Five lessons learned after five years of sobriety

What a life without alcohol has taught me.

Apr 15, 2025

I stopped drinking five years ago on April 12, 2020. It was Easter Sunday, about a month into the pandemic, when the entire world was shut down and we were all consumed with fear. For years, I had tried to moderate my drinking. When that failed, I had tried hundreds of times to quit. Yet no matter what I did, I found I could never go more than three days without drinking; and when I started, I could almost never stop.

Initially, my relationship with alcohol had seemed like a good one. With that first sip in the spring of 2011, I felt braver, more unburdened, and more lovable than I ever had, convinced that I found a way to drown the pain of my first twenty years. But in time — to borrow the words of Frida Kahlo — “the bastards learned how to swim.” With each passing year, I sunk further and further into an abyss of my own making, until I was the one who was drowning. Every day felt like I was living on autopilot, as though I were half-alive, just counting down the hours until I could drink. I couldn’t imagine my life without alcohol, yet I knew in my bones that it was eventually going to kill me.

While isolating on the New England coast that spring of 2020, I found a way to finally stop. Those early days of sobriety were brutal but beautiful — a mix of trembling hands, night sweats, Harry Potter marathons, and slow walks through the howling wind and snow. As the weeks went by and winter turned to spring, I could feel the pieces of myself reassemble until I could stop drowning and at last come up for air.

These past five years of sobriety have taught me more than I can say. While I still have a lot left to learn, I wanted to share a few lessons for anyone who might be curious or struggling.

And for anyone out there who is suffering from the Voldemort-like beast that is alcohol — I see you, I hear you, and I love you. You got this.

1. Sobriety is hard, but it DOES get easier.

In those early days of quitting alcohol, I found myself lured by what I like to call the “Instagrammification of sobriety”: This idea that a life without alcohol will automatically make you skinnier, prettier, wealthier, more patient, and a lot more productive. In her book, The Unexpected Joy of Being Sober (an overall wonderful resource), Catherine Gray writes that her first years of sobriety gave her “dozens more hours in the week, heaps more energy, £23,000 more money over four years, deepened friendships, revived family relationships, better skin, a tighter body, tanned legs, the ability to sleep for an uninterrupted eight hours, [and] a bone-deep sense of well-being.” Let it be known, this was not my experience. My first years of sobriety left me feeling more energized and productive, yes; but they also left me ten pounds heavier, just as financially stressed, and, at times, deeply unhappy. So often, I felt like I was tumbling through a dark forest that was filled with demons I could no longer numb or avoid. I had become a stranger to myself and the people in my life, many of whom were profoundly uncomfortable with my choice — some to the point they refused to even acknowledge it. I was jealous and resentful of people who drank in front of me, and still I hated myself for how far I had allowed myself to fall.

It took years for me to understand that sobriety is not the answer to happiness. Rather — in the words of the Sober Girl Society (another excellent resource) — “it’s about removing something that makes you unhappy and then having the time, patience, and energy to work on other things that stand in your way.” It is the first step in a journey that keeps going — and keeps getting easier — until you get to a place where you truly have no desire for alcohol and rarely even think about it. Five years in, and I can happily say that the thought of drinking alcohol repulses me. I have more meaningful relationships, more purpose, more energy, and (yes) better skin. Best of all, I have started to forgive myself for the harm I put myself in and the beauty I squandered as result of my drinking, which is something I know I could have never done if I still had alcohol in my life.

2. Sobriety unlocks JOY.

Before I stopped drinking, I was so terrified that I wouldn’t be able to “enjoy” my life. Yet, at the time, I do not think I understood what that actually meant. Etymologists trace the origins of the word “enjoy” to the Old French “enjoir,” which literally means to “rejoice” or to “give or make joy.” Now, this practice of “giving or making joy” is quite different than “giving or making happiness.” In his New York Times article on the subject, David Brooks writes that “happiness usually involves a victory for the self,” like getting an A in school or a promotion at work. By contrast, “joy tends to involve the transcendence of self.” It is that feeling, he tells us, “when your heart is in another.”

Far from taking it away, sobriety has magnified my enjoyment of life, cracking open an entirely new way of existing and engaging with the world. Free of alcohol, I feel infinitely more connected to God, nature, and humanity. I enjoy the things that I always have — reading, writing, running, swimming, watching movies, and being with loved ones — though in a way that feels more precious and authentic.

