I thought people would hate me
So I drank
I used to believe that nobody would ever want to be friends with the real me. That no one would want to have a romantic relationship with the real me. That the real me was so repulsive and rotten that if anyone saw her, if anyone really got to know her, that I would be hated. Abandoned. Left utterly alone, forever.
Strong stuff, right? A good reason to drink!
And so I did. I drank to try and block out the terror.
I drank to try to escape the shame that had it’s hands around my throat.
I drank to try and shut out the voice that told me I was uniquely terrible among all humans. That I ruined people’s lives. That I’d be better off dead.
I drank to hide myself from other people. I had friends, yes, but I believed I had to keep the real me hidden from them. To protect myself. Even though I was drunk and disingenuous, even though I was never showing up as myself, at least I had people around me. At least I wasn’t alone. Nothing could be more terrible than being alone.
Then came my decision to get sober: or rather, finally, after years of desperately wanting it, I found a route to getting sober that actually seemed possible. I had to take a really honest look at all the reasons I was drinking. There were many, many reasons. On the surface, it looked like I needed alcohol to socialise. To be around other people.
But that’s not the whole story is it? When we say we like/want/need alcohol to socialise, what do we really mean? What are we believing about alcohol? What are we believing about ourselves?
Maybe I was believing alcohol made me confident. Maybe.
Maybe I was believing alcohol helped me have fun. Maybe.
But when I really got honest with myself, when I actually turned towards the darkness, the parts of me I was too afraid to face before, I realised I was drinking before and during social events because I didn’t want to show people the real me. Because I was believing if I showed up as myself, they would hate me and abandon me.
And then a thought popped into my head. The little angel on my shoulder1 who had been a sickly little fruit fly with broken wings for a long time, but was gradually growing into a much healthier little fly, with a stronger voice, said:
‘But Ellie: you’re not even giving people a chance to get to know the real you.’
That’s it. What a wise little fruit fly!2
I was assuming people would hate the real me. I was imagining them hating me and abandoning me. I was living in that terror and pain of loneliness as if it was already happening. The suffering I was imagining was already here. So what did I have to lose?
And what if my imaginings were wrong? Could it be possible that I didn’t actually know? If I didn’t even give people a chance to see the real me, how could I possibly know if they would hate and abandon me?
So, armed with this realisation, I took the bold step of going to a party sober. I’ll be honest with you: I was pretty scared. It felt utterly bizarre to be getting dressed up and putting on make-up sober. And even more bizarre sitting on the train sober. Everything was so clear. I could feel my heart beating. See all the details around me. The world was sharply in focus. I felt alive… too alive!
And it was the same at the party. There were moments where I felt utterly uncomfortable. Anxious, heart racing, feeling like the air was scraping on my skin. Glugging down my sparkling water as if it would have some psychosomatic drugging effect on me (I still sometimes do this now!).
No one commented on my not-drinking, I don’t think.3 It was just a few hours of feeling a bit awkward and exposed and moments where I wanted to run away, and then it was over. And I went home. Sober. On the bus. Can you imagine? Hearing all the bollocks other drunk people were saying (and I would have been saying if I’d had my usual beverages). Getting into bed and falling asleep naturally (??) Getting up the next day having actually had a good night’s sleep (????) and not feeling sick and dizzy and dry-mouthed and anxious and full of self-loathing and despair (they omit that bit from the champagne ads, don’t they?).
So: that was the first time. And I did it again and again. And the funny thing was: the ‘real me’, who my inner voice had assured me was hateful and monstrous to the core, seemed to be…. absolutely fine to people. Like, perfectly acceptable. People wanted to be my friend still.
I’ve made far more friends have much closer friendships than I ever did before. Because I’ve now developed beliefs that mean I can show up as I am, most of the time.4 And always without a drop of alcohol in my system.
Some thoughts I have about myself these days:
I think I’m quite nice and fun to hang out with
It’s OK if I show up feeling grumpy and I don’t really want to chat: that is allowed!
