Happy 2 Years Sober to me!

Today marks two years of being sober. Two whole years without alcohol. Some days it feels like forever. Other days, like I just started. It reminds me of how grief works — my mom has been gone two years, too and that still feels like yesterday and a lifetime ago all at once. Time does this strange thing where it stretches and collapses depending on where you’re standing in it.

If you had told me at the start of all the trauma — the diagnoses, the hospital rooms, the funerals, the long nights filled with aching loss — that I would come out the other side sober, I probably would’ve laughed in your face. Because alcohol was my vice. My crutch. My escape hatch when life was too much.

It wasn’t always that way. Growing up, I watched my dad drink every night. Beer first, then liquor. It’s not on his death certificate, but I know alcohol killed him. Just like it killed his dad. For me, drinking started in the typical teenage way — sneaking around, high school parties, cheap blueberry vodka. Then came my twenties and sugary “girly” drinks like Smirnoff Ice and wine coolers. At the time, it all felt innocent enough.

But somewhere along the line, it shifted. I developed a taste for craft beer, for cocktails that didn’t taste like candy, and it slowly seeped into every part of my life. Not just parties or holidays anymore, but pizza nights, brunches, dinner out, yard work, long workdays. Excuses to drink were endless, and eventually, excuses weren’t even necessary. It just became… every day.

And when grief hit, alcohol definitely stopped being any sort of casual. When my dad died, I started drinking even more to cope. To get through tough nights after hard workdays, to silence the constant ache, to fill the quiet at night. I could put away a 12-pack in a day and a half. Sometimes one. When my mom was diagnosed, it spiraled even more. I didn’t know how else to survive what was happening.

People want to know about the “rock bottom.” The moment. For me, there wasn’t a dramatic crash. No DUI. No arrest. No single catastrophic event. Just this slow, gnawing realization that alcohol wasn’t helping me — it was hollowing me out. Don't get me wrong - I did plenty of things I regret. There are plenty of events and moments that even now make me want to bury myself in shame and forget they ever happened, but it wasn't this big, dramatic rock bottom life-defining moment for me. It was all the tiny paper cuts that were bleeding me dry. I tried cutting back for months. Dry months that ended after 3 days. Promises broken again and again. I always wondered why I couldn’t stop. Why couldn’t I have just one drink like other people? Why was one drink the start of six? Why, after finishing the six-pack, was I ordering more on DoorDash?

It wasn’t until sobriety that I understood: I’m a binge drinker. I binge everything I drink — water, seltzer, coffee. I’ve never been the person who sips and savors slowly. So of course, I couldn’t just “have one.” That clarity, as simple as it sounds, was huge for me.

October 1, 2023, became my first sober day. I made it through a week. Then, I made it through the month. Then November. Then December. Three months came and went, and I realized I didn’t miss it. I didn't originally plan on staying sober forever, but after the three months, I didn't want to go backwards with my progress. I didn’t miss the hangovers, the shame spirals, the way alcohol made me feel like a stranger to myself. I couldn't tell you what shifted, just that it did. The months and months of tracking and trying to cut back and learning about it all, it finally just clicked into place. And somewhere in that time, I told people close to me that I was done. They were supportive, some sad, mostly proud. And overwhelmingly, I felt that support. That support mattered. So did the Reframe app, which gave me tools I didn’t even know I needed. I credit so much of these two years to it.

Two years later, I can say I don’t miss alcohol itself. I can still enjoy a good drink — the non-alcoholic world has exploded, and some of those NA beers and cocktails taste exactly like the real thing, minus the regret. Do I still get the occasional craving? Yeah. Festivals make me crave a mango cart beer for some reason. But those moments pass.

What I thought would be hardest were the cravings when life got hard. In the early days, I used every tool in the book to ride those waves. But somewhere along the way, the cravings stopped coming. That was the shock.

