Alcohol and Avoidance: A Personal Essay on Sobriety, Identity, and Letting Go

Introducing Alcohol: The Myth, The Lie, The Legend

*Cue the scattered, sparse clapping.*

Who else had their first drink as a teenager?

Probably most of us. In the U.S., it’s practically a right of passage. Sneaking a sip. Getting drunk for the first time. Feeling older, bolder, looser. Feeling like you’re finally bridging the gap between child and adult.

Maybe you realized early on that alcohol wasn’t for you.Or maybe you realized how intoxicating—pun fully intended—it could be in the short term.

Alcohol has a way of manufacturing confidence. Of inflating a sense of self worth. Of making things feel more fun, more tolerable, more connected. You suddenly enjoy people you’d otherwise question spending time with. You say yes to situations—and sometimes people—that sober you would politely decline or actively avoid.

Alcohol is powerful.

Until that power turns into pain.

And it always does—eventually. Sometimes suddenly. Sometimes so slowly you don’t notice it happening. But at some point, alcohol starts taking more than it gives.

Alcohol often feels like confidence and connection—but over time, it can become a tool for avoidance. This essay explores how drinking shifted from fun to friction, and what changed (and what’s in the process of changing) since I let it go.

The Break-Up Years

Like most relationships that no longer serve us—whether with a person, a substance, or a habit—the breakup doesn’t happen all at once.

It starts quietly.

In mornings where regret and anxiety loom while you hover over the toilet bowl.

In missed family events—or showing up as half a person because a mediocre night out ran into the early hours of the morning.

In the stupid things said, done, or texted.

In the workouts skipped.

The weekends lost to “recovery” instead of living.

Eventually, the thing that once felt like fun becomes a tool for avoidance.

“I’m bored” turns into a glass of wine—or five—instead of investing in a new interest.

“I’m unhappy with my career” turns into extended happy hours instead of sitting down with your resume.

“I’m not happy with my relationship” turns into drinking with your partner instead of talking to them.

“I’m not smart enough, pretty enough, cool enough” turns into courage borrowed from a bottle instead of cultivated from within.

These aren’t hypotheticals. They’re my own patterns—long after the party years of college and my early twenties had passed.

And even looking back at those years, I sometimes wonder: Was it actually fun?

Some moments, sure. But the people who remain in my life—the ones who shaped me, supported me, stayed—aren’t the people I primarily drank with. They’re the people who liked sober me. The ones I invested in beyond alcohol.

That circle is small. And it’s had the deepest impact on my life, because those relationships are authentic, not orchestrated around a specific unifying toxic habit.

Trying to Make It Work

I tried sobriety before. Multiple times. The longest stretch was about nine months—until I drank at my sister’s wedding.

I kept returning to alcohol, trying to make it fit. Trying to negotiate with it. Trying to be the version of myself that could “handle it” because drinking was so embedded in my culture, my friendships, even my sense of identity.

But underneath all of that was a quiet, persistent knowing:This isn’t for me.

The harder question wasn’t whether alcohol worked.It was how to leave something behind when it’s woven into everything around you.

Why It Feels Different This Time

Fifteen-year-old me was, frankly, a judgmental bitch. Holier-than-thou. Convinced she knew better than everyone else (just ask my twin sister).

But she wasn’t wrong about everything (again, just ask my twin sister).

Back then, I believed alcohol was stupid—not because I was morally superior (although at the time I definitely thought I was ((spoiler: I wasn’t))), but because I could see how it stripped people of control. How it pulled them out of alignment with who they claimed to be. How it blurred intention, consent, and self-respect.

Over time, that certainty softened. Life complicated things. Nuance arrived. Experience did what experience does–changes your attitude toward things.

And somehow, years later, I found myself circling back—not to the judgment, but to the instinct.

This time with humility. And context. And clarity.

What Actually Changed

Reflection. Daily journaling. Getting painfully honest about where I was—and where I wanted to be.

Even while I was still drinking, I kept asking myself the same question: If I removed just one thing from my life, what would most increase my happiness, clarity, and momentum?

The answer was always alcohol.

At first, it was quiet. Then louder. Then impossible to ignore.

Once I accepted that—even before I stopped drinking—alcohol became less enjoyable. I started noticing who I admired and who I didn’t. The people I respected most drank rarely, if at all.

I also started asking why I wanted to drink. And here’s what surfaced—maybe some of this resonates:

• To feel comfortable in new social situations

• To tolerate family dynamics

• To enjoy certain friendships or relationships

• To feel connection

• Because this event “calls for it”

• To deal with loneliness or boredom

• To feel attractive or confident

• To compensate for insecurity

• To be more fun, edgy, interesting

• Because it felt like “who I am”

• To avoid sitting with dissatisfaction, sadness, anxiety

• To delay making changes that would improve my life long-term

  
  

None of those reasons are things I value. And alcohol didn’t solve them—it postponed them.

Alcohol is the proverbial band-aid over a bullet wound.

What I Want Instead

I want a life where:

• I don’t need alcohol to enjoy people or events

• I can sit with discomfort long enough to learn from it

• I face dissatisfaction instead of numbing it

• I’m mentally, physically, and emotionally healthy

• I feel at home in my body without chemical confidence

• I’m genuinely fun, interesting, and grounded

• I have energy for hobbies, growth, and security

• I show up honestly in relationships

• I experience intimacy with presence and clarity

• My anxiety is manageable—and my mind is clear

  
  

Above all, I want an authentic life.

Alcohol steals that authenticity.

So it’s a no for me. Hopefully forever.

How About You?

This isn’t a directive.It’s not a moral stance.And it’s not about perfection.

It’s about honesty.

About questioning the things we defend the hardest.About noticing where we numb instead of engage.

About asking whether the habits we’ve normalized are actually aligned with the lives we say we want.

So—does any of this resonate?

Not just with alcohol.

But with anything you’re holding onto because “that’s just what people do” or “that’s just who I am.”

Sometimes growth isn’t about adding more.

Sometimes it’s about letting go.

FAQs

Why do people use alcohol to cope?

Alcohol temporarily dulls discomfort and lowers inhibition, which can feel like relief—but often delays addressing the underlying issue.

Is quitting alcohol the only solution?No. This essay isn’t about absolutes—it’s about alignment. The right question is whether alcohol supports the life you want.

How do you know when alcohol stops working for you?When it takes more than it gives—emotionally, mentally, or physically—and starts replacing growth instead of supporting it.

If this resonated, you might also like my reflections on values, identity, and building a life that actually feels like yours.