I used to be a big dickhead. I mean, I don’t think the majority of people would agree with that statement, but like so many of you, when I look back at who I was and what my values were, it’s easy for me to state plainly: I used to be a dickhead. The pertinent example that comes to mind is how I thought about my brother when he quit drinking a couple of years before I did. To be clear, I never thought very highly of my brother, but I felt extra judgmental about this. I wasn’t opposed to him quitting drinking, but I was annoyed by his methodology and thought it reflected the wrong ways and reasons to do so. He always said there was no antecedent moment that made that decision, even though most of us knew there was, and then, after six months of sobriety, he wrote a book about how to get sober.
Oh Brother!
Six months. Six months is all it took for his ego to decide he was qualified enough to offer his wisdom to others. Anyone who has quit drinking for an extended period of time knows the pink cloud theory, and to think that someone would write a book about sobriety at that time is a wild thought. I was adamantly against this whole idea, his process, and his inability to admit that some moment of “hitting bottom” triggered this new sobriety. As I said: I was a dickhead.
Like I said, I was a dickhead.
So where do this judgment and my brother’s sobriety fit into my story? Did it make me question my drinking? Absolutely not. In fact, in some ways, it dug my heels in even further. I was a beer drinker, and he was a vodka drinker. The rare times we would hang out, I would knock back six to eight beers to his fifth of vodka. I felt like I was obviously in a better position than him and relished any time I could lord over him with something. What I didn’t know was that every time I drank more than four beers, I was binge drinking, and that was a lot.
Obsessed with labels
Many people are obsessed with labels, and when you see alcoholic, it can easily conjure up images of family members in AA or Hollywood movie portrayals of people waking up at 7 am with a fifth of liquor. This is one of the reasons why the mental health professional community began using the terminology Alcohol Use Disorder (AUD). Calling someone an alcoholic, even if you’re calling yourself an alcoholic, has been empirically proven detrimental to recovery. Labels suck. Labels are scary. And you know what? Labels put us in a box, create a dichotomy of thought, and open us up to shame spiraling should we sway outside the box. Nearly four years sober, I still struggle to call myself an alcoholic, either in the past or present tense, even in meaningless conversations. In fact, I still struggle with the label sober at times, but more on that later.
I never met a six pack I didn’t like
So there I was, regularly knocking back six packs and checking many other boxes on the risky behavior checklist: sneaking extra drinks, lying about how many I’ve had, setting limits that I consistently didn’t follow, etc. These are all behaviors that I didn’t even know were red flags until I took a substance abuse class in college after being sober for three months. These are also behaviors I see in friends all the time! In addition to these fun quirks and diagnostic gold, another story was happening in the background that I was slowly starting to see and come to terms with.
Four years of therapy later, and my denial was still strong
In the spring of 2018, I had been in therapy for nearly four years. I had done some outstanding work and made incredible changes in myself, my behaviors, and how I processed emotions. I was on track to loving myself for the first time. When I drank, though, all of that went out the window. I would get drunk, do something stupid, and wake up at 3 am in a suicidal shame spiral. Then, as if by the miracle of denial, I would wake up a few hours later, drink some coffee, eat a greasy breakfast sandwich, take some ibuprofen, and completely forget how terrible I felt in the middle of the night. As you may have guessed, I would complete that cycle again. This wasn’t every day, but probably every weekend, maybe a couple of weekdays here and there.
Autoimmune Disease diagnosis
At the risk of starting another story, I will shorten this next part to the following: That spring of 2018, I got diagnosed with an autoimmune disease and was told I had to go on immunosuppressants for six months, which meant I couldn’t drink for six months. Because the medication affected the liver so heavily, I had to ensure I had a healthy liver going into the prescription. I got my liver tests and had high levels, and that triggered a scan of my liver. The doctor told me I had a “slightly fatty liver.” This news sent me spiraling. My father, who I’ve yet to mention, died from alcoholism only a few years earlier. Was I heading down that road? Everyone in the medical community dismissed my concerns about my liver, stating that this is very common in America due to fast and processed food. Side note: Americans need to do better. I spent the next few weeks eating broccoli and drinking next to nothing. My levels returned to the green, and I was ready to start my sober streak.
