Meghan D.
Photo by Hannah Facenda
If you’re reading this, it’s okay if alcohol doesn’t fit in your life.
I have been very open about my struggles with and recovery from an eating disorder. In the first letter I wrote for IfYoureReadingThis in the fall of 2021, I shared about my struggle with an eating disorder in college and my journey toward recovery. I have not been as open about my struggles with binge drinking or my almost three years of sobriety. When I reread the letter I wrote during my senior year of college, I realize that I’ve excluded parts of the story– parts I wasn’t ready to share yet and parts I felt ashamed of. Although I did struggle with an eating disorder in college, I also struggled with binge drinking. But at the time, saying I had a “problem” with alcohol felt too shameful to admit– especially in our alcohol-centric culture. I also didn’t identify with being the stereotypical “alcoholic,” and I didn’t know how to exist in the grey area between being a “normal” drinker and “alcoholic.”
My relationship with alcohol felt complex. Sometimes, I could go out and have a few drinks with my friends, and be “fine.” I could go out to dinner with my parents and have a glass of wine and not want another. Other times, I would wake up from a night out with friends, and not remember chunks of the night. The problem was, I never really knew how a night would end for me when I started drinking. I would set elaborate rules and limits for myself beforehand, but I never fully trusted myself once I started drinking. I felt so ashamed to admit that I didn’t know if I could “just have one!” like my well-intentioned friends and family loved to suggest. I felt like something was wrong with me– like I didn’t have enough willpower or discipline. I should be able to have a drink without worrying that I wouldn’t be able to stop, or that something horrible would happen. More than anything, I wanted to feel “normal,” to feel included, and to belong.
Growing up, I often remember feeling like something was “wrong” with me. I felt this cloud of worry, self-loathing, and self-doubt hovering over my head, but I didn’t know what anxiety was or how it could be managed. I remember telling myself the summer before my freshman year of college, “I’ll be so much more fun in college; I won’t just study and run (like highschool me). I’ll go out, I’ll drink, I’ll make lots of friends, I’ll have a boyfriend!”
For me, my first drink magically lifted this heaviness I constantly felt. Of course, that feeling was short-lived. Alcohol, like my eating disorder, told me it would make people like me. It would make me more outgoing, more connected, more loved. I felt so much anxiety (but didn’t yet have the tools in my toolkit to manage it, as my therapist would say) that talking to anyone at a party felt unbearable without a drink. The light, floating feeling I got from that first drink only lasted 15 minutes. I was often left chasing that first 15 minutes of bliss, but all I found was hangxiety, worried friends, and shame.
I didn’t fully believe that I wanted to stop drinking when I first did. I just knew that I didn’t want to feel the horrible hangxiety and emptiness I felt after. I was also exhausted by my efforts to “moderate.” I had spent so much time and brain power asking myself if, when, and how much I “could” drink. When I stopped drinking three years ago (after throwing up in an Uber and waking up to a $150 charge on my credit card), sobriety felt like a punishment to me. I assumed my social life would be over. How could I go out with friends, or on a date, or to a wedding, without alcohol? How do I answer the question, “Why aren’t you drinking?” or tolerate the judgment that follows (from others, and from myself)? When I first stopped drinking, I scoured the internet for answers. I started reading books, listening to podcasts, and following accounts on social media whose stories resonated with me.
As I read Holly Whitaker’s memoir Quit Like A Woman: The Radical Choice to Not Drink in a Culture Obsessed with Alcohol, I began to question if alcohol, and a society that normalizes and glorifies alcohol consumption was the problem– rather than myself. In her book, Holly Whitaker shares her own experiences with drinking:
“Like most of us, I grew up believing that drinking was normal. There was nothing wrong with getting drunk or nursing a hangover. We are supposed to be able to handle it and incorporate it into our lifestyles. We are told if we drink moderately, alcohol will do wonderful things for us—red wine has all those antioxidants (and resveratrol!). We are supposed to be able to consume alcohol with ease, as part of a healthy and balanced lifestyle. If we can’t do this, there is something wrong with us and not the substance itself. Drinking is so normalized, and so unquestioned, that we have essentially drawn a line down the middle and put people on one side or the other. There are normal drinkers, and there are alcoholics. For the normal drinkers, alcohol is healthy! And good for you!...For the alcoholics, alcohol is bad. I completely bought into this…Until I started to research and question. Until I realized that oh my God, it’s actually poison. We’re all drinking poison.”
