For years, before I was able to maintain my sobriety, I would write lists to myself about the benefits of it. They’d always be something like this:
- Health (no injuries, bad teeth, liver disease, hangovers etc.)
- Good grades
- No shame/embarrassment (puking on transit, falling, crying etc.)
- Save money
Though sobriety has helped me, to varying degrees, in achieving all of these, some of the most profound gifts of sobriety were not things I expected. What’s more, I wasn’t able to understand the full extent of what it would actually feel like to achieve anything in sobriety. For example, knowing that it’s possible to never again wake up sick, disoriented, ashamed, injured and/or confused about the events from the night before is worth all the effort in the world. Knowing that I can catch a cold and get better within a matter of days because I won’t be making myself sicker by drinking is worth all the money I’ve ever made. And while simultaneously finding it terrifying, knowing that I’m in control of all my actions — knowing that I’ll never again sleep with someone’s partner, or get in a fight, or be too drunk to make decisions about my body — brings me a deep peace of mind that was impossible to imagine pre-sobriety.
And while I knew this before I got sober too, I also had to learn that sobriety isn’t a total fix. I didn’t become a superhuman. I haven’t been able to fundamentally change who I am as a person and gain the ability to move about the world freely and without resistance. I haven’t shed the years of shame that compounded within me, weighing me down. But that’s also okay with me.
Sobriety, if nothing else, has given me more evidence towards a sort of self-conception found in the central dialectic in CBT: that we’re simultaneously okay as we are and we need to change.
I thought for a long time that hating myself was the best way to a better life. I theorized that, if I didn’t accept myself as I was, it was sure to propel me to be better. But shame is a twisted and parasitic emotion that destroys its carrier if left in the dark. Our inner worlds need sunlight and tending to.
I like this word: tending. To take care of something. But to think of its other usage —something tends to happen — it’s to be inclined to do something. The two meanings together make me think of tending to our inner worlds as a sort of slow guidance. A sincerely patient caretaking that is more about accommodation and compassion than an authoritative dictatorship.
With this conception of self, things did improve. Sobriety gave me the opportunity to see myself for the first time, and — at first — I didn’t like what I saw. But I had expected that. What I didn’t expect were all the small joys that, taken together, have fundamentally changed how I engage with the world.
Subtle yet steady, these are my Top 5 Unexpected Joys of Sobriety.
1. Your Brain Makes Good Chemicals If You Let It
I heard this in some recovery circle or another. Someone’s doctor had told her this, and I immediately related. I’ve always known I have powerful emotions, probably one of the reasons why drinking so easily became a problem for me; alcohol has always been an escape from my powerful inner weather. But after a while, drinking also became the only way I could feel.
I remember in the first couple days of my latest — and longest — stint of sobriety, I felt like all the emotions I had kept myself from feeling in the past several years came pouring out of me. Slowly however, I also began to create new feelings. A silent but persistent joy overcomes me now when I can do lighthearted housekeeping, humming to myself like my Nana did when I was a child. I get giddy with glee when I’m listening to a love song without thinking of anyone in particular. I feel deeply restful and at ease when I crawl into bed early just because I’m tired, and not because I need to be anywhere in the morning.
Noticing how the small beauties in life: a really good cup of tea while watching the rain fall outside my window, or admiring the speckles of light dancing on my bedroom floor, almost makes me feel high. I get taken away by my feelings all the time. The feeling of connection I had to people when I was drunk — late at night in the twinkly lights, moving as one mass to music that made my heart swell and beat along to its rhythm as if all our hearts were beating together — I used to think that feeling was unlocked by alcohol. But I still feel it now, and it’s more accessible, sturdy, and wholesome. Driving to the beach with a car full of friends, windows down and radio playing… it sets my heart on fire. And though, of course, there are times when the darkness comes and things get tough, I remember that if I treat my body right, it will let me feel good. I don’t have to worry about being successful or loved or remembered. I know that I will find meaning and joy if I simply show up treat myself right.
2. “And Now That You Don’t Have To Be Perfect, You Can Be Good” – John Steinbeck, East of Eden
Sobriety has given me the unexpected joy of being imperfect. Perfectionism runs rampant in the recovery circles I find myself in. Alcohol was a dangerously efficient way of suppressing my super-ego and allowing me to live freely without critiquing my every move, which I believe to be a common catalyst for alcoholism. Using alcohol in this way left me hungover the next day, full of anxiety, doubt, and criticism, and my super-ego spinning at an even faster rate. Rather than work on myself, I’d just turn to drink again in a painful spiral of self-hate.
Now that I can’t run away from my super-ego on overdrive, I have to face it. I don’t get the easy way out anymore. While once there was a quick solution for the disgust I would feel for myself, I now have to sit with it. I have to find other ways to relieve it. I’m forced to find a way to live freely in my body, with my voice, and without alcohol. Alcohol, when at its best, truly made me feel perfect. I felt like I could be beautiful, funny, and liked. But that confidence was temporary and fragile.
My perfectionism, and the drinking I did to cope with it, made me bad. It made me insecure and vicious. It made me build walls and moats and draw-bridges. It made me finicky and indecisive. It made me scared of the future and ashamed of my past. It made me inhuman: small, and timid. It made me unlikeable, unrelatable, lonely.
