. Quietly. Clearly. Fully.
And no, I don’t miss it. Not even a little. Because I’m finally here. Not on pause. Not delayed. Not diluted.
Just here.
And if that sounds small to you –
Then maybe you’ve never had to earn your own presence back.
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