What I Used to Believe About Alcohol
There was a time when I couldn’t imagine life without alcohol. It wasn’t just something I drank—it was part of my identity. It was how I celebrated, how I unwound, how I connected with people.
I spent years romanticizing alcohol — the wine at sunset, the laughter-filled bar nights, the clinking glasses that made everything feel a little more cinematic. I believed alcohol brought people closer. I thought it gave me confidence, helped me relax, and made life richer.
But the truth is, that version of alcohol—the one I clung to so tightly—wasn’t real. Not for me. What I was really chasing was comfort, connection, and peace. And alcohol wasn’t giving me any of that. It was quietly taking it all away.
The Reality Behind Romanticizing Alcohol
The version of alcohol I built up in my mind was an illusion. The highlight reels I clung to—the parties, the laughter, the warmth—conveniently left out the hangovers, the regret, the isolation, and the shame.
Romanticizing alcohol made it easy to ignore the damage it was doing. It helped me justify the nights I drank too much, the mornings I couldn’t remember, the money I blew at the bar, and the relationships I let fade away. I told myself it was normal. I told myself I deserved to let loose. I told myself I was fine.
But deep down, I wasn’t fine. I was slowly losing pieces of myself. My confidence wasn’t real—it was a buzz. My joy wasn’t real—it was a blur. My sense of connection wasn’t real—it disappeared the moment the drinks wore off.
Looking back now, I can see that alcohol never gave me what I hoped it would. It numbed me. It disconnected me. It dimmed my light.
If you’re wondering whether alcohol is truly a problem for you, I shared my personal turning point in this post.
How I Shifted My Mindset
Letting go of the romanticized version of alcohol didn’t happen overnight. At first, I grieved it—honestly. I felt like I was giving up something special. I’d built alcohol up to be my comfort, my celebration, my escape. Losing that felt like losing a piece of my identity.
But over time, I started to realize what I was actually gaining.
I began replacing the fantasy with reality. I looked at the full picture—not just the filtered moments. I reminded myself of the pain alcohol caused, not just the temporary highs. I stopped glamorizing the drinks and started celebrating the freedom I was building.
Instead of thinking, “I can’t drink,” I started thinking, “I don’t need to drink.”
Instead of missing the buzz, I started appreciating the clarity.
Instead of chasing connection through alcohol, I found deeper connection through honesty, vulnerability, and presence.
Today, when I see people drinking, I don’t feel like I’m missing out. I feel grounded. I feel grateful. I feel free.
What I Found on the Other Side
What I’ve found in sobriety is something I never expected: peace. Not the fleeting kind that comes from a drink, but the steady, quiet kind that builds over time. I’ve rediscovered who I am without alcohol, and I actually like that person. I trust myself again. I show up for the people I love. I feel things fully—joy, sadness, pride, even discomfort—and I no longer need to numb any of it.
I thought sobriety would make my life smaller, but it’s done the opposite. It’s made everything deeper, more meaningful, and more real. The moments I used to romanticize? I’ve started creating them for real—only now, I remember them. I’m present for them. And I know they’re truly mine.
Letting Go of the Illusion
If you’ve ever found yourself romanticizing alcohol, I get it. It’s hard to let go of something you once believed made life better. But I promise—what’s waiting on the other side of that illusion is worth it.
You don’t have to have it all figured out. You don’t have to be perfect. You just have to keep choosing yourself, one day at a time.
You can also learn more about my journey here if you’re just getting started.
I’d love to hear from you—have you noticed your mindset shifting since getting sober? Drop a comment below or reach out.
We rise in sobriety, together.