Getting sober, for me, meant not feeling beautiful, not being funny, and not being liked. But once I got used to that idea, once I got used to not being perfect, something funny happened: I found I could be good. Now I don’t need a room full of attention, having an important phone call with someone I love is enough. I don’t have to be the life of the party, making someone feel understood goes way further than a phone full of numbers. I know every day that, even if I didn’t accomplish everything I wanted to, even if someone misunderstood me or I them, as long as I got through the day without drinking alcohol, then I did exactly what I wanted to do that day. And that feeling is powerful. Since I’ve had to face the consequences of perfectionism, I’ve decided to let it go. And now that I don’t wish to be perfect, I can see that I’m good. I can see that I’m damn, damn good.
3. Increased Attention Span
One of the biggest things I was worried about when trying to get sober was how I was going to spend my time. I had difficulty switching from one activity to another or having the motivation to complete a project. Having a drink, smoking a cigarette, or rolling a spliff seemed like perfect ways to split up the day. I thought telling myself I could pour a glass of wine once I finished reading a chapter or writing a page would motivate me to finish. And in a way, it did. However, I didn’t realize how my addiction was affecting my attention span, thus somewhat creating the problem I was trying to fix through substances.
Cravings, impulses, and compulsions greatly affect one’s ability to focus. Once my body stopped being dependent on substances, and once I accepted that substances weren’t for me, my attention span increased. I no longer needed the promise of an elixir to finish a project, as I no longer felt like I was depriving myself of something while working. The feelings of accomplishment are enough for me now. And though I still have a hard time moving from one activity to another, I’ve found healthier ways of taking a break, such as mindfulness meditation, going on walks, or calling a friend in recovery.
My favourite result of my new attention span — beyond my improved grades and work ethic — is my return to books. As a child, like many children, I could get fully absorbed in a book and not return to the real world for days. I’d wake up early before school just to read. I’d always have a book in my bag and would sneak off whenever I could to read. For a long time, though I still loved to read, I felt stuck. I felt unable to be absorbed in the same way. If I could get absorbed, it was for a short period of time, and I rarely finished the book. Now, it’s a different story. Now, it’s about a story a week. Now its days spent in the story — at the beach, in bed, on the couch, in a cafe. Reading brings me the escape and connection that I desperately craved in active addiction. But now, it’s safe.
4. My Big-Ass Support Group
I did the first ten months of sobriety alone. It was a full on “white-knuckling” scenario. I hated being sober. All I could think was: “I can’t believe this is my fucking life,”. I dreaded the future, thinking there was no way to keep both my sobriety and my sanity. But then, I met Addie. Addie was a distant friend I had only met once, but regularly stalked on Instagram once I found out she was sober. When she posted that she was looking for a roommate, I jumped at the chance. Though we could only get a lease for a couple of months, those months were full of healing for me. She introduced me to other sober people, she taught me how to reach out, and she encouraged me to seek out my own support system, which is how I ended up finding the SRC.
Relationships build on each other, and with that one friendship, I started to build a bigger and bigger support network. I started to be able to provide support, not just ask for it. I started reaching out for help instinctively instead of unwillingly, and I ended up inspiring some of my family members to explore their relationships with alcohol with me. While getting sober made me lose a lot of friends, I’m not as lonely as I used to be. People ask me “how was that date?” or “are you feeling better?” because they know things about my life. Which means I don’t go through anything alone anymore, unless I want to.
The biggest reckoning came when I called my Grandma on her birthday for the first time in years. I wasn’t hungover, or high, or fiending, I just wanted to talk to my Grandma. When she hung up that day, after us speaking extensively about addiction and recovery, I remember her saying “It’s good to have you back, Esme.”
I’ll never forget those words. As soon as she hung up the phone, I began to weep. I try not to dwell on the guilt I still feel for being absent for so long in the lives of my loved ones, and it hurts to think about how little time my Grandma and I could have together. But I also don’t feel as if I need more time. These moments of deep authenticity and vulnerability are the most valuable parts of my life. And although I wish I could have learned how to be this way from the beginning, I’m okay with how long it took me to get here. Or, I see now that time was essential in building the authenticity and vulnerability with which I can now live within. Having people — multiple people — be able to truly see me, and love me, when for long I tried to stay hidden, is worth all the time in the world.
5. Good Skin!
Okay, I understand that this may seem superficial, but if improving your skin helps you get sober, fuck it. I was AMAZED by how fast my skin improved. It may have been one of the most eye-opening experiences for me in getting sober. The physical change of my skin going from rough, pimpled, and wrinkled to plump and smooth showed me how badly I had been treating myself. I saw that I had been dehydrated for YEARS. The shadows and bags under my eyes vanished, my forehead smoothed, and all my acne simmered down.
It’s easy to think that alcohol can’t be too harmful because of its legality and social acceptance, but the way my skin changed really made it hit home for me just how much unknown internal damage my drinking could cause. If being dehydrated made my forehead wrinkle up, what was it doing to my liver? To my big intestine? What about my kidneys? Beyond just my skin, health problems that I had not even attributed to my drinking vanished or significantly improved. My gut health (related to skin) improved. My immune system improved. My panic attacks nearly vanished, and my bouts of depression became shorter. Nice skin might seem like a superficial improvement, skin can also be a reflection of overall health, both mental and physical. And while I knew I needed to stop drinking partly for my health, I never knew that being healthy would look so good.
Esmé LaCroix