The one thing nobody knows about my 5-year sobriety

After nearly six years being sober, a shocking truth dawned upon me – and it’s one nobody talks about enough.

There’s a photo from my early twenties: my friends and me in someone’s cramped lounge, arms draped around each other, and empty Double Black bottles on the coffee table.

Whenever my iPhone photo app assaults me with this “memory”, which I do not, in fact, remember, I see a girl who was deep in the cycle of binge drinking.

She’d be fine Monday until Thursday, then Friday until Sunday, she was the textbook party girl – always the last to leave the party and the first to suggest “just one more”.

I was the friend who made every night out a little less predictable, and regrettably, a little more dramatic.

Moderation wasn’t a thing, and I didn’t even want to try. I didn’t see the point. Drinking was my shortcut to confidence, and my way to ensure I always fit into any group or setting I found myself in.

But it was also my undoing, in ways that crept up slowly.

There was always a “hangxiety” that gnawed at me every Sunday, about what I’d said, what I’d done, who I might have hurt. Reckless decisions were made, and relationships gradually broke down.

By 24, the cracks were showing, and after a particularly savage New Year’s Eve hangover, I made the stubborn decision that I couldn’t keep doing this and quit cold turkey.

In my early 20s, drinking every weekend was a non-negotiable. Picture: news.com.au

Whether I was having a drink at a pub on a Friday, travelling, or simply catching up with a friend, I always had a drink in hand. Picture: news.com.au

The three stages of sobriety

It was the beginning of 2020, and I was ready to learn who I was without the constant background hum of alcohol.

The “sober curious” movement really took off this year, as people navigated the pandemic and started questioning their drinking habits. As a result, a lot of non-alcoholic brands launched around this time, which made the transition easier than I thought it would be.

Instead of the “party friend”, I became the “sober friend”, the one who’d always have an elaborate non-alcoholic drink in hand, keen to tell anyone who’d listen about my latest discovery that “tastes just like the real thing!” (it definitely did not).

This is what I like to call the first stage of sobriety. It was a novelty, a personal brand, a new way of being in the world.

And yes, I was just a tad evangelical.

Every day felt like a little personal project, and I had a renewed sense of purpose in life.

When I went sober, I made it my entire personality – and even did an interview with The Daily Telegraph about my ‘sober bar cart’. Picture: The Daily Telegraph

Non-alcoholic drinks were a big part of what got me through the first year. Picture: news.com.au

Then came the second stage: maintenance.

The novelty faded, and sobriety became a quiet fact of my life.

I stopped needing non-alcoholic alternatives to feel comfortable, and people stopped asking questions about why I wasn’t drinking.

I also stopped making a big thing of it.

This is the part where, if you’re lucky, your life starts to flourish.

I built friendships that weren’t based on drinking. I started a book club for women who wanted to socialise without booze, and a hiking group that grew to 80 members.

I swapped clubbing for brunches, morning walks, and the kind of wholesome activities my 23-year-old self would have scoffed at.

I became, much to my own horror, someone who went to the gym and actually liked it.

Sobriety allowed me to fully throw myself into all my hobbies. Picture: news.com.au

But here’s the thing I’ve been too scared to admit about my sobriety. It isn’t a straight line.

Enter, the third stage.

In news that took me completely by surprise, but definitely shouldn’t have – sobriety isn’t a decision you make once and then coast on forever.

Your Stage One and Stage Two selves will convince you that you’re rock solid in your decision, but earlier this year, as my wedding approached, I found myself wondering if maybe, just maybe, I could go back.

A voice in my head would start whispering things like, “You’re different now, maybe you could have just one”.

It grew louder as the big day neared. Would I regret not having a glass of champagne at my own wedding? Would I be missing out on something?

But the idea of breaking my streak, of risking everything I’d built, filled me with something not dissimilar to dread.

I’d made sobriety my identity, and I felt as though I was betraying that just by thinking about drinking again.

In the end, I stayed sober at my wedding as I didn’t want to risk clouding the memory of such a big day.

It was only right that we popped some non-alc bubbly on the big day. Picture: news.com.au

But the questioning didn’t stop.

On my honeymoon, as my husband sipped cocktails on the Sri Lankan coast, I felt a sharp, almost childish envy. Why was this so easy for him, and so complicated for me?

Not wanting to overshadow the honeymoon, I put the question into the “deal with it later” basket.

But now, with my 30th birthday around the corner, another big milestone, I can’t ignore it anymore.