Attempting to make drinking look cool
At that same time, I was doing a podcast on craft beer, so, during these six months (which ended up only being about four months), I was still buying special edition and limited edition beers and stockpiling them for reviews when I could drink again. I was not planning on this being long-term. I liked beer, and I enjoyed drinking. The problem is the forced perspective you get when you quit drinking. It makes sense now, but at the time, I didn’t know how much alcohol numbed you and decreased or eliminated your ability to feel and process emotion. Even one drink per week has an effect in this way. Alcohol is, after all, a poison, and it shouldn’t be surprising. If you were taking some other poison once a week, would you be so surprised that it was affecting you on a global scale?
Feeling all the feelings
So, as I stockpiled beers, I noticed myself feeling my feelings. I started processing things I hadn’t previously processed. Best of all, I made fewer stupid decisions, started fewer arguments, and thought more clearly. Of course, I kept all of these realizations to myself because admitting them aloud to someone else, even my wife, would be like admitting that drinking was harmful to me, and I wouldn’t be able to rationalize returning to it. So that’s what I did. I kept all of these realizations to myself. When I finally got off the immunosuppressants, I headed down to the bar I built in my basement and opened a Short’s Barrel-Aged Humalupalicious IPA.
It tastes like shame
That first drink was the best and worst thing I had ever experienced. I had no idea that you could literally taste shame, but you can, and it’s boozy and hoppy. That beer was a strange polarity of delicious and terrible. In my heart, I knew that I shouldn’t go back to drinking, but because I kept those thoughts quiet and had a reputation and an identity wrapped up in beer, everyone around me was encouraging and excited for me to “be able” to drink again. If I had been brave enough to share my thoughts and feelings at that time, I would have an extra year of sobriety today, but that’s not how learning works, is it?
Business as usual, well kind of
The following seven months were business as usual when it came to drinking, with the significant exception that there was a new voice in my head that consistently reminded me how great it felt not to drink and how I hated myself a lot less when I wasn’t drinking. That voice was quiet, but it was enough. When my blood levels for my autoimmune disease spiked and they wanted to put me back on the same drug, I made a decision that would go down in history as one of my top five decisions in my life. I decided to quit drinking to go on the medication and would continue to stop drinking when I was off the medication.
I quit!
On a work trip, I realized this in a movie theater parking lot in Minneapolis. I felt relief in my decision as if it had already been made and was many successful years later. To my surprise, I had a lot of stuff coming up, though. I had Motor City Comic Con, Punk in Drublic music and beer festival, and a vacation out west with my wife. In addition to this, I had a few more work trips, and we were moving from our first house to our second one. I decided to set a date. When we returned from our vacation out west and moved into our new place, I would start the medication and quit drinking.
I’m over it.
Setting dates and having last hurrahs is not a typical method that yields positive results, but in this case, it did. I was more conscious of how much I drank at the abovementioned events, but I did drink at them. Then, when we got home, I stopped by one brewery, did a few beer reviews for the podcast, and quit drinking. That was it. June 24th, 2019, is my sobriety date.
Then I turned six months sober, and the sober lightbulb went on!
Now, to close out and revisit the beginning of this story, I have to fast forward to Christmas of that same year. For those math geniuses out there, that’s six months. That’s the same point that my brother wrote a book, and I thought he was a moron for doing so. When I hit six months sober, hot off of a semester-long substance use course in college, all I wanted to do was tell every person in the world how much the alcohol companies and marketing people were deceiving them.
I can’t stop talking about being sober
I wasn’t going to write a book or anything, but I understood that desire. Instead, I recorded a podcast about my thoughts on alcohol after six months sober. I recorded another episode at a year, then two, then three, and I will continue to record annual podcast episodes about how my thoughts on this thing called sobriety change and evolve because that’s what it is: an evolution. It’s different for everybody, and the word you choose to describe yourself doesn’t matter nearly as much as how you feel about yourself and your decisions. So go be sober, or be in recovery, or be an alcoholic. Whatever you are, make it the best version of yourself!
NA BEERS & 90s: Sober Curator Justin Lamb is dedicated to tasting great (and sometimes not so great) NA beers and showcasing his amazing collection of memorabilia from the ’80s & ’90s. His beer mug is full, there’s just no booze in it.
SPEAK OUT! SPEAK LOUD – Do you have something to say?
In the words of Madonna…”Express yourself!”
This is the space to share collective stories and opinions of our sobriety journeys. After removing drugs and alcohol, many addicts find their voices and discover new talents, abilities, and forms of self-expression. Sharing these stories and experiences helps those who share their story and those still battling addiction. So, let’s Speak Out! And Speak Loud! Because when we recover out loud, we help keep others from dying in silence.
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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.
