This week, a return guest, Ryan Stober. Ryan and I sit down to discuss drinking too much and getting sober complete with a few embarrassing stories.
Ryan shares his struggle with alcohol starting in high school and carrying into his 40s. Ryan and I both quit drinking and reflect on the why and what of it all including what it’s like to be sober in social situations now that we put down the booze. Thank you to Ryan for his honesty and thoughtfulness on the subject.
Watch this episode on YouTube. Follow the show wherever you get your podcasts.
If you are trying to drink less or understand your relationship with alcohol, I encourage you to listen to Andrew Huberman’s podcast on the effects of alcohol on our body and brain. We’ve been misinformed about the toxicity of alcohol in our body and our lives.Huberman Lab: What Alcohol Does To Your Body Brain and Health
If you enjoyed this podcast, listen to Lindsay and Ryan’s conversation about being single over 40.
For impactful resources for individuals and families seeking recovery. Visit First Call.
If you are looking for treatment options, visit findtreatment.gov
An excerpt from my book Overthinking in Your UnderwearNow on Amazon. Chapter 11:Overthinking and Drinking
I’m not so much a high-functioning alcoholic as I am a low-functioning social drinker. Everyone has a different tolerance for alcohol and mine is painfully low. You could have two drinks and operate a forklift, and when I have two drinks, I can’t lift my fork. It’s something I had to come to terms with in my thirties. Shut’er down. Last call. Tab’s closed.
In high school, I have a swig here or a beer there, but I don’t do any heavyweight drinking until college. For an introvert who’s more comfortable with books than bars, alcohol is the antidote for the new sprint of social interactions. Pre-party shots roll into late-night “after bars” and you float on the fumes of Finlandia until morning. I often drink at whatever pace the night or my friend group demands. My hangovers are wicked and the blackouts, worse. Limits are never learned, and I carry that behavior with me as a graduation gift.
Out of college, I don’t drink as often, but when I do, my poor tolerance surges back like a recently tapped keg. After a handful of drinks, I struggle to remember the night before and the following day, I puzzle together memories like Guy Pearce with a stack of Polaroids. It’s terrifying, shameful, and embarrassing—even if nothing of note happens.
But one night something does. I am living in New York enjoying a typical night with friends. Cheers, drink, slur, repeat. I wake up the next morning with a gaping hole where half the night should live. The last thing I remember the sun has only started to dim, but my faculties are out like a light.
After that, it’s only pieces and pictures. The face of a man I don’t know leaning over me. The flare of a flashlight passing over my eyes like headlights on a highway. And pitch granite blackness. That was it. I can’t recall anything else. I speak to a friend who was with me the night before, and she assures me all is well. It was a fun, boozy night, and I left the group to look for a cab as the night ended. Now, I’m home safe, and I shouldn’t overthink it.
A few days later, my anxiety-hangover begins to wane, and I return to my apartment with an armful of groceries. As I head inside a neighbor stops me. She’s a young woman in her twenties who frequently sits outside smoking on our stoop. Before today, we’ve never exchanged more than a cordial head nod.
“Are you okay?” my neighbor asks.
“Oh, hi. Um, yeah, why?” I reply.
“You don't remember, do you?” she says. Nothing rushes back to me, but I know she’s about to tell me something I don’t want to hear.
“You were pretty out of it the other night,” my neighbor says, stomping her cigarette into the pavement.
“I came outside to smoke, and you were passed out in a cab. Driver was trying to wake you up, flashlight in the eye, the whole thing.” she continues.
I look at my feet.
“I showed him where you lived. We carried you to your apartment,” she says.
I mumble “thank you” or maybe “I’m sorry.”
If I’m being honest, I don’t know what I said. I may have laughed it off as I hurried inside.
If you’re trying to add up those events (like I did), it may have unraveled like this. I left my friends and got in a cab. I gave the driver my cross streets and passed out after telling him my life story and texting two to three ex-boyfriends. When we pulled up to my address, he turned around to find a girl TKO’d without a fight. Everything he has to deal with in a day—traffic, rude passengers, city tumult. And this … this is how he ends his night?
I know … I hated myself, too. But more than that, I hated how little I cared to put myself in a position where maximum bodily harm could’ve found me. That night it didn’t. That night, a few kind people went out of their way to make sure a girl they didn’t know got home safely.
A few weeks later, I saw my therapist and exclaimed, “I’m obviously not an alcoholic,” before launching into current events. After listening attentively to this story and other mishaps over the years, she said gently, “You can have a problem with alcohol without being an alcoholic.” That hit like a straight up martini on a lunch of Baked Lays.
Textbook definitions, online quizzes, and Meg Ryan in her only dramatic role of the ‘90s assured me I didn’t have a problem. I never drank alone. I’d go weeks without a sip. I didn’t even like the taste. But realizing alcohol may not suit your life, your personality, and could become problematic? That was an ahhh to the freaking haaa for me.
I took a hard look in the mirror and a glance at my drinking past. The reality is, I wasn’t in control. I’d begin a night out thinking, “Well, anything can happen!” That’s a fun motto for Mardi Gras but not so much for a Tuesday work dinner.
I catalogued all the times I nuked relationships or acted in a way that tanked my self-worth and without fail— alcohol was at the helm. There I was … fighting against the current to win this self-love game, yet refusing to remove the one thing that kept pulling me under like that girl in the first scene of JAWS.