The questioning started back up again on my honeymoon. Picture: news.com.au

But I decided to stick to coconuts in the end. Picture: news.com.au

The pros and cons

Like any good overthinker, I decided to make a pros and cons list in my Notes app.

Pros:

1. Maybe I could go back and love it. If I don’t try, will I always wonder “what if”?

2. I’ve changed. I’m not 23 anymore. I’ve seen the benefits of sobriety first-hand, so why would I want to binge again? Also, my friends don’t binge drink anymore now either, so maybe I wouldn’t

3. A few drinks could be fun, date nights, girls’ nights – it’ll be a new kind of social life I haven’t had for most of my 20s

4. Moderation is a healthy skill to master, rather than having an ‘all or nothing’ mindset, right?

Cons:

1. If it doesn’t work and I go back to being sober, I break my streak, and that streak is a huge part of my motivation

2. What if I haven’t changed? What if I’m still that girl, just older?

3. I never really did the deep work on why I drank, and if I’m honest with myself, it was mostly because of social anxiety. Have I actually grown in this department, or just avoided situations that make me uncomfortable?

4. Because I went cold-turkey, I’m scared I don’t actually have the skills to moderate, even though I know I want to. Alcohol is still a substance that tricks your brain into thinking it’s a good idea to have more, and the alcohol hasn’t changed, even if I have

As you can see, the list ended up having four pros and four cons – meaning I still don’t know what to do.

But when I consider the actual weight of each point, rather than just the number of them, the risk does seem to feel higher than the reward.

But it’s still unsettling that I’m even questioning this after all these years. ESPECIALLY during Dry July, which is like Sober Christmas to us teetotalers. Sacrilegious!

I feel like I’m in such a different place now than when I was 23, which makes me wonder if I could go back to drinking in moderation. Picture: news.com.au

Now what?

To make sense of it all, I decided to chat with Mel Watkins, a psychotherapist and alcohol addiction specialist I met early in my sobriety.

She’s witnessed this pattern, this urge to “test” sobriety, repeatedly in her clients and herself.

“After some time away from drinking, you start to feel good,” she told me. “You’re out of the addiction cycle, you feel in control, you haven’t had a hangover in ages. Naturally, this can lead to a sense of healing. But that isn’t always a sign of long-term recovery.

“Sustainable change means understanding the root causes behind your drinking, shifting your beliefs around alcohol, and learning how to regulate your body without external substances.”

I also asked Mel what the risks are in returning to drinking.

“You have to think about what is there to gain, and what’s there to lose? When people quit alcohol, they gain confidence, make huge moves in their careers, enjoy their families, and feel better than ever. Is everything they gained from sobriety really worth risking just to have a few drinks?”

I also asked about those moments, like birthdays and weddings, that make us question all of our decisions.

“There are always going to be triggers,” she said.

“We live in a world that constantly tells us we should be able to drink normally, and if we can’t, there’s something wrong with us. Whether it’s a celebration, a stressful day, or just seeing an ad for alcohol, triggers are everywhere.

“There’s a deep desire to prove we can drink like everyone else. But the longer you stay on the sobriety journey, the quieter that feeling becomes. Over time, you realise the idea you have about alcohol is only a fantasy. If it was really as good as we’re told, you wouldn’t have been on this journey in the first place.”

These were all compelling points, but I wanted to know whether there’s a world in which some people return to drinking and manage to do it in a healthy way.

Mel was gentle but firm on this. “Personally, I don’t believe drinking is ever a ‘healthy’ option, how can it be, when alcohol is a toxin?”

But she also noted that people need to feel empowered to make their own choices.

“The slips you have in sobriety might teach you an important lesson and actually strengthen your decision to stay sober – that’s what happened with me,” she said.

It’s definitely not a linear journey. Picture: news.com.au

So, where does that leave me?

If you’d asked me five years ago, I’d have said I’d never drink again.

Now, I’m not so sure – but I am leaning towards sticking to my initial promise.

What I do know is that I definitely need to do some deeper work on why I started drinking so much in the first place and what I was running from.

In the words of every TikTok psychologist ever, there’s a lot to unpack.

After that, maybe I’ll be in a better position to make the decision from a more informed place.

Until then, I’ll just have to learn to sit with the uncertainty. To accept that growth isn’t linear, and that it’s okay to question, even after years of certainty.

If you’re reading this and grappling with the same doubts, know you’re not alone.

And even those who seem the most steadfast in their decisions sometimes have their days.

If you’d like to continue the conversation, send me an email or follow me on Instagram el_katelaris.

Originally published as The one thing nobody knows about my 5-year sobriety