Before I Got Sober, I Got Quiet

Hi friend,

The sun set after 7 pm the other night. I know because I was standing at the kitchen sink with my hands in dishwater, and I felt it before I saw it—that little drop in my chest when the light goes gold and then gray. The only way I can describe it is a homesick feeling. In this case I think I started missing my kids. 

Years ago, that drop had one answer. A magnum of YellowTail Shiraz from my local CVS, on the worst days. These days it has a lamp, a mug, a song, a cry, a walk, a shower, and an hour where nobody needs me.

I've been thinking about how I got from one to the other, and the honest answer surprised me a little when I said it out loud this week.

Sobriety changed my life. But meditation, while I was still drinking, was the start of getting me sober.

Let me be clear about what that looked like, because it was not pretty and it was not pure. I am a high-achieving, overfunctioning, extroverted people pleaser. Being still with my eyes closed felt like a punishment somebody else should have to do. I was bad at it. Yet, I promised to put my earbuds in at night, press play on the Insight Timer app, and pray that it would change me while I passed out. And then, most nights, I still drank. Until I didn't.

Both things were true at the same time. I meditated. I drank. Nobody tells you that's allowed.

But here's what my attempt at keeping that one promise did. It gave me a few minutes a day where I wasn't performing, fixing, or pouring. And in that little gap I started to hear something under the voice of alcohol—the one that tracked my drinks like evidence and kept asking why I couldn't just drink like a normal person. Underneath her was somebody quieter. She wasn't asking if I was bad enough to count. She was asking what I wanted. She was wondering who I had become and who I wanted to be.

Meditation didn't get me sober. It got me honest. Sobriety came after.

I wrote two blogs this week, and it turns out they're the same story from two sides.

The first is about that 3am question and why it never had an answer: I Spent Years Trying to Drink Like a "Normal Person." Then I Realized No One Does. (I'm curious—did you believe in "normies" too? Did you audition for the role like I did? Hit reply and tell me.) This idea has been rolling around in my head for months. I decided to just write my hot take on the issue. Inspired by Tawny Lara. LMK if you want to join her October writer's group. I'll be there. In the meantime, read the blog HERE. 

Let me know your thoughts on this topic.

The second blog is about what I do now when the dark comes early: The Cozy Hour: Sober Fall Evenings Without Wine. Which, if I'm honest, is just meditation in sweatpants. Little lamp on. Phone away. No task. Letting the day be over. Read it HERE.

So here's what I want you to hear this week. You don't have to quit anything to start paying attention. You don't have to be good at it, either. Two minutes counts. Eyes open counts. Lying on the living room floor counts.

Getting quiet isn't the reward for having your life together. It's how you find out what you want your life to be.

And if you want company while you practice—on Wednesday, September 30 at 7 pm CT, I'm hosting a free kickoff: how to make the most of Sober October. It's for you whether you're starting your first challenge or you're more than a decade in. Your October can be about alcohol. It can also be a digital detox, a nutrition or movement plan, or a brand-new meditation habit. The through-line is the same: paying attention, dropping the mask, and letting go a little quicker.

Save your seat HERE. It's free, and the door is wide open. There will be a replay if you can't make it LIVE, but also a workbook only for those that can be there. 

What would you hear if you got quiet for two minutes today?

XO!

Heather

P.S. Building something of your own in the alcohol-free space? The DTD Collective is filling and welcoming founding members, and the course upgrade is $497 through September 28 (it goes to $997 after). Details are HERE.