It’s just as Catherine Gray says: “In vino veritas is nonsense…people are their true selves when they are drug free.”

3. Sober parenthood is a beautiful thing.

Sobriety has been integral to my experience of becoming a mom, so much so that I cannot fathom the idea of having kids with alcohol in my life. If I were still drinking, I would have found a way to justify a nightly glass (or two or three or four) of “mommy juice.” At night, I would be too drunk to marvel at my daughter as she runs after our Golden Retriever Birdie, sings every song from The Lion King, or kisses all of her stuffed animals before going to sleep. Come morning, I would be too hungover to feed her breakfast or drive her to nursery school. To think there is a world where this could have been our reality makes me sick to my stomach.

It is no secret that parenthood demands a lot of a person, especially nowadays and especially in the United States. But with a twenty-month old and another baby on the way, I can say I am the happiest I have ever been in my life. My daughter has taught us so much about gratitude, imagination, compassion, and joy. With alcohol out of my life, I’m in a place where I can actually learn these lessons. With my heart open and my mind clear, I am able to savor every moment, knowing it really does go by way too fast.

4. Your support system is everything.

At five years sober, I can say there is no way on God’s green earth that I could have EVER quit drinking had it not been for my husband, Tim. At our wedding in the spring of 2019, I drank so much that I have no memory of the second half of our reception — nothing, nada, zilch! Ten months later, he was the one who took me on a walk and said, “Let’s do this thing.” At the time, we were both petrified of what our life would look like or what my sobriety would do to our relationship. What about all those memories we made drinking Aperol spritzes and Chianti Classicos on our honeymoon? What about the fun we had together getting silly drunk while binge watching Downton Abbey and The Crown? And what about our friendships — so many of which were predicated on a shared love of getting smashed?

Looking out to an uncertain — and presumably boring — future, Tim emptied out our fridge, pouring every bottle of wine, vodka, and tequila down the sink. He sat with me as I cried on the kitchen floor, praying desperately for a drink. And for a year, he stopped drinking himself. Now that I feel more comfortable being around alcohol, he drinks very sporadically, maybe five or six drinks a year. Ninety-nine times out of 100, he’ll opt for a non-alcoholic Guinness or Athletic — not because he feels like he has to, but because it’s what he genuinely prefers.

Of course, as I have written before, the road to getting sober is one you must travel largely alone. The addiction is yours, as is the pain that got you there. Along the way, I have discovered many tools to manage the inevitable urge to self-medicate. For me, the biggest thing has probably been music (if you’re interested, you can read my article on music and sobriety here or download a sobriety playlist I made here). Therapy, running, and yoga have been huge, along with reading, hiking, swimming, journaling, prayer, being part of a church community, and — let’s be honest — reality TV. “I have been sober for eighteen years, and during that time every single one of my painkillers has been taken from me,” writes Glennon Doyle in Untamed (another must-read). “I no longer drink, do drugs, binge and purge, snark incessantly, or even shop compulsively (often). But I can promise this: They will take Bravo and HGTV from my cold, dead hands.”

One thing I’m working on now is my ongoing attachment to productivity — another, oft-cited painkiller. Since becoming sober, I have poured myself into work as a sort of penance, tying up my worth in my accomplishments and income (or frankly…my lack thereof). “If only I could do this or achieve that,” I so often say to myself, “then I could finally get rid of all of the pain and self-hatred.” Recently, having a book on submission has only intensified these feelings.

Still, deep down I know that there nothing that can help you outrun the pain you are trying to avoid. Sooner or later, it will catch you, raw and defenseless — with nowhere to turn but inward.

5. You will learn that your hardest moments are your greatest gift.

That all leads me to the last and greatest lesson I have learned so far from sobriety: That a life without alcohol will make you more vulnerable to pain (or what I call “the depths”). Yet it is only by allowing myself to feel this pain that I have been able to feel something more: A clarity about what really matters; a profound love for every living thing; and a sense that I am so close to Heaven that I could scream.

During this precious time of year, when our earth feels like it’s coming back to life, let us give ourselves the gift of noticing, marveling, and feeling it all. I promise you it is worth it.