I don’t need to ‘perform’ for other people
People want me to show up as myself, just as they would want to feel accepted showing up as themselves
I have lots of people in my life who choose to spend time with me and clearly like me
When I’ve been grumpy/anxious/talked a lot/not talked much etc people still like me and want to hang out with me again
Basically: I’m a messy, flawed, totally normal, totally OK human and lots of people like and love me just as I am. What a revelation!
It took me a while to get to this place. It definitely wasn’t an overnight thing. Sober socialising takes practice. It might be difficult and awkward at first and the temptation to drink may be strong. That’s OK. Give yourself time and grace. You’re learning something new; something you may not have done since you were a kid. There’s no rush. You’ll get there.
So…. how do I socialise sober??
What you might find helpful is this free guide I’ve created which I WISH I’d had seven/eight years ago… Actually, I wish I’d had it when I was 19!
It contains some truly transformative tools, practices and mindset shifts that will make sober socialising fun, joyful and easy. These 7 steps will change the way you see alcohol forever.
‘Steps 1 & 2 alone are a game changer!! - Gill’
All you need to do is sign up to the newsletter on my website (which I send out a couple of times a month) to get your free guide: 7 Steps to Joyful Sober Socialising. My website newsletter is the list you want to be on for tips, resources, new offers and discounts. And of course you can subscribe any time you like.
If you’d like to dive deeper, I have spots available for one-to-one coaching. Find out more here.
Over to you…
Do you remember what your first time socialising without alcohol was like?
What did you find helpful in those early days/months in social situations?
And I’d really love to know: what do you imagine your inner critic/inner angels look like??
If you’re new here - welcome. I’m so grateful to you for reading my words. I’m Ellie: a sober coach, mentor, mother and writer. I’ve been sober since December 2019 and am grateful every day for the gifts of living alcohol-free.
In A Little Fantastic Sober Life I share personal stories, supportive practices and information about alcohol to support you on your sobriety journey.
I run free workshops and provide 1:1 sober coaching via Zoom.
If you would like support on your own journey with 1:1 sober coaching you can find out more on my website.
You might like an image of the devil on my shoulder, in contrast. The inner voice telling me how shit I was all the time. OK: have you seen the movie Aliens? You remember the mother alien? The ‘get away from her, you bitch!’ alien? There you go.
You’ll be pleased to know my fruit fly has long since grown into a gentle, glowing, wise woman who calmly speaks to me in a loving voice… And my inner critic sometimes arrives, yes, and is now more of a shadowy grim-reaper type figure. And when I turn towards it and say: yes, I’m listening - what did you want to say? More often than not, it shrinks and fades and falls away, with a bit of a pout. As if to say: oh… I just wanted to yell at you. I don’t really have anything else to say now you’re listening to me…
I have to say I’ve been profoundly lucky in that responses to me saying ‘I don’t drink’ or ‘I don’t drink anymore’ generally have varied from a total non-reaction, something supportive/celebratory said, or has sparked really brilliant conversations about that person’s own relationship with alcohol and how they want to quit or have recently quit. I know this isn’t everyone’s experience and when people question your decision or even pressure you to drink: that’s really bloody tough. There’s a great Substack piece here with lots of things you can say to people if you need to get them off your back.
I must caveat this by saying: I still 100% people-please a lot, and sometimes go into freeze/fawn, and definitely hide parts of myself from some people. And that’s OK; that’s human. We all do it to varying degrees. But there are many people who I feel safer with and trust and can share how I’m really feeling, and even share the VERY human thoughts and feelings I have such as jealousy, pettiness and resentment. That is a real gift: to hang out with people and show them that sometimes I have vicious little thoughts about other people, and they still love me. Maybe they love me more so, because of it?
I was definitely nervous the first (few) months of socializing sober. And a few people made comments about not drinking, but even more said nothing at all and didn't even care. Definitely easier further along this journey, but there's still moments when that voice pops up and wonders how I'll be at whatever function it is, and I get through it every time. Thanks for this one.
I want to walk with you on that trail in the photo. So beautiful!