A couple of years ago, I went to Chicago with one of my favorite people.

We’ve been friends since our early twenties, when our husbands were just our boyfriends. She and I have ended up living on opposite sides of the country, a situation that is a great disappointment to us both. Once a year, we try to meet up in Chicago because I tell her it’s the middle even though it’s not really. But it’s a direct flight for both of us, so we meet there and mostly just talk and eat. We eat a lot. I usually gain five pounds in two days and I love it.

My friend has a bit of an obsession with Second City and has a love of stand-up that I do not possess. I dated a stand-up comedian in my 20s and therefore I have already used up my quota of time in gross venues with sticky floors. But she loves it and I love her, so I only complain a little when she books us into the 11 PM showing. By 11 PM I am usually already two hours into my sleep, but whatever. We’re in Chicago. We are not young but we are going to pretend, damn it. 

We ordered cocktails.

I should mention that even though I am a former-child-actor, I have never been addicted to alcohol.

I never liked it that much. Even one glass would give me a headache and would trigger my anxiety, depression, and insomnia for days afterward. So why was I drinking? The answer was “to be fun.”

(Never mind that crying and exhaustion are not super “fun.”)

So I had my drinks and watched Second City. Or at least, I assume I watched it, but I really don’t remember. I think there was maybe a dinosaur on stage and I tried to take a photo and I got reprimanded by security and felt immense shame. But at some point the show must have ended and we left and I worried I might puke in the Uber and I went right to bed when we got home. The next morning was a nightmare, as it felt like that dinosaur had stepped on my brain, as punishment for trying to take a selfie with it. I was miserable and continued to be miserable until my friend had to leave for her flight home at noon.

And that was it. End of spectacular weekend. 

I didn’t love any part of that. I didn’t like the forgetting, the dinosaur-mashed brain, the fact that our last morning together was spent with me holding my forehead and saying “holy shit, holy shit.” Yes, I am a total lightweight. Was there a moment of fun that was had when I was inebriated? Probably. But if I don’t remember it, then I don’t really see the point. 

So I just decided to be done.

No one told me that I was quitting alcohol JUST BEFORE A GLOBAL PANDEMIC. This ended up being a more difficult decision than I had thought it would be. Because honestly, when I did drink, I drank to numb out. I drank because I am a super sensitive soul and sometimes the world is just too much. And the COVID world often proved to be too much for me, and I longed for an off-switch for my brain.

Then I read Annie Grace’s book This Naked Mind and learned so much about the psychological and neurological components of drinking, as well as the cultural pressures around alcohol. And then I realized it was all pretty simple.

The question was not if I had a drinking problem.

The question was: Does drinking cause me problems?

Yes.

Absolutely.

So I was done. And as of this writing, that was 765 days ago.

And in the past 765 days, I’ve learned a lot about numbing out, and why it’s a useless illusion. The pain just intensifies and crashes in on you as soon as you sober up. So I needed to find a better way to manage my emotions without avoiding them. Now when I’m feeling overwhelmed I go to meditation, yoga, journaling, reaching out to friends, walking with the dog. I deal with my feelings, rather than attempting to drown them in alcohol.

And you know what? Sobriety doesn’t mean that you are no fun.

It actually means you are a total rebellious badass who doesn’t need a drink to be fun.

So cheers to that.

Have you done Sober October? How has it worked out for you? I’d love to know in the comments.