I suppose you could say I was sober-curious in the same way I was ‘bi-curious’ at 14-years-old. Deep down I knew I was capital-letters GAY, but I needed a way to test the waters, try it on for size - fire a warning shot and get a feel for any potential kickback. My sober-curiosity was a similar, albeit far less sexy experience. I knew on some level that I had a drinking problem, but the concept of sobriety was one I had to carry around quietly for a while. I’d gently float the idea during long hungover mornings or, on a particularly good mental health day, flirt with imagined versions of a sober me: healthier, happier, calmer.
As with my sexuality, it took years of thinking about sobriety before I felt comfortable verbalising it to friends or family. Then longer still to actually act on it. However, on August 5th 2020 I did just that. I committed to not drinking for the ‘foreseeable future’ - an admittedly uncommitted way of measuring any commitment.
As with my sexuality, it took years of thinking about sobriety before I felt comfortable verbalising it to friends or family.
There’s a natural sense of loss that comes with giving up something you depend on. For me, drinking was a way of avoiding that which always felt too painful, complex or scary to examine - a coping mechanism for anxiety and depression which slowly but surely turned into something I needed to function. After a childhood marked by bullying and exclusion, the appeal of alcohol as a 16-year-old was two-fold: drinking was both a way of relating to the ‘cool kids’ and a way of numbing the years of pain I had no idea how to process. It felt like an access point to community, to shared experience - a way to belong. When I was drunk, it didn’t matter what I’d been through. I was able to mimic confidence, steady my heart palpitations - for the first time in my life, I was actually able to make people laugh.
By my early 20s I didn’t know how to process joy or disappointment without a drink, let alone catch up with a friend. By my late 20s a bottle of red wine felt as inherent to my sense of self as my sexuality or creativity.
When I stopped drinking 9 months and 6 days ago, the discomfort was immediate and at times overwhelming. I chalk this up to the fact that I was coming face-to-dace with demons I’d been running circles around for more than a decade, while, ahem, unpicking one of the most deeply woven and widely accepted addictions in the country. However, reframing sobriety as something gained rather than something lost has made all the difference - even if it isn’t quite that simple.
Samuel Leighton-Dore is an artist, writer and director based on the Gold Coast. Source: Supplied
One misconception I had about sobriety back when I was a chubby-cheeked baby alcoholic was that it would only be tough for a few weeks before getting incrementally easier until I barely even thought about drinking anymore. This hasn’t been the case for me. I still miss the unique full-body relief that once came with cracking open a bottle of wine. I still occasionally reach the end of a long work day and look solemnly around my booze-free apartment as if nothing else could possibly make me happy ever again. I still struggle to make small talk at social events where other people are drinking. But for all the challenges, there have been twice as many rewards. Like the sense of accomplishment I feel when my sobriety day-tracking app (I use one called ‘I Am Sober’) sends me a ‘new milestone’ push notification.
Watching my sober days accumulate has become a real point of pride, not just because it’s fun and validating to watch numbers get bigger on a little screen (though it definitely is), but because of the real-world changes these numbers come to represent. Like the way Saturdays feel so much longer without factoring in the slow start that comes with a hangover. Or the fact my creative work is slowly becoming richer and more fulfilling as I gain access to vulnerable new parts of my psyche. Or the weird sense I occasionally have that I’m unfurling as a person after years of feeling stuck in a self-defeating cycle of avoidant behaviour.
Yes, sobriety might mean that some of your friendships change, but if a friendship can’t survive without alcohol is it really worth holding onto?
So, for the sober-curious out there, if the idea of sobriety is as scary for you as it was for me, it’s definitely worth questioning why. Yes, sobriety might mean that some of your friendships change, but if a friendship can’t survive without alcohol is it really worth holding onto? Yes, it’ll probably make you feel deeply uncomfortable at first. But if you need alcohol to feel comfortable, what’s the cost and expiry date on that comfort? Don’t you deserve more?
It doesn’t have to be forever, it doesn’t have to be all-or-nothing. But if you’re anxious about your relationship with alcohol, maybe it’s worth giving it a whirl. Even if the first step is just quietly carrying the idea of a happier, healthier, calmer you around for a while.
If substance addiction is a problem for you, help is available:
Alcohol Drug Information Service (ADIS): 1800 250 015 (24 hours/day, 7 days/week)
Beyond Blue: 1300 224 636 (24 hours/day, 7 days/week).
Alcoholics Anonymous: 1300 222 222 (24 hours/day, 7 days/week)
Samuel Leighton-Dore is a visual artist, writer and director based on the Gold Coast. He's currently developing an animated series. You can follow him on Instagram .
