Dear Mom,

Often, when I meet new people, the topic of my sobriety comes up. I’ve received judgment. I’ve received skepticism. I’ve received odd looks. But most of the time I receive curiosity. Most of the time people simply want to know why. And most of the time I have an answer. An answer that is beginning to feel rehearsed.

I don’t drink because I had a very unhealthy relationship to alcohol. I had a very unhealthy relationship to all sorts of substances. I don’t drink anymore because my body can’t physically handle it. I drank enough for a lifetime. No more for me.

Lately, I’ve been thinking about why I drank to begin with. Why, at fourteen years old, did I feel the need to start drinking? And why don’t I feel the need to now?

Before I began drinking, I had an issue with shyness. I know what you’re thinking. That doesn’t sound like me. Afterall, I didn’t shut up as a kid. I talked nonstop at dinner each night. I saw a whole lot of empty stares as I told my never-ending stories. But it was a rare occasion that my gift of gab extended beyond my inner circle. When I was in a new environment around new people, especially when those new people already knew each other, I’d clam up and lose my voice. I have a picture album worth of memories of me avoiding social connection. Me sitting on the couch in a corner at a gathering. Me sitting alone at lunch drinking my two bottles of Aquafina in silence. Me spending my weekends alone, reading YM magazine and making hemp necklaces with super groovy beads in the hopes I’d at least look cool in the eyes of David’s stoner friends.

Everything changed when I turned fourteen. Everything changed that first time I tasted alcohol. That infamous New Years Eve party with the giant cups of tequila and Squirt (don’t knock it till you try it). From the very first moment I knew this was my ticket out of my awkward, shy, insecure phase. I knew, after it led to a night of me being funnier, more daring, and such a good time, that this was my answer. And there was an unexpected bonus. Not only was I the life of the party finally but I also lost weight. Not only did I puke up all the liquor I had consumed, but I also had no appetite while I drank and none the next day. From day one, alcohol was my complete fix, and I knew even at fourteen how I could use this new tool to my advantage.

I was a cunning fourteen-year-old. I was surprisingly clever. I took a step back and eased my way in. I dipped my toe into this new world before going so hard again. I practiced drinking only enough to be more social without getting carried away to the point of puking. The last thing I wanted was to make a total fool of myself. That would be counterproductive to my goals. So, I became the girl who could hold her liquor. I became the girl who knew how to have fun. I became a girl who started getting invitations. And it wasn’t a perfect cocktail. I had many experiences throughout the next years where I went too hard and did stupid shit which resulted in rumors spreading. But by then I didn’t care as much. I was too far in. I was too under the influence for rumors to matter. I was having too much fun.

From the very beginning, my drinking, and later my cigarette smoking and use of uppers, acted like a diet pill for me. I knew I was doing these things to help me suppress my appetite. I knew I was trying to get skinnier so I could be more appealing to my peers. But I’m now realizing how much of it was tied to my desire to be a social butterfly. I wanted the ability to converse with strangers or with people older and cooler than me. I wanted to experience all of life without feeling like I was cowering to my insecurities. I was masking my shyness and my imposter syndrome. Alcohol really was my liquid courage.

I’ll spare you all the gritty details of the next decade and all my many moments when I went too hard and too far. All the rumors that were more truth than myth even if I never copped to them. All the times I stained a carpet with my own vomit. All the close calls with police. The close calls with sketchy men. The close calls with driving under the influence. I had many moments when I believed in my own heart that I wouldn’t survive long. But I did. I did survive. I did get out of that period alive. Not completely unscathed, but alive.

With a solid decade of distance between those days and now, and with therapy to help, I’m finally able to see why I don’t drink anymore. I was never the sort of alcoholic who drank to quiet the voices and numb the feelings. I was the sort of alcoholic who drank to become the person I always dreamt of being. Alcohol and drugs allowed me to open up. To become confident and outgoing. To feel wanted and desired. To get closer to the person I wanted to be. Now? Now I actually am the person I’ve always dreamt of being. I am that person from the moment I wake up to the moment I go to sleep. I am that person while completely sober. I don’t drink anymore because I don’t need to. I don’t need liquid courage anymore.

And I’m not saying everyone who drinks needs it. I’m not saying all social drinkers are dependent on that liquid. I am saying that I personally used alcohol as a crutch. It was my courage. It became my entire personality. And I don’t need that help anymore. I can now walk on my own. I can take chances and start conversations. I can be a social butterfly and receive invitations from new friends and be included. I am the person I’ve always wanted to be.

Now, I will admit not every day is perfect. I still slip into my old insecurities. My imposter syndrome sneaks in. My self-doubt takes over. My body image issues come back. But I’m now strong enough to face those moments and to overcome them. I’m secure enough in my own abilities to grow out of the setbacks. And I’m confident enough to do so without a drink in my hand.

I wrote to you before about my sober identity. In that letter I concluded that I don’t drink anymore because I don’t want to. That’s true. I don’t want to drink. But I now see the bigger, deeper truth. I don’t drink anymore because I don’t need to. And the small act of putting that on paper is entirely freeing. Simply typing it allows me to own it. To stand a little taller when people ask me why I don’t drink. To be able to say with complete sincerity that I don’t drink because I don’t need to anymore. Because I’m strong enough without it.

I love you, Mom.

Love,

Rachel