7 things I learned in 6 months of sobriety

One of these may surprise you! Or not! I'm not you!

Last December, I decided it was time to quit drinking. I knew it was affecting my mood, my productivity, my friendships, my parenting, my marriage, my general love of literally anything, and now, finally, I had a doctor say, “You really need to take a look at how much you’re drinking.”

So after the holidays (because…I mean, c’mon, that’s the time TO drink), I committed to a date. On January 5th, 2025, I would be done with alcohol.

And I did it.

I still haven’t had a drink in over 6 months. Along my “journey,” I had a hard time finding things online that were inspirational to me, non-AA or religious-coded, or anything I needed to hear. So I wanted to reflect on the real experience of going from about 1400 calories worth of whiskey every single day, to absolutely none overnight.

1. I’m an alcoholic. And still am.

This was hard to admit. No one WANTS to be an alcoholic, no matter how true it is. In general, I’m not a big fan of labels. They feel steeped in a legacy of shame and blame that I don’t care for. Plus, if you’re labeled as something “bad,” you try to avoid the conversation entirely. I know a lot of people who I would consider racist who would never admit they are racist because being racist is “bad.” And how could a “good” person be “bad?”

But what if the label was what I needed to make some real change, finally? Because it was true: I was and am an alcoholic. I didn’t want that label, but frankly, it helped kickstart something in my brain: it’s time to make a change if I don’t want to.

I am an alcoholic. Even 6 months sober, I would tell anyone, I’m an alcoholic. I can’t have one drink and call it suitable for the night. If I start, I go until I’m hammered enough to sleep. That’s an alcoholic. That’s me. Hi, I’m Scott ‘Scoots’ Fassett, and I am an alcoholic. Oh, speaking of being an alcoholic:

2. There’s no substitute for alcohol.

Now I don’t mean physically. There’s a whole host of NA beers these days that taste great. And someone somewhere figured out mocktails (“Hey, if we just take the booze out of these, we can charge the same, even though it’s just juice!). There are lots of those out there.

But nothing hits that dopamine receptor like alcohol. It works. Every. Damn. Time.

And NOT getting it led to horrible withdrawal symptoms. Irritability! Shaky hands! Sleepless nights! Cold sweats any time, day or night! But in the end, the only symptom I wanted to fix was how to get that freakin’ dopamine reward.

Now, sure, by now you’re probably thinking, “yeah, but you can get dopamine lots of ways.”

“OH, REALLY?”, I say to you, a probably fit, healthy, and mentally-stable reader, “well let me tell you about ME.”

Exercise! – Hate it. I have asthma. And I’m overweight. It feels like punishment.

Creativity! - The long stare of a blank canvas is one I will never forget.

Music! - I listen to it all day at work. It does nothing. NEXT!

Get outside! - It’s 98 degrees outside. See also the prior bullet about exercise.

Eat healthy! - Fuck you and fuck off.

Now, this is mainly in jest. What I learned was that no one thing can be a substitute for the sweet, sweet dope hit of whiskey. However, many things can surely help over time. I started meditating, I started journaling, I took more breaks during my work day, I kept boundaries around my me time at home - and guess what? You CAN get dopamine from other things. Who knew!?!

Suddenly, my brain began to experience a newfound sense of clarity. Uh oh:

3. The Third Place. Or “Mo’ clarity mo’ problems.”

So now I can’t numb away my problems with alcohol. Big deal. I got this.

It turns out, almost everything I turn to is numbing. Video games? Numbing. Snacking? Numbing. Scrolling TikTok or watching YouTube vids? Numbing. Listening to YouTube while playing a video game and consuming late-night snacks? It’s the motherfucking numbing trifecta, bay bee. NUMB-FECTA.

Remember when I said there was no substitute for alcohol? It turns out I was subconsciously trying to substitute it all along. Maybe I was getting a little dopamine, but what was I getting? A numb-out. A place to go to. My third place.

I went on a journey exploring third places for a while, the idea being that you need something in your life besides work and home. Turns out, my third place was whiskey all along. I’d cancel plans to drink. I’d ghost friends to drink. I’d skip connecting with my wife to drink. Alcohol had become my third place. And that sucks. That made me more depressed than when I admitted to alcoholism. How could a drink be my third place?

I don’t have a happy ending for this one; I’m still trying to find my third place. But I need a segue of some kind. OH I KNOW - something something therapy!

4. Just get the therapy already.

I love the joke that men will literally do anything but go to therapy. What a world we would be if every boomer just went to talk to a fucking therapist, y’know?

Now, I was already in therapy when the decision was made. I’ve been working on a whole host of past trauma and social anxieties for years now. To say my therapist wasn’t surprised at all to have me come to her and say, “I’m an alcoholic,” would be an understatement. She was waiting for me to make the first move. And if I’ve ever dated you, you know I suck ass at making the first move (see also re: social anxiety).

