Sobriety Diary: Week 6—Bring Earplugs, Not Wine

Redefining going out when you’re not drinking…or faking it.

Dates: September 8th–14th

Days Sober: 42

My skin is better. So is my sleep. I’m also way less bloated. The late-night binges fuelled by alcohol are gone, and so is the brain fog and the crippling hangxiety that followed wine-heavy nights.

It feels great.

But I’m bored. I’m also not bored.

It’s like my brain is split in two. I’m enjoying not drinking, and every day the streak continues feels like a major win and a step closer to everything I want to achieve. I mentioned in week 1 that I don’t want any distractions while I pursue my creative career goals—this is still a motivator.

But the absence of alcohol is making me question: what do I actually think is fun?

Was This Ever “Fun”?

I’ve been out multiple times now without drinking.

Good to know: I hate big crowds and loud environments—I get awfully overstimulated. I feel like my eyeballs are about to roll out of my head, and I can’t stand having to raise my voice for others to be able to hear me over a deafening beat.

Usually, when I go to the bathroom in these settings, it’s not because I actually need to use it—it’s because I need a break from the stimulus.

I’ve never found these high-volume environments particularly fun, and it turns out they’re even less enjoyable when you’re sober. Sure, there are times it’s a really good vibe, the crowd is great, and the music hits—but I feel I’m far better suited for venues that are cozy and offer music that’s in the background—not the main character.

I’m not much of a dancer either. For me to enjoy being on a dance floor, I really need to like the music—and the only place I’ve liked it recently was at the Nordic Rowing Club.

My flip-flops stuck to the alcohol-soaked floor, my arms pumped, and my body swayed unattractively to late 2000s pop anthems. Yes, Akon, you may call me a “Sexy Bitch” in this setting. No slut-dropping involved. Dignity: Intact.

But for some reason, every fucking DJ in Zurich thinks their lyricless beats are revolutionary.

Maybe I’m uncool—I know I’m certainly not “the scene”—but dear god, it’s boring.

The music sucks, it’s too loud to talk, and I feel like a live sardine crammed in a tin, having my eardrums obliterated because THIS IS SUPPOSED TO BE FUN. But without a drink to distract me, I’m just staring blankly at everyone thinking: what now?

Is the absence of alcohol revealing how anti-social I really am?

I can’t decide if I’m settling more into what I like to do, or if I’m getting more alarmed at how many things I actually don’t enjoy without alcohol masking how dull the experience really is.

Does all this mean I’m destined to join a hiking group? Oh, no.

The Motivation to Go Out

Last weekend, I actually had the opportunity to go to a Nordic Rowing Club party. It’s not often they’re on, so part of me feels I should take advantage when they finally crop up. The thing is, the party only really starts around midnight.

I‘d also be going solo.

While I’d been proud of going all on my own back in May, a social event earlier that Saturday had already drained my social batteries. The idea of getting on my bike at around 11:45 PM to go to the party felt like such a chore. Usually, I’d be in bed by then, and I also had to get up early to go dog-sit my handicapped pooches.

It’s one thing if you’re already out—maybe you’ve had dinner with friends, gone bar hopping, and the energy of others has rubbed off on you, enticing you to keep exploring the night. It’s another thing entirely spending the evening in your sweatpants, then gearing yourself up—sober—to stay out until around 2 AM. No social runway to motivate me.

Part of me really wanted to throw on my yellow floral wrap dress one last time as the weather gets nippier and feel the energy of others around me. I wanted to belong, and I wanted to chase the romanticism of potentially meeting someone on a sticky dance floor.

But the reality was: I’d eaten a shit ton of chocolate, felt bloated, and I was really tired.

I put on the wrap dress to try and see what my energy was like, but it felt performative. The girl looking back at me in the mirror did not look like she was looking for a party as she adjusted the waistband on her shapewear granny panties. Maybe my sexy black crocodile-patterned cowboy boots would liven the mood? No, it was too stark a contrast with the yellow.

I slid on my sandal wedges—better, but I knew it was too chilly to wear them. I tried on jeans with a black vest, but the wow factor of the yellow dress and the magnetism I felt in it was lost.

I wasn’t feeling the mojo that night. I knew I’d have to muster energy from the depths of a barrel.

So, I stayed in and continued eating my chocolate and watching Netflix.

Given I was so tired and my gut feeling said “stay home,” I had to ask myself: what was the motivation to go?

The only motivation was to meet a man.

With alcohol out of my life right now, I realise that there are so many bars and clubs I’ve endured for the sake of potentially meeting someone. I haven’t enjoyed being there, but the air of potential and “what if?” made me stay—and a glass of vino (or five) helped me stay planted.

I’m a firm believer that sometimes you need to push yourself out of your comfort zone, but is meeting a man in the wee hours of the night, in a setting I’m not fond of, the type of man I’d actually get along with?

If I’m only tolerating a place because alcohol is numbing my discomfort to it, should I be there in the first place?

I think the answer is “no.”

JOMO

I’ve always been a proud supporter of JOMO—the Joy of Missing Out—but as I moved deeper into my 30s without a partner, I started dragging myself into scenes that didn’t actually feel like me. Loud bars where I awkwardly jig to the music and flash bright smiles to appear “approachable”—all in the name of “putting myself out there.”

I think I’ve been trying to prove—to others, maybe even to myself—that I’m not just sitting around waiting for love to knock. That I’m making an effort.

But if the effort leaves you drained, overstimulated, and wondering when you can sneak off to the bathroom for some peace, is it really worth it?

I’ll still go out when it feels right. I’ll dance if the music slaps. But if I feel that having a glass of champagne in my hand would be necessary to make it a more tolerable experience, then maybe it’s best not to force it.

Some uncomfortable truths are coming up, and I realise that changing my relationship with alcohol likely means letting go of a way of socialising I’ve leaned on for years.

Maybe I’ll join a hiking group after all.

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