I Think AA Is Wonderful For Those Who Thrive In It. I Did Not.

We cannot insist that the entirety of a person’s life, their complex and layered experiences, traumas, and personalities—fit into a box.

Almost nothing that we believe to be impossible will ever happen to us.

It’s come to my attention lately that there are a lot of people who are addicted to the narrative that sobriety is hard, very hard, and nothing but hard. Don’t get me wrong, there’s nothing easy about rejecting societal norms, turning down drinks in a culture obsessed with booze, but I wonder how that version of the story serves a person looking for a joyful life.

I’ve been posting sobriety content on Instagram for five years. I started the page as a creative outlet in the early days of sobriety and a way to connect with other people who had quit drinking. The posts were like daily declarations, building and manifesting a life that was more of everything, lacking nothing without drugs. I wanted to feel excited about this new lifestyle choice, I needed to. For me, the idea of removing booze and weed needed to be framed as an upgrade to actually work; this needed to feel like empowerment, not powerlessness. All brains are different and mine is particularly motivated by ideas and actions that can uplevel my life, bonus points if they are countercultural and a little badass. I decided that sobriety was badass and the people who chose it were absolute fucking rebels. My approach never fails to illicit feedback from those who prefer tradition.

I wish I didn’t have to add this disclaimer to every single thing I write but people become very triggered when they sense you are challenging something intricately tied to their identity: I think AA is wonderful for those who thrive in it. I absolutely did not.

I walked into a twelve step meeting in LA with a coworker who had been sober for about a year and swore that AA was the best thing that had ever happened to her. I was an absolute mess, drinking almost daily and watching everything in my life crash and burn to the ground, so I figured, “what the hell.” The people were nice enough, several introduced themselves to me and said things like, “I’m glad you’re here,” and “It’s good to see you.” It’s good to see me? I don’t know you. I felt an immediate tinge of evangelical resistance rise up within me and regretted my choice to come before I ever took my seat. Still, I stayed, knowing my shit was upside down and something had to give.

I listened as the attendees took turns introducing themselves, the first qualifier attached to their name either “addict” or “alcoholic,” and felt my heart racing faster and faster as I was approaching my turn. “I’m Kristen….and…this is my first time,” I blurted out, fighting the urge to bolt straight out the door. “Hi, Kristen,” the chorus replied.

I listened as one by one the members reinforced how hard it was to live sober. There were milestones announced and coins handed out to applause. Some people cried, some people sat with their heads down the entire time, some people spoke about how angry they were that they couldn’t drink anymore. I listened to the speaker of the day, a man in his 40’s, describe a day pre-sobriety where one drink in the morning devolved into giving blowjobs for cash in a box store parking lot to score some meth. I could not relate. I thanked my friend for bringing me, begrudgingly gave my cell phone number to a very persistent woman who kept asking if it’d be alright if she, “checked on me sometime this week,” and went back to my apartment where I proceeded to open a bottle of sauvignon blanc and cry. Was this the only alternative to drinking myself into an anxiety spiral every other day? Sitting with strangers in a secret room at the back of an abandoned warehouse telling ghost stories? Was this the best I could expect from a life of sobriety? Was I an addict? I didn’t feel addicted, I felt self-hatred. Adding another thing, another adjective, another bullet point to the long list of proof that I was a failure and an asshole didn’t make me want to do anything but drink.

The lady from the meeting called. She called and called, actually, until I finally sent a text message asking her to stop. I told my friend that I didn’t think AA was for me and she seemed worried. I don’t blame her and I don’t blame the lady that blew up my phone for ten days. They were sober and they had stayed that way through this process of meetings and steps and protocols. I wondered if I were especially broken, too far gone for even the gospel of Alcoholics Anonymous to save me. I drank for another six months, recklessly.

In February of 2020 I woke up absolutely tired of my own bullshit. I had a massive (what I can only describe as a spiritual) epiphany around the way alcohol and my relationship with it was going to rob me of all of my talent and ambition. It hit me like a ton of bricks. You’ve been doing life this way for twenty years and look at what that’s gotten you: not ideal. It’s time to try another way, it’s time to see who you are without all the additives. There is no third option…you have to get totally sober. I accepted the ultimatum without a fuss. I knew my next step was not going to be a meeting or a label or a phone call to the lady now saved in my phone as “AA woman!!” My next step was going to be finding the proof that sobriety was fucking cool and women like me could be both sober and wildly happy and free. It had to be. I needed to know that I could liberate myself from the idea that a successful, meaningful, and juicy life required a buzz.

There are people doing life, and sobriety, all sorts of different ways and no one is wrong. There is only what speaks to you and what doesn’t. I’m incentivized by growth and creative freedom. I have found these things in sobriety because I chose them. I believed they existed, so they did. It’s not dangerous to take away alcohol’s power over your life. What’s dangerous is perpetuating the idea that a person who at one point had a toxic relationship with substances cannot evolve, that they must fear themselves at all costs and not let a day pass without naming their previous mistakes. Again, I think AA is wonderful for those who thrive in it. I think it is very limiting for anyone who does not. I did not see the freedom in ruminating on the negative. I wanted to move on. I didn’t want to spend my life talking about how badly I wished I was still drinking or how difficult it was to stop; I wanted to build a life where drinking was irrelevant.

We deserve options. We cannot insist that the entirety of a person’s life, their complex and layered experiences, traumas, and personalities—fit into a box. Like so many beautiful things we now accept on a spectrum of unique and bright colors, substance abuse is not a binary discussion. Not everyone who abuses alcohol and would be a healthier and more fulfilled person without it is an alcoholic. Not everyone who medically qualifies as an alcoholic will benefit from calling themselves one. We don’t attach these sort of labels to anything other than booze. The message is that this substance, a highly addictive poison, should be enjoyed by everyone and if you are one of the unfortunate souls with a screw loose, you are othered, sent to the secret back room, and told to fear yourself. Who does this protect? The first thing that comes to mind…the alcohol industry. I digress.

We should not be surprised when creative people, artists, dreamers, and stubborn little rebel children want to find original and unique ways of making changes in their lives, including getting sober. We shouldn’t force a one-size-fits-all approach to healing and wellness.

I will undoubtedly get comments and messages from those who feel attacked or their choices demeaned by my words. Again, I think AA is wonderful for those who thrive in it. I did not and it shouldn’t be sacrilegious to say so. I chose another path to sobriety. I haven’t had a drink in over five years and I can say with absolute honesty that I do not miss it. I share the mindset that I developed to achieve joyful sobriety in The Creative Sobriety Method because if it worked for me, chances are it might work for someone else.

Parts one and two are available now and part three will be available on Monday. Maybe it shifts something for you and creates a path to a more fulfilling life where counting drinks becomes a non issue like it did for me. Maybe it’s not for you and that’s OK, too.

Photo by Caleb Sheridan