What it brought to me was an accountabilli-buddy. But, like, one who wasn’t romantically involved with me. My wife couldn’t have been more supportive of my decision. But having someone I am PAYING, for some reason, brought a new lens to things—progress check-ins, dealing with new feelings, strategies, and tools to use along the way. Therapy is invaluable, and everyone should do it. Especially if you’re gonna stop drinking, because OH BOY are some feelings going to come up:

5. Get ready to, maybe for the first time, FEEL.

You know, I thought I knew how to feel. It seems so basic. People ask all the time:

“Hey, how ya doing?” or “How ya feeling?”

My response? Fine. Good. Same old. Even on a good day, I was probably just okay.

I would get tastes of feeling now and then. When I was in the theater watching Inside Out 2, and I saw the most realistic representation of my anxiety on screen (and the part where Sadness says to Joy, “Riley needs you”)? I wept. When my child was born, and I heard that first little cry? I was so overcome with joy, I forgot how exhausted I was. And the current political climate has made me feel levels of anger I never thought possible.

But like………..how was I doing?

I didn’t know. I still don’t know. I realized I spent so long numbing that I have forgotten how to name my feelings. I don’t know what they are. My wife will ask, “How did that (insert event) feel for you?” and I’ll honestly reply I don’t know. My therapist will ask how my week has been, and outside of any significant events, I often struggle to come up with anything. I completely forgot how to feel things. Or I forgot what feelings feel like. I’m like a fuckin toddler over here trying to name my feelings - it’s like parenting myself. I may be doing this for the rest of my life. But I know one feeling - it FEELS great to be off alcohol and finally start feeling things again, even if it’s frustrating sometimes. Hey, I named one! Frustrating! Neat! See, I CAN adapt to new behaviors. OH, what a segue!

6. You have to adapt to social situations.

You know, the last thing I wanted to do, maybe a month or two in? Go to a bar with coworkers and drink.

You know what they wanted to do? Go to a bar and drink.

You know what friends do together? Drink.

You know what family does together? Drink.

You know what all this makes me WANT to do?

HA, got you, I didn’t want to drink. But it did make me want to numb out. So I said no a lot. I skipped happy hours, skipped gatherings, skipped family trips…But I can’t hide forever. I needed to figure out how to be okay not drinking when everyone else is.

And boy, is that tough.

What I’ve learned is it’s a baby steps thing. I don’t have to say no to a happy hour. No one is making me drink. It turns out they want my company and the camaraderie of being together, commiserating about the same things. So I started to say yes. Except now I listened to my body and kept boundaries. Maybe I’d stay for one “round,” enjoy my soda water with bitters,¹ and then Irish goodbye. Might come across as rude, but hey, at least I was still a part of things. As not drinking became easier, staying longer became easier. And keep in mind, I struggle with social anxiety as it is. I was using alcohol as a shield—a literal one, in my hand. I would also sometimes have my phone in the other hand - a second shield! That’s a whole different blog post, but as I adapted to new situations, I learned to have no shields, to let my guard down, and be vulnerable. Ope, see, this is how you end up with seven instead of six. Now I need to talk about that.

7. Be vulnerable.

I’m a huge fan of Brené Brown’s Ways of Working - it’s been pretty instrumental in teaching me to be a better manager, mentor, and director. And really, the biggest takeaway from that is about vulnerability. It was through this training that I learned I was a perfectionist — a label I would never have given to myself. But the more I thought about it, it was right. Fuckin’ labels.

So, of course, with my new label, I took it on, named myself that, and tried to learn tools and strategies to deal with it. Another forever journey I’ll be on. However, learning to put down my shields and open up to people was a huge breakthrough. All the old books tell you about how to be a perfect parent, but sharing my own parenting struggles, some hilariously bad, has led to parents feeling closer to me and opening up about themselves. You used to not talk about depression and anxiety, but I do. Openly and proudly. And many people have shared their stories or even asked me how they start therapy.

So I had to learn to be vulnerable around alcohol. I tell people I can’t be around booze right now and skip things. Share how many days sober I’ve been. Explain all my withdrawal symptoms to people so they know my hand is shaking because I stopped drinking. Talk about how much I miss drinking whiskey or going to a pub and trying all the beer or sharing a bottle of wine with friends and family. All of it makes it more okay. It feels good to talk about. And hell, if it inspires anyone else to quit drinking, then that’s great.

There’s a lesson here, probably.

So that’s my journey. Take from it what you will. It has been arduous, draining, painful, and at times, miserable.

But here I am, six months later. A calmer parent. An improved partner. A more focused coworker. A worthier friend. A just okay family member. And a better feeling, less anxious, more mindful me.

Need to begin your sobriety journey? Not sure where to start? Hit me up, I can help.

1. Pro tip from someone who used to be in the industry: soda water with bitters is a secret code among bartenders. It means you’re sober or you’re driving, and they will respect that. They’ll be super cool to you and make sure you’re never empty and never have booze. Try it!