By Contributor Sonia Kahlon
Over time, connecting with others in recovery has become a significant part of my lasting sobriety. When I initially stopped drinking, I didn’t tell anyone. I had been covering up my problem with alcohol for so long and so well that mentioning I was ‘getting sober’ would have been like hanging a sign around my neck indicating there had been an issue in the first place. With hidden bottles in closets, I poured wine into sports bottles. I went to the bar to do a shot when no one was looking. Drinks and more drinks are hidden in space and time from anyone looking. I planned to keep my recovery as secret as my addiction; since there was no need for a solution to a problem that didn’t exist outside of myself.
Discomfort set in
However, as the discomfort of initial sobriety set in, I desperately needed a point of comparison. My skin crawled, I couldn’t sleep, I was riddled with anxiety, I didn’t want to socialize in bars, I dreaded Sunday brunches, and from 7 pm on, I would hide in a blanket, eat ice cream and watch Netflix. I wanted to know if what I was experiencing was normal. I felt like I was failing at recovery. Where was that pink cloud I had heard so much about? What day or week was that supposed to kick in? I was a high-functioning alcoholic that was expecting a high-functioning recovery.
But was being able to perform at such a high level, despite severe mental and physical issues, really a gift? Or did it just allow me to continue my destructive behavior for longer? It also meant that the root of the pain I had been numbing with alcohol was buried so deep that unearthing it would require a bulldozer and a crash course on developing healthy coping mechanisms. .
Keeping secrets and hiding behind masks
For years, I had been doing the hardest parts of my life in secret, without asking for support, and behind a gauzy veil of calm. And in sobriety, I was continuing to do it, carrying over the habits that got me into trouble in the first place.
I thought the mask was justified; I was running a successful business experiencing explosive growth. I couldn’t just get up and go to rehab and disrupt the lives of dozens of people. So, I considered other options, like AA and in-person recovery meetings. That would mean the mask would have to come off for an hour or so. This was an unacceptable solution to my then-husband/business-partner.
“What if someone we know sees you!”
“Can’t you wear a disguise or something?”
“I mean, are you really an alcoholic?”
I knew that the last question was a direct comparison between my brother and me, who had been a relatively low-functioning alcoholic for decades but was now recovered. He was the movie version of an alcoholic: DUIs, failed marriages, lost custody cases, falling down the stairs, and being possessed by vitriolic anger. This couldn’t be the only acceptable definition of an alcoholic. I knew I was struggling. I knew it was a challenge to get through a day without drinking. And I knew that despite hangovers that felt like a chronic illness, I continued to drink. This was not how I wanted to live, regardless of the label.
In response to his theatrical reaction, I tabled the idea of a peer-centered recovery approach. He was right. There were no visible consequences of my alcohol problem, and I couldn’t justify risking any suspicion of my professional persona.
White-knuckled sobriety
So, I opted for white-knuckled sobriety—cold, hard, abstinence. My only connection to recovery was audiobooks of ‘quit-lit’ (memoirs, self-help, even science-based books about alcohol use disorder), written mainly by women around my age with similar career trajectories. The blurry stories of reckless behavior rationalized as ‘partying hard,’ ‘keeping up with the boys’, and being the ‘cool girl’ were also elements in many of the memoirs. I had felt this pressure for as long as I had been drinking. I desperately wanted people to like me. As I got older, the activities changed from the drinking games in college to dozens of shots in bars and clubs in my 20s, and finally into the more sophisticated but equally disastrous wine pairings of adulthood. But the role of alcohol remained the same – to help me fit in when I did not feel comfortable.
Trying to find what I’m looking for.
Nearing the peak of my addiction, I had to take meetings with corporate bros periodically. They were all the same person – white, male, Patagonia vests, skied Aspen in the winter, watched their college’s football team play on the weekends, and their mood rose and fell with the NASDAQ. Our interactions were always in the form of boozy dinners. The more I drank, the more I adapted my personality to fit their expectations – work hard, play harder, and don’t get caught.
On one particular evening, we drank bottles of expensive wine in addition to a wine pairing menu and ate tapas. They talked about New York’s new helicopter service to the Hamptons, and the quality of the ‘powder’ in St. Moritz, things I only had a vague familiarity with and reeked of privilege. The more distanced and uncomfortable I became with the conversation, the more I drank. At the end of dinner, I was drunk. Not a regular Tuesday night drunk, but a New Year’s Eve wasted. I suggested we go to a strip club. Over the years of interacting with men professionally, I knew this suggestion easily made me the ‘cool girl.’ Of course, the bros loved the idea. Boobs and bros.
