A month without alcohol

i stopped drinking (but don’t worry i’m still fun)

Since the moment I took my first real sip of alcohol, I’ve had a long and tumultuous relationship with the substance.

I remember the moment vividly: it was the night of my fifteenth birthday, after our family gathering had ended, when I snuck downstairs and guzzled a quarter of a bottle of Costco Chardonnay.

I recall the wine being intense and sweet—almost syrupy—as it glided down my throat.

But more than anything, I remember the full-body sensation of warmth I got following that first fateful sip.

There it was: that rush of pleasure; the feel-good chemicals were flooding my brain.

The joy of slight tipsiness kept me loyal to alcohol, even after I suffered the consequences of a long night of drinking. No matter how bad the hangover, or how much I hated myself the next day, I’d eventually drink again.

I knew that for a fleeting moment, I would feel perfect. And that was all I needed to keep drinking.

Even now I get that slight rush; it happens when I’m about halfway in to my first drink of the night. However, no sip thereafter quite compares to the initial buzz.

I know that chasing this high is futile; I know alcohol will continue to disappoint me. And yet, like a toxic relationship with a good-for-nothing ex, I keep crawling back.

I’ve found that alcohol won’t leave me alone. It’s baked into the way we socialize and destress; it is integral to our culture.

When I first decided to do the PCT, I wanted to do it sober. Surely, I thought, hiking a long distance trail will limit my access to alcohol. I’ll have no trouble quitting this destructive habit, right?

I was surprised to find that every town I passed through had a brewery, pub, or gas station that sold cold beer. At one store in Warner Springs, I couldn’t find a single vegetarian food item for my resupply, but hey, at least there was a fridge full of Coors I could carbo-load on!

As it turns out, thru-hiking culture and drinking culture go hand in hand; it wasn’t long before I fell back into my old ways.

There was something about the ritual of drinking on trail that made the buzz even better. After a long day of physical exertion, who can blame me for wanting a little extra dopamine hit? Just one drink, I’d tell myself. Just a little fun.

I wouldn’t say I imbibed more than the average twentysomething; however I do think what we consider a “normal level” (3-7 drinks per week for women or 3-14 drinks for men, according to the CDC) is an unhealthy amount to be consuming on a regular basis.

But I’m not here to talk about statistics or the national average. I’m here to talk about myself (because that’s what you subscribe for).

For me, alcohol is an escape. It’s a momentary departure from my own skin and the insecurities that come with existing in it. It’s what I turn to when I want to shut off my brain and just be.

At a certain level of drunk, all is right in the world. I am my ideal self. But that perfect state never lasts. As soon as it starts to fade, I go back for more.

Alcohol is fun until it isn’t. Until I wake up, look in the mirror, and hate who I am becoming.

Determined to get back on the horse and stick to my sober guns, I recently downloaded the audiobook Quit Like A Woman by Holly Whitaker. The memoir details Whitaker’s sobriety journey and offers a method rooted in feminist ideals for quitting drinking that differs from the typical twelve-step approach.

While I didn’t love everything Whitaker preached about in her book (such as her obsession with drinking hot lemon water everyday in order to stay sober?), she posed an interesting question.

She wanted readers to ask themselves, “how is alcohol getting in the way of my happiness?”

I thought of all the times I had chosen alcohol over my own self-improvement. I thought about all the nights that turned into hungover days wasted. I thought about all the self-loathing that I wallowed in when the drinks wore off. I thought of nights spent lying in my tent after the party had ended, my head spinning, wondering how the hell I ended up drunk again.

Deep down, I’ve known the truth about alcohol for a very long time. I’ve known that it won’t save me; it will only prolong my suffering and dependence on it. There is no real “perfect drunk” I can achieve without overdoing it or wanting more.

I wish I could say this to little fifteen-year-old me, sat on the cold kitchen floor, getting wine drunk by myself. But I have a feeling she would tell me to fuck off.

At 15, alcohol was not only fun, it also made me feel like an adult. But now, seven years later, it only seems to be prolonging my childhood immaturity.

One month ago, I finally put my foot down. I decided that, at least for the rest of my time on trail, I was done drinking.

I’ve had one drink in the past 30 days (a delicious hibiscus spritz which was more juice than liquor, if you were curious), but for the most part, I accomplished my goal of remaining sober. It’s been a grueling, yet rewarding, existence.

To be honest, it sucks sometimes. It is isolating and painful to exist without the comfort of alcohol.

But I want to be someone I like and respect all the time, not just when I’m under the influence. I want to finally feel like an adult. Being sober has helped tremendously with that.

After one month, I can already see my growth. I am more confident and self-reliant, and less anxious. But these things aren’t solely due to my decision to quit alcohol.

I’ve been practicing self-regulating my emotions rather than drinking to put myself at ease. I use Holly Whitaker’s “raisins” technique:

RASINS, or Recognize, Allow, set aside the Story, Investigate what is happening in your body, Name the sensations, and Surf.

As an emotion, such as social anxiety, arises, I recognize and greet it. I allow it to be present. I set aside the judgement I feel towards myself for being anxious. I investigate all of the sensations that signify to my body and mind that I am anxious, and I don’t push them away. This method allows me to be fully human and to ride out discomfort instead of burying it or being ashamed of it.

It’s a beautiful thing to feel all of this pain, all of this humanity, without using alcohol to mask it.

I’ve never felt so exposed to every part of my inner being. But I’m enjoying exploring the depths of my own mind and personality. It’s like I’m truly meeting myself for the first time.

Sobriety is just one step in the process of cultivating a healthy relationship with myself. It isn’t going to mend all of my insecurities, and I know that.

I’m 22 years old, and I will probably drink again at some point. I’m not holding myself to a standard of perfection. I’m only making strides.

For now, I know I’m making them in the right direction.

I only have three weeks left on this trail, and I’m unsure what will happen next. Soon, I’ll be back in my childhood bedroom in Georgia, searching for my place in the world all over again; a blank canvas.

There isn’t much I can control right now, but I can build and maintain small positive habits. So that is what I’m doing.

I’m currently in Washington, which I’m having a hard time wrapping my head around. After weeks of being alone and pushing 30+ mile days, I have finally caught up to some friends from the desert days. It’s been lovely to see how people have grown since we last crossed paths.

I have mixed feelings about the end of my journey. I know I’ve come so far, and yet there is still so much growing to do.

oregon adventures

I know the growth will come. It always does.

I hope this post finds you well and thriving. I hope you don’t think I’m condemning those who drink alcohol. I’m not. And I don’t think I’m better than anyone else because im not drinking for the time being. I’m just trying to figure myself out, and sharing stories from that process (again, that’s what you subscribe for).

Wishing you all the best. I appreciate your devout readership more than you know.

Love,

Izzy

P.S. I’m feeling generous today so you get two songs, plus my Oregon playlist. Enjoy kids.