Books like Holly Whitaker’s began to challenge my romanticized view of alcohol. I began to learn more about how alcohol affects the human brain and body. I began to better understand how alcohol impacts mental health, and how it causes anxiety, rather than manages it (which, as someone with generalized anxiety disorder and ADHD, would have been really helpful to know before I started drinking!) The more I read and reflected, the less alcohol began to look like this magical key to happiness and success, but more like the addictive depressant that it is.
I also began to realize I was not alone in my experience with alcohol. I realized there is nothing “wrong” with me, and I began to find community and empowerment in others who had shared their stories. I realized I am not the only one who exists in this grey area of drinking, and I began to peel back the layers of shame, and find compassion and understanding for myself. I stopped associating sobriety with shame and punishment, and started approaching it with wonder and hope.
For me, the questions, “Am I an alcoholic?” or “Do I have a problem with alcohol?” were stigmatizing and unhelpful. I would list all the reasons I didn’t have a “problem” (I didn’t drink every day, I didn’t drink alone, I would go weeks and months without drinking). The questions I wish I had asked sooner are, “How does alcohol make me feel? How does alcohol affect my life and my relationships? Could my life be better without alcohol?”
When I began to reflect on these questions, I began to truly reevaluate my relationship with alcohol. I stopped asking if I “could” drink, and started asking myself why I wanted to drink alcohol in the first place. It’s a lot easier to say no to something you don’t want. The more I reminded myself what alcohol does (and does not) do for me, the less I began to want it. I started feeling empowered by sobriety, rather than punished or deprived by it.
Wherever you are in your journey, know that you’re not alone. There are more people than you know who can relate; sometimes, you just have to look for it. I encourage you to find resources and community that resonate with you. Reading memoirs, listening to podcasts, and following sober and sober-curious accounts on Instagram and TikTok helped me begin to build a sober life I didn’t want to escape from. Quit Like A Woman: The Radical Choice to Not Drink in a Culture Obsessed with Alcohol by Holly Whitaker, Not Drinking Tonight: A Guide to Creating a Sober Life You Love by Amanda White, and A Sober Girls Guide Podcast were a few that resonated with me.
The further away I’ve gotten from my last drink, the more empowered I have felt. I have slowly become more present, less anxious, more creative, and more confident. I have so much more time and energy to invest in new hobbies, passion projects, and nourishing relationships.
In the three years since my last drink, I moved out of my parents’ house into an apartment in the city, I meal plan and grocery shop for myself (a big win for someone in ED recovery!), I joined a book club, I rediscovered my love of reading and read 30 books (for fun!) last year, I got my 200-hour yoga teacher certification and taught my first yoga class, I became a plant mom, I propagated (so many) plants, I found a new job with a mission I believe in and a manager who encourages authenticity and self-care, I saw Noah Kahan perform live and talked to hundreds of his fans about IfYoureReadingThis.org, I made new friends and reconnected with old ones, I set boundaries with people I love, I discovered ice cream delivery, I walked away from toxic situationships and found my first healthy relationship… and I saw Taylor Swift (twice!).
I’ve also experienced loss, grief, and heartbreak. I am learning that I can exist with uncomfortable emotions and be okay. I am learning that feelings are not good or bad. I do not need to “fix” myself, with a drink, or an eating disorder, or another self-destructive behavior. I don’t want to lose moments, or time, or parts of myself to alcohol. I want to be fully present and live a life aligned with my values and dreams. I am working to build a life I don’t want to escape from.
If you are early in your sobriety journey, sober-curious, or reevaluating your relationship with alcohol, I encourage you to ask yourself what drinking does for you. How does it make you feel? How does it affect your life and your relationships? Maybe it fits in your life, or maybe it doesn’t. Whatever the answer is, it’s okay. There is nothing wrong with you. You have nothing to be ashamed of. You are not alone. Be kind to yourself. Take it one day at a time.
Whatever the answer is, know that your life is not over without alcohol. It’s actually just beginning.
Meghan D., Boston College
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