We’ve been trying to sell our house for the past five months. Two mortgages, two sets of bills, repairs stacking up, plans and trips cancelled, money bleeding out faster than we can make it. Stressing about how much we dropped the house and how much repairs would cost, and how that was going to ultimately put us in a new house way different from what we wanted, finally got to me. Two days ago, I hit the most stressed-out I’ve ever felt in my life. (And yes, I know that’s dramatic — I handled my parents’ estates and somehow didn’t feel this wrung out. But in that moment, it was overwhelming in a new way.) And not once did I think: I need a drink. That realization hit me later — I had made it through one of my hardest days, and alcohol didn’t even cross my mind. Three years ago, I would’ve wanted a drink immediately. Instead, all I wanted was sleep and to breathe. (Bed has become my new comfort place, which, honestly, is better than a hangover.)

In the last two years, I’ve also learned a lot about myself. I’ve learned what it means to actually sit with my emotions instead of running from them. I’ve learned to accept my imperfections, to stop chasing some unreachable version of myself. I’ve grown more comfortable in my own skin. I’ve built boundaries I didn’t have before, and I’m learning what it means to be a good person without sacrificing myself in the process. Some of this came from sobriety. Some of it came from grief. Trauma changes you profoundly. But sobriety has given me a new way of living in that change.

Even being around alcohol doesn’t bother me anymore. Just tonight, I poured fifteen bottles from our bar straight down the drain while packing. Two and a half years ago, I would’ve hoarded them — or, let’s be real, already drank them. Now? Gone. Nightlife doesn’t bother me either. If anything, it has the opposite effect. I watch people get sloppy, loud, repetitive, and instead of wanting to join them, I feel grateful that I’m clear-headed.

Sobriety has shown me the lies alcohol tells. How it’s romanticized in every movie, every show, every book. How it pretends to be fun and funny while hiding the shame, the anxiety, the broken pieces left behind. And it’s also shown me the truth about myself: I’m stronger than I thought. I’m resilient in ways I never believed. And I can live without it.

And along the way, I’ve learned more about what alcohol actually does to your body. Things I didn’t really know until I stepped back from it. Like how alcohol is literally ethanol, the same thing in gasoline. Would you ever grab a straw and sip from a gas pump? Of course not. But that’s what our bodies are processing every time we drink. It doesn’t just “relax” you — it slows down your brain’s ability to function. It messes with sleep, which is why I’d wake up exhausted even after “passing out.” It weakens your immune system, leaving you wide open to every bug that passes by. It rewires the brain, shrinking memory and decision-making centers over time. It’s linked to cancers we don’t want to talk about. It dries out your skin and leads to poor food choices. It’s poison dressed up in a pretty glass.

And yet, we buy into it. I bought into it. For years, I let myself believe that alcohol was helping me — helping me cope, helping me connect, helping me belong. The truth is, it was stripping me down while convincing me I was whole.

If you’ve been where I was — if you’ve wondered why you can’t stop, if you’ve tried and failed and tried again, if you feel stuck in that shame spiral — I get it. You’re not alone. I’m not a coach. I’m not an expert. But I know the way that feels. And two years later, I can tell you: it’s possible to step out of it. It’s possible to build a life where alcohol isn’t the center. It’s possible to actually feel again — messy, imperfect, raw, real.

This is my story. It’s not whole, it’s not perfect. There are darker pieces I’m not ready to share yet. Maybe one day. For now, this is me at two years sober. I’m not writing this to convince anyone to quit. I’m not sponsored by Reframe or trying to push some lifestyle. I’m just sharing what’s real for me. This is my story. Two years sober. And I’m not looking back.

If you feel like you need help or that your relationship with alcohol is not casual, please reach out for help. You're not alone.

If you or someone you love is struggling with alcohol, here are some resources that may help:

• SAMHSA’s National Helpline (U.S.) – 1-800-662-HELP (4357). Free, confidential, 24/7 treatment referral and information service.

• Alcoholics Anonymous (AA) – https://www.aa.org | Peer-led support groups worldwide.

• SMART Recovery – https://www.smartrecovery.org | Science-based self-empowering recovery support.

• Moderation Management – https://www.moderation.org | A program for those who want to cut back rather than quit.

• Reframe App – https://www.joinreframeapp.com | (Not sponsored, just something I’ve used) – a neuroscience-based app that helps with habit change and sobriety.

• National Institute on Alcohol Abuse and Alcoholism (NIAAA) – https://www.niaaa.nih.gov | Reliable information about alcohol’s effects on health.