So You Quit Drinking. Now What?

The unglamorous realities of being newly sober and three simple tools for long-term success

Part I: So you quit drinking. 

Like countless others, I assumed that my problems would cease to exist when I quit drinking. I envisioned myself floating through this next half of life on a puffy pink cloud of clarity, purity, confidence, and health. My marriage would magically thread itself back together, as would the thinning synapses of my prefrontal cortex. A passion for parenting would alchemize out of thin air. A bottomless pot of gold would appear in my checking account where alcohol used to be. My skin would be dewey. My liver glistening. And my relationships restored. 

And from high above the sorbet cumulus of distortion, the gods cast down a hearty laugh.

There was a bottomless pot of something, but it wasn’t gold—a cesspit of dancing nerves, newly exposed. Getting thwacked on every foreseeable surface; poked and prodded about mercilessly by all life's big and little annoyances; from toddler tantrums to irresponsible spending; from a marriage I wasn’t happy in to a lack of healthy boundaries (codependency) in every relationship I’d ever been a part of from here to eternity. All the sharp and needly things that trusty glass of 4 pm Merlot used to cushion me from *see: prevent me from dealing with. 

They say you quit maturing at whatever age you started drinking or using. For me, that was age 14. If you count bulimia as a gateway drug, I guess you could say that, technically, I stopped maturing at age 11. So basically, I was a 36-year-old-looking person that contained the executive functioning of an 11-year-old child. Talk about toddler tantrums. 

I’m saying that drinking is usually just a symptom of a more significant problem. Often a slew of problems that come crashing together like a Trojan army on steroids in the wake of a very long and intoxicated jetboat ride. Picking up the severed pieces of your life and cobbling them back together is hard. The mere prospect of this tedious work keeps most people drinking their entire lives. But it’s not impossible. Take it from a prepubescent teen in a crone’s body now growing braidable chin hairs. If I can do it, anyone can. And if you find yourself in a place of sheer frustration and indignance after quitting drinking, as I did, just know this is completely normal. And you’re right on time. 

Part II: Now what?

Get smart. 

Like we discussed earlier, you’ll have a gaping chasm where alcohol used to be. And you’ll have to find something to fill it with. Your brain has taken a substantial hit, and your myelin sheaths are in need of fattening up. Read up on all the latest alcohol research. Comb through your Instagram account and unfollow all wine-pushing handles: search mocktails, sober memes, and the anti-wine-mom movement.  Play a game where you count how many times a day you see alcohol advertised on billboards, commercials, or Target tank tops. GASP! When you realize that the whole world has become a wine-pushing Instagram account. Pat yourself on the back that you got out when you did. Listen to This Naked Mind by Annie Grace and Quit Like A Woman by Holly Whitaker on Audible. Go to the library and check out all the books your commitment to self-medication got in the way of until now.  

Clear your calendar

If you are like me, you will find that there are certain people, parties, and events you were straight-up drinking to tolerate. Permission slip: You are a grown-ass adult. Your time here is finite. You hereby and henceforth are no longer required to attend one more event, see one more person, or be spat upon by one more face-talker ever again in your entire life. Period the end. If this makes you gasp more than the boozed-up “Momwater” they’ve got on sale at Target, stay tuned for my next article in which we will discuss the ever illusive “boundary.” 

Alcohol is a depressant. It lowers your energetic frequency (vibration). You know this. You’ve cried and been depressed while under the influence of alcohol. When you quit drinking, you may no longer wish to subject yourself to such low vibrational people, places, or situations. That is your birthright, friend. You do not need to apologize for wanting to protect your mojo, your happiness, or your health. “No” is a one-word answer. I implore you to use it. 

Create a ritual

Now that your schedule is hangover-free and peter-cottontail-bright-eyed, take this opportunity to lean into the possibility each new day holds. Wake up 30 minutes early, brew yourself some coffee/tea and hot lemon water (liver detoxifying), strike a match, and light a cone of incense or a candle. Carve out a corner of a room, a bookshelf, or a special space just for you. It will initially feel counterintuitive (I’m talkin’ to you, mama). Close your eyes and practice three rounds of box breathing (in for a count of four, hold for four, out for four, hold for four). 

Then, get out your journal, and start writing. If you’re not sure where to start, Julia Cameron’s book “The Artists Way” details the procedure for what she calls the “Morning Pages,” which have become the foundational cornerstone of my personal, spiritual, and artistic recovery. They are three pages of freehand stream-of-consciousness, uncensored writing done first thing in the morning before your brain has a chance to burn the whole thing down. The theory behind this practice is that in order to get to the good stuff, you have to clear out all the pipes. Spiritual or not, for me and many others, this makes sense. Now sit back, and wait for the magic to happen. 

Believe it or not, drinking is a ritual. The hiss of the bottle cap. The pop of the cork. The filling of the glass. My body/mind responded. It is work to create new neural pathways/new routes to pleasure. It is hard. But it is not impossible. If you expect mental resistance, you’ll be better prepared when it strikes. Remember: there will be mental resistance. This is normal. You are right on track. Remember: most people don’t get this far. Remember: you are not most people. Remember: it takes ten days for alcohol to leave your system entirely. Your body might be withdrawing until you hit day ten. On day ten, if you haven’t already, treat yourself to cake, a new set of pajamas, or a bubble bath. If it wasn’t for all the tiny milestones, there would be no big ones. 

So you quit drinking. Congratulations. Now you know exactly “what.”