Eight Years Ago I Took My Last Drink

And why I celebrate milestones but rarely talk about sobriety anymore.

My last drunk Christmas, 2016

I spent New Year’s Day 2017¹ mostly in bed, hungover from my last series of drinks the night before. New Year’s Eve 2016 went much like any other uneventful night out with a few friends and drinks, ending just after midnight. Yet, I only have fragments of memories from that evening and the entire holiday season—more and more of my time dissolved into blackouts, even when I wasn’t drunk. Family memories and holiday traditions survived only through stories told back to me or captured in photographs.

I posted this on Facebook with my whole chest. WTF. Talk about saying the quiet part out loud.

One thing I recalled about NYE was sitting at the bar² with my husband and my friends, once again retelling the story of how I’d gotten a DUI six months prior. I’d repeatedly told the story to other well-meaning friends to justify my actions because it usually worked. It’s something EVERYONE had done (right?), something that didn’t make me a bad person (right?), and certainly, it didn’t mean I had a problem or needed to change anything about myself (right? Please tell me I’m okay and please love me; I’m a good person!) Whenever I did this, there was almost always someone who could pat me on the back and say, “That sucks, we’ve all driven a little tipsy before.”

But this time, I don’t remember how my friends responded. Maybe they blew sunshine up my ass, or maybe they told me I sucked, though it was probably somewhere in the middle. The fact that I’d shared that damn DUI story—one of my darkest and most painful moments—AGAIN was a massive slap in my hungover face.

It was the only story I felt I deserved to tell about myself.

That brief moment of clarity, coupled with the lack of any other memories, and realizing that I was erasing myself from life, led to the final shame-inducing "OH FUCK, I can’t keep doing this." 

My dad and I went to a Seahawks game Christmas Eve. I remember we both got one beer, and once it was gone, all I could think about was getting another, but I didn’t want to ‘seem like I had a problem.’

Later that day, I opened the heavy doors to the same church basement where I’d once toured preschool for my kids. The juxtaposition of happy children’s art and the circle of chairs was disconcerting. I didn’t feel as if I belonged there. I was a broken, terrible person tainting this innocent space.

I remember wearing a hat with FFS³ printed on it, clothes I’d worn to bed the night before, and crying (like, a lot⁴) while other people shared. I didn’t know any conventions, rituals, or things to repeat, so I just sat, cried, and listened.

Someone asked if I wanted to speak, and WOW, they were probably sorry they asked because I emotionally and verbally vomited for well over the time allotted. But instead of being horrified by what came out of my mouth, they nodded, told me they understood, and thanked me for sharing. When the meeting was over, someone handed me a booklet of phone numbers and told me to keep coming back. And I did.

Do I remember this? No, I do not.

The next day, I had lunch with my husband and told him I wasn’t going to drink anymore. He responded, “Are you sure?” which we both look back on now and laugh about because SERIOUSLY? But honestly, there is so much enabling that happens in addiction, and it was daunting to think about how much our relationship would need to change to accommodate it. It wasn’t easy, especially with five little kids under twelve!

This little muffin was four. He came with me every month for a year to the shop where they did my monthly breathalyzer service/download. I’ll never forget how nice the people were to us there.

I attended meetings, worked the steps every Sunday at a coffee shop with my sponsor, and started coming to life again. Sobriety also became…my whole personality for a while. I talked a bit about this in my post about my first book and how it can be a natural part of the process to share about sobriety ad nauseum because it’s so all-consuming at first.

There’s a satisfaction in sharing recovery with the world because it’s so life-altering. When you’ve been working steps and apologizing all over yourself and cleaning up for years of being an asshole, the hearts and likes social media provides can feel like a hug.

Also, I’d always been one of those people. I didn’t have a super strong sense of self, so people, places, and things always became my entire personality. I wasn’t just passionate; I was BATSHIT passionate. It’s why I became such a successful queen supreme bossbabe in my MLM days.

As far back as I can remember, I absorbed the world around me to make myself more interesting or enjoyable. My boyfriends’ interests would become mine.⁵ The things my friends were into became the hobbies I pursued. I couldn’t do something half-assed, either; I had to go all in. Three kids? Ha! How about five? Back when I had a vegan phase, I was that vegan who wouldn’t shut the fuck up about being vegan. So, of course, I was the same way about quitting drinking.

so many letterboards…

I say all of this because I’m asked about it. Emily, Why don’t you post about sobriety anymore? You used to be so into it! What about all the articles you used to write? Why don’t I see you in meetings? What happened? And believe me, I get it; it’s a bit of a paradox, even to me.

It’s tough to explain how a significant part of my identity is also something I rarely think about anymore.

As time passed, and I figured out who I was, what I liked, and how I wanted to spend my time, being sober became less of a talking point and more of a truth, like my height or eye color. Sobriety wove itself into the fabric of the many things that make me who I am, not something I needed to post for likes, prove anything, or build a ‘brand.’ Activism can look many ways, and while it used to resemble a keyboard warrior sharing scary statistics and calling out problematic alcohol messaging, now it consists of walking through the world as an emotionally sober person.

I can tell you with 100 percent honesty that I couldn’t care less what anyone else’s relationship with alcohol looks like, aside from the people in my own family. That may sound like apathy, but it feels like freedom to me.

I’m a person who doesn’t drink alcohol. That’s it. I know people are reading this who probably think, “Oh, but your disease is doing pushups in the parking lot,” and if that’s helpful for you, great, but it’s not my jam. I know I don’t want to drink, I know I can’t drink, and I know I won’t drink. It’s pretty simple.

With all that said, today, I celebrate the one decision that made many other decisions in my life easier. I applaud myself for taking one step that allowed me to take all the others. I thank my friends, family, and the sobriety community for holding me up when I couldn’t or didn’t want to continue. Three-fifths of my kids have had me as a sober parent longer than a drunk one. In a few years, all five will have known me longer sober.

Inside, I’m grateful and proud as hell every day.

But don’t expect more than one cheesy reel about it each year.

emilylynnpaulson

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xo Emily

1. My last drink was New Year’s Eve, I was still drunk and hungover New Year’s Day, which is why I consider January 2nd my “date” but the whole window of time is important to me.

2. Shadowland, where I was a frequent patron.

3. FFS stands for “For Fuck’s Sake,” and is one of my most treasured clothing items from my friend Sarah B.

4. The ugly kind with snot.

5. HUNTING. I went HUNTING once. (No, I didn’t kill anything or even pick up a weapon, so I was more of a hunting accomplice I suppose)