By Jennie Canzoneri

I stopped drinking in June 2020, and I want to be honest about how I’ve felt since then.

I’ve Felt it All.

I’ve Felt it All. Unexpectedly lonely. Some of my greatest connections have stayed silent, have told me that I won’t be fun anymore, have tried to convince me to come on, just have one. I’ve been talked about but not talked to. I’ve been left off invites, ignored in rooms that everyone else was raising a glass in, taken off group chats, and have had many people try to convince me their drinking is not a problem after I confided in them about my decision. Drinking is popular, drinking can make you the life of any party, drinking can convince you and every other drunken soul in a room that you’re all in it together. Sobriety doesn’t quite work that way, and it sure can leave you with only your own worn-out soul for company.

I’ve been angry.

I’ve been angry. Really angry. Like blood-boiling rage at what we expect of women, what little support we truly offer them. No equal pay or paid maternity leave or easy access to mental health services or really any tangible safety nets, but here’s a crisp bottle of Sauvignon Blanc. Just crack that open when the kids go to bed to wash all your stress away. (Sorry about what’s to come in the morning, though.) The way we’ve glorified alcohol while berating any woman for over-indulging. Drink your mommy juice! But not too much! Have one more! Not too much though! In some ways, my anger is just taking shape. I smiled through some real bullshit for a long, long time.

I’ve been tired.

I’ve been tired. I think it took a full year to stop feeling such bone-deep fatigue. I thought I might wake up magically energized and ready to conquer the world in a week or so. Not quite. Our bodies and brains can take a real beating, but they sure need time to recover once we finally stop actively harming them. 

I’ve been sad.

I’ve been sad. Immediately, I was sad that my life would never include champagne again. What would travel or brunches or birthdays or, okay, every Friday night be like without champagne? Clearer, turns out. Easier, eventually. I was also sad about the time I’d lost to all that champagne, of course. The wasted money, the wasted time. Sadness can really pack a punch, and I felt pretty defeated for a while.

I’ve also felt the deepest hope and possibility of maybe my entire life.

I’ve also felt the deepest hope and possibility of maybe my entire life. I have come home to myself in a way that feels utterly miraculous. It’s the feeling I was chasing every late night with a bottle or two of wine. I was desperate for myself, and I found her. She’s so fucking cool. (Okay cool maybe isn’t quite the right word, I watch game shows while doing crossword puzzles most nights.) I said in a therapy appointment in early sobriety, “I think what I’ve been thirsty for all these years was myself.” And I mean that. It still rings true. I am my own best company. I am the great love of my own life. I had no idea. I have since learned how to protect my energy, how to say no, how to walk away. I create boundaries like it’s my job. All skills never taught to most young women. Certainly never taught to me. All worth more than the cost of my college education.  

And my god I’ve felt joy.

And my god I’ve felt joy. Joy for all the things I had simply stopped noticing. Eager to get to the end of the day to pour a drink made me miss all the things I now slow down to really savor. Lighting candles, hot showers, a cold cherry Coke, books, the feeling of clean sheets and new pajamas, the sound of crunching leaves, good music, following the actual plot of a TV show. Of course I felt joy while I was drinking, but alcohol dulls everything. It takes the edge off, but it sure takes the shine off too.

I’ve been content.

I’ve been content, which was a feeling I had forgotten existed. The anxiety of getting to the liquor store before it closed for the night or getting empty bottles out to recycling before anyone could comment on them, or even the anxiety while sipping my first drink of the evening. When can I order another? When can I pour the next one? Should I wait until someone else gets a third before I do? All those mental gymnastics were exhausting. My goodness, what pure relief to put that all down. To sit at dinner and think about nothing but the company, to wrap up a work day and think only of the book I’ll crack open or the dinner I’ll make or the movie I’ll watch before getting a full night’s rest. 

We don’t think we can handle life without a glass in hand. We’re afraid of all those first emotions I mentioned. The loneliness, the anger, the sadness. It’s so much, too much. The wine worked quickly (but not all that effectively) and we could always convince ourselves to just deal with the next day the next day. We just don’t think there’s another way meant for us. 

Oh there is.

Oh there is.

Somewhere along the way we were lied to, and we believed it all. We were told that alcohol is an essential part of life, but if we can’t handle our liquor, there’s something wrong with us. Instead of thinking, huh, this all feels like a pretty rigged game.

Now, the emotions are what I sit in, they’re what I welcome. Because I believe what I never did before: I’ve got this. We miss all the good when we drown all the hard. I’ve felt it all over the last 18 months. Every ounce of it. Loneliness, anger, sadness, frustration, exhaustion, joy, connection, hope. I have screamed and cried and laughed and loved. Sobriety isn’t a magic wand, but it is the start of all the real magic I’d been missing for so long. 

All the good and all the hard. Delicious and disastrous. Boring and adventurous. So many held breaths. So many deep exhales.

All the good and all the hard. Delicious and disastrous. Boring and adventurous. So many held breaths. So many deep exhales.

I have felt it all. 

What a goddamn gift.

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Jennie Canzoneri has been savoring a sober life since June 2020. Professionally, she works as a marketing director for a publishing company, empowering authors to feel more confident in their book promotion. Personally, she runs a small handlettered print shop, and reads and travels as often as possible. She’s married to Mike, a mom to Kyle, and has an absolutely terrible-but-adorable 4-year-old Vizsla, Murphy Mae. She lives (for now) in the DFW area.

Connect with Jennie:

Instagram: https://instagram.com/jenniecanzoneri
Etsy Shop: https://www.etsy.com/shop/nicehandwriting

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At Sober Stories, we tell your story. We believe that every path to sobriety is valid, and we celebrate the diverse spectrum of people living without alcohol. We publish community stories on our blog weekly, and we’d love to share yours. To be considered for our community submission blog, please submit your Story here.