Hello black-out, my old friend.
I don’t remember the rest of the night, but I woke up in my bathroom with my head on the cold tile. There was a towel near me streaked with bile, but all things considered, the damage seemed minimal. I walked down the stairs to the guest bathroom and saw what looked like a crime scene. I wasn’t sure what was blood, red wine, or vomit. My best guess was that it was a combination of the above. Ahhh, now I understood – I couldn’t make it upstairs last night. I looked down at my clothes which were stained the same hue. I was afraid to look in the mirror. Luckily, the exterior injuries weren’t to my face and easily hidden. Inside, my body ached, nausea rose with every breath, and pulsing black spots circled my vision. But I was still going to be at work by 8 am. I was working hard and playing hard! This was just part of the game.
So, I kept drinking.
I continued to drink for another year after that episode. Hell, I drank that very night! But over the next year, the memory of that evening would resurface periodically. Although my drinking was out of control on a regular night, I wondered why I felt the need to drink in such excess around the bros. I knew why. I had been doing it for decades. Alcohol made my personality fluid, allowing me to mold myself into what I thought people wanted. The more I drank, the further my authentic self was from the image. I wasn’t the ‘cool girl.’
I was, in fact, a woman who wanted to stay home, snuggle with her tiny dog on the couch and watch reality TV on a Tuesday night. But would being myself have affected how the bros treated me in business? I needed them to finalize a deal to get me to the next career stage. That question would never be answered since I drank past when the deal was finalized. The night it was done, I would end up drinking so much that I passed out during dinner using my pressed white napkin as a pillow. Not very ‘cool’ or professional. I like to think that the real me would have been fine, if not better, for the bros. I certainly would rather invest in someone steady, coherent, and in control of themselves.
Maybe it’s time?
Within a few months after my business with the bros was concluded, the scales tipped in favor of sobriety. It could have been one too many lies, missing memories, or bruises unaccounted for that gave the final push. Ultimately, it was just one too many moments of pretending I was someone I wasn’t. And once the cravings subsided, the sobriety journey began taking on a more profound and sacred place in my life. The real work of emotional sobriety began, and I wanted to share it. I wanted to know other people’s stories of redemption, discovery, and lives as radically transformed by recovery as mine.
Ripping the mask off
I ripped off the mask and jumped into the world of recovery. and attended different meetings of various groups. Soon, I started hanging out with a group of sober women in NYC. I began to understand that these were my people, regardless of their background and specific experiences. We had an innate understanding of each other. We used substances to prevent ourselves from feeling. Some were numbing loss, illness, traumatic memories, anger, disappointment, or failure. But all of us had experienced pain that we only knew how to get through by using.
This newfound commitment to recovery, among other things, alienated my husband. It wasn’t what he wanted for his life, even though I had NEVER asked him not to drink or do drugs. But he resented my sobriety for the ‘fun’ he was missing out on. He felt uncomfortable drinking around me; he couldn’t form ‘deeper connections’ without drinking with his friends. He felt left out of his social circle. And so, he packed up and left. No warning, no discussion, and his eye focused on the prize of finding a companion that prioritized ‘fun.’ I was shattered and filled with shame. These feelings were undeniably my triggers for drinking. But, I was able to maintain the finest tether to my sobriety.
Doubling down on recovery
All the connections and support I had been so eager to develop brought about the second chapter of my sobriety. I doubled down and founded a start-up based on recovery named EverBlume. I wanted to give back what was given to me – unconditional support, encouragement, advice, and feedback. We all need a community to hear us, listen to us, and hold us during our darkest times.
EverBlume allows people to make meaningful connections in small groups tailored to their specific needs. In addition, each group is facilitated by a recovery coach that can help guide the members in setting and achieving goals. Ultimately, EverBlume relies on leveraging peer connection and support through conversations. Our strength is in each other.
Follow EverBlume in all these digital spaces & places:
A Disco Ball is Hundreds of Pieces of Broken Glass, Put Together to Make a Magical Ball of Light. You are NOT Broken, Friend. You are a DISCO BALL!
Resources Are Available
If you or someone you know is experiencing difficulties surrounding alcoholism, addiction, or mental illness, please reach out and ask for help. People everywhere can and want to help; you just have to know where to look. And continue to look until you find what works for you. Click here for a list of regional and national resources.
Resources Are Available
If you or someone you know is experiencing difficulties surrounding alcoholism, addiction, or mental illness, please reach out and ask for help. People everywhere can and want to help; you just have to know where to look. And continue to look until you find what works for you. Click here for a list of regional and national resources.
