The Parts of Myself I Let Go of To Stay Sober
I’m 16 months into sobriety, something I never imagined I’d say out loud, let alone embody. As a high-functioning, binge-drinking alcoholic, I was convinced I didn’t need to “get sober.” Classic, I know. But here’s the wild part: sobriety didn’t turn me into someone else. It stripped away what wasn’t me. A rebirth, if you will. One where I’ve carved off the layers of systems, curated identities, and maladaptive patterns I lived inside without even realizing it.
What pushed me toward change wasn’t a single breakthrough moment, it was a series of ER trips for panic attacks so debilitating that I would end up curled in the fetal position, rocking, buzzing, unraveling. No amount of deep breathing or meditation could pull me out of that level of dysregulation. My ears would ring like a 1950s radio signal, my paranoia skyrocketed to a ten, and at one point I was even afraid of my sweet golden doodle, Waffle. The only thing that grounded me was a heavy IV dose of Ativan, but I digress.
Fast-forward to today: sobriety hasn’t changed me; it has revealed me. With a solid medical team, a necessary dose of reality, new friends, and the program of A.A., I’ve worked hard to melt off every piece of myself that once revoled around alcohol.
The Identity I Built Around Alcohol
When you remove alcohol, you’re suddenly left with a pile of questions. How did I get here? When did this stop being “normal drinking”? Am I really an alcoholic, or did I just go a little too hard sometimes?
With the help of my sponsor, and some brutally honest writing exercises, I started unraveling the identity I built around alcohol.
I mean, first of all, it’s a vibe. Who doesn’t love wine night with girlfriends? The laughing, the venting, the over-sharing. Two years ago, if you’d asked me what my perfect day looked like, it would’ve involved a morning workout, a boozy lunch, and spending money I didn’t have at my favorite boutiques in San Clemente. It all felt…fun.
The Hard Truth I Never Signed Up For
But the truth? It was just a chemical façade, a glossy illusion of connection and joy. Without realizing it, alcohol slowly pulled me away from myself. It’s elusive that way: cunning, baffling, mysterious. It preys on vulnerability. One day you’re sipping rosé, and before you know it, you’re miles from shore with no land in sight.
Alcohol became my security blanket. First to numb, then to fill boredom, then to justify “relaxation.” Eventually it became the thing I revolved around. I slipped into complacency. My thoughts revolved around drinking, and then my body relied on it. I reached a point where I needed alcohol just to feel “normal”or at least as normal as I could while still drunk.
Then came the breaking point. After about a month-long bender, I ended up face-down on my bathroom’s hardwood floor, the predictable, and terrifying result of mixing meds with alcohol. That earned me my first and, God willing, last five-day stay at a local rehab facility.
July 31st, 2024 was my last drink. And I intend for it to stay that way. One day at a time, that’s how I stacked these 16 months.
The Parts of Myself I Had to Let Go
The Performer.
The part of me that acted like everything was fine when it wasn’t. Over-functioning to appear like I “didn’t have a problem” was exhausting. I truly don’t know how I kept that performance going for so long.
The Avoider.
Putting off feelings only created more anxiety. When you avoid yourself, you delay the chance to understand yourself. Sobriety has forced me to sit with what’s real and in doing so, I’ve become more attuned to my own needs, desires, and inner peace.
The False Connector.
I learned that real friendships are built on shared values, chemistry, and authenticity, not cocktails. I used to think I was “bad at making friends,” but once I learned who I was without alcohol, I naturally attracted people who aligned with me.
The Grief of Letting Go
Sobriety isn’t only gain—it’s loss, and it’s grief.
There were so many moments in the past 16 months where I grieved deeply. I grieved the identity I can never safely return to. I grieved experiences I’ll never have again:
A cold Corona on the beach in Mexico.
Champagne toasts at weddings.
A glass of wine at a fancy dinner.
When those realizations hit, I cried. I wrestled with it. I leaned on my sponsor, my friends, my meetings, and my therapist. And that support and my long-term vision became my safety net.
Because shedding is part of recovery.
Sometimes shedding means losing friends, lovers, and moments you once cherished. But as someone who knows wholeheartedly that one drink is too many and a thousand is never enough, I have zero desire to gamble with my life ever again.
The Rebirth: Who I Became Without Alcohol
I have become the woman I always hoped I’d be.
I’m my own it-girl.
I went from silently suffering to becoming an MBA student, a DBT-informed group facilitator, someone with a full social life, deep rest, healthy boundaries, and relationships that feel nourishing and safe. I feel loved, appreciated, grounded, and genuinely present for the people I choose to let into my life.
Most nights, I go to bed excited to wake up and live my life again. There is nothing more fulfilling than knowing yourself and choosing yourself, over and over again.
16 Months of Sobriety Has Taught Me:
Peace of mind is a luxury.
Quality community is vital.
Emotions are data.
Health is wealth.
Knowledge is empowerment.
Intuition is a muscle.
Everything I want comes from within.
Listen to those who’ve walked this path before.
Take it one day at a time.
And there is so much more.
Sobriety stripped me down, yes but it also rebuilt me. Every part I let go of was replaced with something more aligned, more honest, more alive. If there’s anything this journey has taught me, it’s that healing isn’t about becoming someone new—it’s about returning to who you were before the world told you to be anything else.
