Recovery is Not a Fixed Experience, but it’s Worth Pursuing Your Way

I often cite my decision to give up drinking as the best one I’ve made in my adult life. 

Since my first day on this chapter in my life, July 12, 2018, I’ve chatted with a number of people going through the same thing and realizing, as much as I’m a fairly textbook example of how much clarity and progress sobriety can offer someone, it’s clearly not as cut and dry as just telling someone to make the plunge and that their life will be better without a specific substance.

I’m not here to tell you what to do or exactly what to expect, should you make the journey into recovery. If I’ve learned anything, it’s that recovery experiences are far from universal.

When I first got sober, I went to Alcoholics Anonymous routinely. I knew what I had to do, but I didn’t have the tools to make it happen. I also know, as a queer atheist, AA doesn’t always feel like the most welcoming space. I found myself in church basements, hearing folks talk about a “higher power” and referencing a decades-old, often patriarchal text surrounding sobriety, or reliving the days of my youth internalizing queerphobic messaging in Sunday school and at church. I often wondered if I was really in the right spot.

That said, I went, but I never worked the steps. I found myself getting stuck at number two, questioning, “Why do I have to say it’s a higher power keeping me from drinking? I am the one doing this work; I’m staying home instead of going down the block to a liquor store; I’m going to these meetings and constantly confronting the shame surrounding my addiction. Nothing and no one else is doing this for me.”

AA alternatives are starting to pop up, like Self-Management and Recovery Training (SMART), along with other new therapies. Many of these groups focus on individuals finding the motivation within themselves and learning internal control over seeking out an external source of power. These groups also tend to evolve with new research, and some find them more flexible in their approach than 12-step groups. A good place to start and learn about potential alternatives is at americanaddictioncenters.org/therapy-treatment/12-step-alternatives.

Though, I still credit many of those early AA teachings—“Accept the things you cannot change; change the things you can, and have the wisdom to know the difference,” or mantras around sitting in negative feelings but not doubling down and knowing when it’s appropriate to move on to a new feeling—as crucial to my current, boozeless coping.

I don’t believe I would have the strong footing I have today had I not used the rooms of AA to reprogram my thinking around my drinking and my recovery. I wasn’t an outsider sitting in on a meeting—I heard the stories of others and could see my experience in them. I finally began to recognize my own gaslighting, the lies I told myself about my alcohol use, and that I wasn’t just someone “figuring out my problems with alcohol”; I was an alcoholic, though I haven’t attended a meeting for more than two years (partially due to COVID, partially because I haven’t necessarily felt the need).

Everyone’s sobriety toolbelt looks different, though it is necessary to equip. For me, I had to essentially relearn how to cope as an adult, untangling the web of “coping” soaked in booze that I had crafted for myself through my late teens to mid 20s. In that, immediately establishing some sort of sober network is important, whether it’s the rooms of AA, sober friends who are safe to call or text, having a recovery hotline saved in my contacts, or even podcasts.
I found myself listening to at least an episode a day of Recovery Elevator, which shares stories of recovery in a longform audio format and offered me some of the same solace of the rooms of AA. The Temper also has a great list of other recovery podcasts at thetemper.com/recovery-podcasts.

It’s also worth mentioning that my home AA group in Denver was queer, which was an immediate relief. I didn’t feel like I had to hide any part of myself and already felt more at home in a group of other LGBTQ+ folks. There are also specialized meetings that focus on young people, women, and trans and nonbinary people. Folks in the Denver area can find a list of meetings, with specific filters, at daccaa.org/meetings.

I found that people were fine with my approach—not working the steps, not having a sponsor, not subscribing to a higher power—so long as I continued to not pick up (and if I did, that they would be around if I decided to find my way back on the road to recovery). They weren’t there to tell me my way was “wrong.” If it worked for me and I wasn’t drinking, that was truly all that mattered.

For me, and many of the people in recovery I’ve spoken with, it is the first year or so that’s the hardest. The conversations with myself initially were mostly negative, questioning how I was going to be able to be “cool,” still have an exciting life and show up the way I wanted to without this substance that is essentially the drug of choice and often abundant in places like Colorado.

In retrospect, I wasn’t really that “cool” blacking out every night, and my life felt more scary than exciting. I can say with full confidence: I still go out and do all of the things I did when I was in active alcoholism, but I don’t wake up wondering what happened, if I did something I’ll regret, or nursing a hangover, often with a handful of morning drinks.

I laugh thinking about a rave I went to last year, as I was waiting for a friend who ventured backstage and killed time by dancing vigorously to the aggressive electronic music blaring over the speakers for a good 45 minutes. Someone approached me, probably fairly sweaty by this point, and asked, “Are you OK? Are you on drugs?” and I laughed, saying, “Nope, I’m actually fully sober, just having a good time.” 

It takes time to get there, reprogramming your brain, figuring out how to deal with the feelings where you previously, immediately turned to your substance of choice. I had to embrace things that I would have rolled my eyes at pre-sobriety to deal with my stress and anger: yoga, exercise, romanticizing a city walk, journaling, even just lighting a candle or feeling comfortable candidly reaching out for help or even just a quick FaceTime or phone call with a trusted friend. 

I implore folks to understand that recovery isn’t linear: As much as the goal is to “never use again,” that’s not to say if you falter, you can’t get back onto that path with new knowledge to inform your journey. As much as folks can roll their eyes surrounding the “just a day at a time!” sentiment, we don’t have any way to conceptualize the “rest of our lives,” and sometimes, it is more than enough to just stay sober for today and worry about tomorrow when it comes.

If I had to harp on anything, it’s that this work isn’t easy, but it sure is worth it. If you are even considering making the jump, I’m proud of you.