If You’re Thinking About Getting Sober, You Probably Should

Ifyou’ve been thinking about getting sober in the new year—or whenever you’re reading this—but are also wondering whether it’s really necessary and actually a good idea, trust me: It is.

If you’re considering getting sober, getting sober is a good idea. The fact that you’re wondering whether you need to get sober is a sign that you need to try sobriety.

This doesn’t necessarily mean you need to stop drinking forever. Maybe you just need a break, and maybe—whatever you choose to do—your life will be fine. But in a lot of cases, when you start to consider making these kinds of changes, there’s a reason.

If you’ve entertained the idea that you need to give up drinking, you’ve done so because it’s a problem for you in some way. Something inside is warning you that things aren’t working the way they should. Listen to that voice.

I’m not writing this because everyone should stop drinking or even because I care whether people get sober. I love(d) drinking, and I hope people can enjoy it healthily. But I’m someone who would probably be on the street, in jail, or dead if I hadn’t gotten sober.

One of the first things I realized after I stopped drinking was that I’d been debating the decision—and doing everything in my power to avoid facing it—for years.

For years I wondered whether stopping drinking was the right thing to do, whether it was worth it—even as alcoholism was ruining my life. Drinking poisoned my health, landed me in jail repeatedly, decimated my finances, and destroyed my relationships.

As all this happened, I pondered whether stopping made sense, whether my situation was dire enough that I had to resort to something as drastic as sobriety. In my backward, poorly programmed, and deeply addicted brain, the normal course was to continue trying to make drinking work. Simply stopping seemed like the extreme choice.

Addiction will always overflow any container you try to put it in.

Part of the problem was, of course, I was addicted, so my mind’s logic was twisted into rationalizing my drinking. But another important factor was that I had no model of sobriety. I didn’t realize that getting sober as a young person was a thing, that I could get sober and still have a social life, that I could get sober and still be cool, interesting, and relevant.

I had never encountered anyone who made sobriety seem practical and attractive, so I imagined that giving up drinking would also mean giving up a lot of other things I enjoyed: having friends, having sex, going out after dark, being edgy. But I learned you can still have all those things, in addition to the other wonderful benefits that sobriety brings: better health, happier relationships, less regret, more money, clarity of purpose, productivity, resolve, discipline, and dignity. And a face you can look at in the mirror every morning.

I’m writing this for people who have never (knowingly) encountered someone who’s sober and don’t know what it looks like—or that it can look good. Sometimes our most important teachers are people who embody a combination of traits we previously thought of as mutually exclusive because they show us that another way of being is possible.

That’s what it was like for me to encounter young sober people for the first time: The binary between enjoying life and being sober suddenly collapsed, and a new world opened.

When I finally decided to get sober, my life became instantly simpler, sweeter, and safer. The endless cycle of destroying myself, starting to heal, and repeating the process suddenly broke. I started to recover, and I realized what it was like to have a clear mind, a rested body, and a full heart. For the first time in years, I began to feel joy.

Within days of getting sober, I realized I’d made the best decision. I was shaken, humbled, and grateful that I’d survived long enough to make it.

And in the resulting, sometimes painful, clarity and light, I also noticed an incredible sense of relief. I realized that while I was drinking, I had been thinking about getting sober all the time. I’d been trying to outwit and rationalize my drinking the whole time.

I would try to work out rules for myself (just one drink, just beer, just wine, just on weekends, just with certain people, just on my own) because I was constantly, desperately trying to come up with ways I could keep my drinking contained and my life on track. But, of course, I could never stick with those rules. Addiction will always overflow any container you try to put it in.

In other words, before I finally came to the decision to get sober, my drinking was out of my control, but I couldn’t admit it. Actually, I couldn’t admit that anything was out of my control, that that there were conflicts within myself that, as an intelligent and independent person, I couldn’t simply outthink.

I saw myself as too smart not to be able to master my life. I thought I just had to think harder, try harder, or work harder. But what I actually needed was to let go. And when I finally did, it was the simplest thing in the world. No elaborate plans or complicated rules, no endless cycle of guilt and failure—just stopping, all at once, hopefully forever.

The greatest relief came from the fact that I was suddenly released from something l didn’t realize I’d been thinking about, worrying about, panicking about, and torn apart by all the time, every day, for years and years. It was like taking a deep breath after having a crushing weight lifted from my chest.

Sometimes you need to stop drinking to realize you needed to stop drinking. I had to get sober to realize I had to get sober. Active alcoholism was hell, and getting sober was, and is, a perpetual source of clarity and peace for me. I want you to have that clarity and peace too, if that’s what you seek.

So if you’re contemplating quitting drinking, don’t question that voice. Listen to it. It’s never impossible to stop, but the longer you wait, the harder it will be.

Don’t be afraid to save yourself.