Reflections on 24 months of sobriety

Twelve-ish months on from a year of sobriety, I've written a few more things down about the experience so far.

Last year, on the anniversary of my sobriety, I shared some reflections from the previous twelve months. I was hoping to achieve two things; face into my fear of sharing, and put something out there which might strike a chord with someone else who was struggling. I’m happy to say that both of those things happened, which made the discomfort I felt at the time entirely worthwhile.

I’ve been sober for over two years now, and recently moving freelance has given me the headspace and impetus to write again. Perhaps that’s a sign that I’m not that busy yet as a freelancer, but I’d rather think of it as welcome headspace to finally share what’s occurred to me during this second year of sobriety. Something feels right to me about recognising this milestone annually, and using it as a way to capture some learnings for myself and others. 

My caveat from twelve months ago remains; I’m not trained as a psychologist, therapist, or addiction counsellor. I simply hope that sharing some of the things I’ve learned since getting sober is helpful to others. Onwards.

Observation 1: The work is constant, and that’s sort of the point

Last year I read this article about caring less what people think, and it resonated so strongly with me that it became an observation in my first post. I titled it “Almost nothing you’re socially scared of is actually scary”. I nodded sagely at this wisdom borrowed from someone else, and patted myself on the back as I hit post on my article. I was socially scared of sharing, but did it anyway. Bunny for me - I had overcome something.

Fast forward a year and I’m soon to launch my coaching business (spoiler alert). Accompanying my coaching will be content, and I am terrified about recording and sharing it. It turns out that the old nagging voice that I thought I had quashed last year was still there… “who are you to speak on this topic?” “what have you got to share that’s interesting?” “why would anyone want to hear from someone with a moustache?” This is the definition of the Resistance from Steven Pressfield’s The War of Art; it’s the persistent force that stops us pursuing that which we feel we should. Annoyingly, despite my progress from last year, it turns out I still have work to do to get past this blocker.

The last twelve months, much like the twelve months that preceded it, have been constant work. Sometimes to grow, sometimes just to stand still, but there has been work nonetheless. Not toiling in the fields kind of work, although I have started a vegetable plot I’m proud of. It’s the kind of work that happens in your head. Sometimes it’s plucking up the courage to say no to a stag do that will test my sobriety. Other times, it’s saying yes to another trip because I feel safe enough to do so. 

The truth is that, for me at least, the work is constant. And that’s sort of the point. Very little change is permanent unless we keep working at it. Lost weight is regained, knowledge forgotten, muscles deteriorate, friendships fade, and we stagnate if we don’t continue to lean into the discomfort. For the work is persistent and most of the time, uncomfortable. But that is where the growth is, and that’s sort of the point.

Observation 2: People are complicated, and most of the time they’re doing their best

I received a huge amount of support from my last post, and the richness and variety of conversation I had as a result left me humbled and intrigued. Humbled because people felt comfortable enough to share often deep, personal, experiences with me. And intrigued because in most cases, these were people who previously hadn’t shared any of their struggles with me. On the surface of it, this made total sense. The context of our relationship didn’t lend itself to greeting each other and sharing our traumas in between talking about the weather (”isn’t it good”) and the state of the world (”isn’t it bad”). And that’s the societal norm for most of us, most of the time. 

But it left me thinking about the burden we carry in showing up as we think we should rather than as we are. I heard a Charles Horton Cooley quote which summed it up nicely: “I am not who you think I am; I am not who I think I am; I am who I think you think I am”.

I know for certain that when I was at my lowest points with alcohol, no-one knew about it. In fact the most common reaction I got from those closest to me when they learned of my addiction was surprise. I know that’s not true for everyone with substance abuse issues, but I for one was hiding what was going on; clinging with my fingertips to the persona of someone who had it all together. Sometimes I did a good job at this, sometimes a not so good job, but for the most part I hid the physical aspects of my compulsion and the mental anguish that accompanied it. And all the time, I was trying my best to show up right. Trying my best to be a good husband, father, friend, and colleague, whilst hiding what was truly going on. 

I know enough to know that I am not unique or special. And when people opened up to me, and shared a slither of what was going on in their own lives, I realised once again that I was not alone in managing this precarious balancing act. With that, came an empathy for the struggles of others who, like me, were just trying their best to show up each day regardless of their own battles. 

It’s easy to forget all of this of course, as we go about our days. Every now and then though I’m reminded that most of us are dealing with things we can’t see, and are doing our best regardless. Remembering that as often as possible is, I think, a helpful way to approach our time with others.

Observation 3: Change is gradual and unremarkable, until it isn’t

I’ve grown my hair and a moustache. That’s not strictly true - my hair has always been growing, I just haven’t had it cut in eighteen months. And the moustache follows a successful foray into Movember which I’ve decided to make permanent. What can I say, it’s really grown on me. 

And of course, the change has been gradual and unremarkable on a day to day basis. Until that is, I bump into someone who I haven’t seen in some time. Then, the true magic of change is revealed. Sometimes it’s positive and nourishing “wow, you look great!” and at other times it catches people off guard “.......are you keeping it?”

The same is true for non-hair related changes. On a day to day basis, I notice very little difference in myself since I’ve gotten sober; I sometimes wonder if I’m making any progress at all. It can be disheartening at times, the feeling of stasis, of stillness, of not quite climbing that hierarchy of needs like we’re supposed to. The pitter patter of stacking slightly better day on slightly better day, in the moment, feels inconsequential. Where’s the breakthrough? Where’s the crescendo of applause as all of your old habits fall away to reveal the new and improved you? 

Every now and then though, there’s a beautiful little moment that is the universe’s way of letting us know we’re on the right path. Maybe something that used to be hard is now easy. Perhaps someone you haven’t seen in a while comments on your progress (note - disregard those who don’t approve of facial hair). Perhaps, in speaking with someone about your values and how you want to spend your days, you realise you actually have answers to those questions when you didn’t before. Maybe you’re lucky enough to realise you’ve been living them for some time now.

And that’s your sign; a little blip on the progress radar, a signal that you are, in fact, changing. Slowly, surely, but changing nonetheless. Log those moments and keep them safe. Because when you’re doing the work and feeling like nothing is changing at all, those are the reminders that you’re on the right path. And if you keep stacking the days, they will come. 

And there we have it. Albeit a little late, three observations that have stuck out to me over these last twelve-ish months. As I said last year, getting sober is the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and the introspection it has kicked off has been revelatory. If you’ve made it this far, genuinely, thank you. And if you happen to take something from it that you can use in your own remarkable journey, all the better. 

‘Till next year.