I wish I could tell you I never drank again, but that’s not true. I didn’t drink for a long time. And a few years later, I made a deal with myself to only drink on special occasions and in situations I felt safe. Even then, I had to trust that one drink didn’t morph into six, and I wouldn’t wake up with a flashlight in my face.
Pseudo sober
Choosing to be on the sober side of things is physically gratifying and socially interesting. On a rare occasion, I have a drink, but on the whole, I choose to live without alcohol. There's a word for it now. They call it “sober curious,” which sounds like something everyone tries “just once” in college. For me, it’s the right choice. I don’t want the fog of the night before rolling in the next morning like the beginning of a “Dateline Special.” The aches of too much alcohol are pains I can live without.
The hard part is the beginning. At first, your friends won’t understand your new way of being. In time, it becomes a known fact. “Oh, she doesn’t drink,” they say to the waiter before he can even hand over the wine list. It goes without mentioning after a while, and you don’t have to explain it. But at first, you do. You have to tell every person you ever happied-your-hour with that things are different now. You have to say, “I’m just not drinking tonight.” Or, “I have a big meeting tomorrow.” Or lie, “I had too much last night.” It's bizarre, right? We invent excuses for why we chose a healthier lifestyle because the ritual of drinking is held as hero in our culture.
I don’t go through the theatrics anymore. I say, “I’m not much of a drinker.” And I leave it there. Without further explanation. No excuses necessary.
Owning your “oops”
I beat myself up for a long time about the way I acted with my drinking. But I needed to own it, accept it, and forgive myself. In the beginning, I took time each month to reflect on how far I’d come. “Wow, I drank Diet Coke during a four-hour happy hour and actually had fun.” I chose to be proud of my progress rather than looking back and shrinking small into regret. You can’t practice self-love and overflow your self-worth until you forgive yourself and stop replaying mistakes from your past.
Put the “u” in trust
Over the years there were habits I aimed to quit—drinking, bad relationship patterns, not showing up for others. I lied aloud saying, “Oh, it was just a bad night,” or “I’ll do better next time.” I’d make a promise to the person in the mirror and break it like a glow stick at a rave. Afterward, I not only carried the consequence of my actions, but every stumble sliced at my self-worth.
The trust you build with yourself is more meaningful than any other relationship. Whether you’re preaching to the choir or mumbling to your inner monologue, your words have weight. If you decide to quit a behavior or begin a routine—follow through for YOU. Behave in a way that’s consistent and show up for yourself before anyone else.
Baby steps
If you wake up on the wrong side of a night, it can feel like you’ll never be right again. Focus on “the next step” to help take positive action without becoming overwhelmed with the marathon of decisions in front of you.
You can't go back and change the beginning but you can start where you are right now and change the ending.—C.S. Lewis
In the drinking example, maybe the next step is a bit of exercise to make you feel better. Focus on that step and that step only, no overthinking. The next step after that is eating something healthy. And the next step after that is a good night’s sleep because your body needs it.
If you find it helpful, write the five steps you need to address for that week. Focus on your “five step list,” no overthinking beyond that. Tackle your “five step list” for as many weeks as you need. Little by little, these small steps lead to higher ground where you can handle larger decisions and bigger life changes.
The hard stuff
Recently, I shared this chapter with a friend and she shook her head saying, “I had a night almost exactly like that.” My story is more ordinary than outrageous and that’s what we need to overthink.
We assume unnatural postures under the premise of having a good time, chasing the guy, or being the life of the party. Alcoholic or problem drinker, sober or pseudo sober, the label doesn’t matter. I was recklessly toying with common sense and, as women, we don’t have the luxury to be this careless. It’s up to us to know our limits, mamma bear our well-being, and tuck ourselves in at the end of the night.
Let’s overthink it
To get started, grab a notebook, a writing utensil, and open to a blank sheet of paper. Find a quiet spot to sit where you can overthink your thoughts.
On the left side of the paper, write a behavior you’re working through: “smoking, drinking, gambling, too much social media, etc.”
On the right side of the paper, write a gratitude(s) that comes with ceasing that behavior, “I feel clear headed in the morning. I have more energy, etc.”
At the bottom of the paper, jot down a few “go-to” activities to replace the behavior you’re trying to leave behind. Your list may look like this:
If I want a drink or a cigarette, I will:
Work out
Walk my dog
Go for a hike
Meditate or journal
Cook or meal prep for the week
Call a friend
These activities are personal to your life, and my list may be way off your course of interests. Create a list that motivates and inspires you. Keep these activities top of mind, so you know how to curb the urge.
Why ask why
If you’ve been close to a person with a substance abuse disorder, you know this much—you can’t be someone’s reason for quitting. Everyone has to find their “why” and do it for themselves. If you’re trying to quit a behavior, find your “why.” Maybe it’s “for your son.” Or, “this is for my self-worth.” Or, “I’ll never make partner if I continue. This is for my career.” Choose an object that represents your reason for quitting and keep it nearby. Find your “why” and hold tight.
DISCLAIMER: Please know that the information shared in this episode is for educational and entertainment purposes only and not considered therapy or counseling. This is not intended to be a substitute for medical advice or treatment. If you feel you are in need of therapy at this time, please seek out a counselor in your area.
Thanks for listening to Overthinking in Your Underwear. Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work.
This post is public so feel free to share it
This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit lindsaybruno.substack.com
