will going sober ruin my life?

in conversation with Dana Leigh Lyons

So, so excited to introduce a brand new section of interview-style essays on club reticent where I’ll be exploring uncomfortable topics with specialists, brilliant thinkers, and generally the people I admire. I hope you enjoy this — more to come!

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A dirty martini to lose the reticence and talk wisdom. Gin tonics as bonding liquids for a confession-filled night with the girls. A glass of Chablis to wash down an unpleasant day at work. Pinot noir for better flirting, pinot grigio for better sex. A vodka shot with a pickle on the side to honor my ancestors. A vodka soda if I’m feeling fat. Brut for celebrations. More exquisite cocktails, more happy hours, more toasting, more going out for the sake of letting loose while actively pretending a drink is just an accomplice to my fun, more numbing out to buy myself some instant feel-good. More staring at myself in the mirror, delirious and puffy, wondering if the buzz that makes me smarter and cooler is worth the next day misery inferno. Loosen up, my love, why are you so tense? Your honor, she needs a drink.

My relationship with alcohol has always been defined by consensual discomfort. I sip with confidence, let it wrap me in a blanket of perceived pleasure, like a bad relationship one can’t quit because, well, when it’s bad it’s bad, but when it’s good… it’s the best. The prayer to my despair and boredom. The “moderation” everyone swears by is a stranger to me, all I know is go hard or go home. Then there’s the social aspect of it all, and I just can’t risk missing out. When I look back on all the clueless decisions made under the influence, I tell myself it’s fine. But it isn’t. There’s hardly any glamour in knowing you’re harming yourself and doing it anyway. When life’s a little devoid of color without a thing, that’s when you know it might be cutting ties with the thing season.

As of 2025, I haven’t had a drink since last year. Going sober is not new to me — I did it last January, too, breaking the longest 0.0% streak on my birthday in May. It was supposed to be a one time thing, but as all one time things go, the bender quickly snowballed back to square one, prompting me to drink weekly and for no good reason. I realized shortly that I’d failed because the rulebook was faulty, but I’m doing it right this time: not a drink today, or tomorrow, or the day after.

Three bitter truths:

1. I used to think I could do alcohol in moderation and find the perfect balance everyone swears by. I don’t think that exists for me. It’s okay that it doesn’t exist for me.

2. Even tiny amounts have a negative impact on my body and my mind, and continuing to ignore that is sheer stupidity on my part.

3. To quit successfully, I have to get over my fear of being a bore.

We’re not as tethered to drinking as we used to be, and it’s nice to see. But due to the omnipresent stigma and sobriety still feeling like a Sisyphean undertaking and not a rational lifestyle choice, we need to voice our very realistic (and trivial) concerns that prevent us from going zero. Will I become boring? Will I stop being invited to things? Can I have good sex? Will I be a burden? Will they think I’d hit a certain rock bottom to quit? For a full picture, I wanted to talk it out with somebody who knows more about sobriety than I do, so I sat down with the wonderful and gracious Dana Leigh Lyons to ask the real shit.

Dana Leigh Lyons is a writer and Doctor of Traditional Chinese Medicine living in Thailand. She shares heart-sourced, no-bullshit insights on addiction, sobriety, and body-mind-spirit wellness at her newsletter, Sober Soulful.

Dana, what was your reason for quitting alcohol?

For a couple of years leading up to when I quit alcohol, I was drinking two glasses of wine with dinner each night. It was early 2020, I was working way too much at a job that felt full of dread, and those two glasses of wine with dinner became what I most looked forward to day in, day out. Not exactly the chaotic, bender-fueled spiraling you might expect in a story about someone right before they get sober. But to me, realizing that the best part of my days was drinking made life feel small and depressing.

And the payoff wasn’t great, either. Two glasses of wine—even one glass of wine—meant showing up as a careless version of myself and doing things I’d quickly regret (like getting in pointless, reactive arguments online or saying mean, hurtful things to my partner). It also meant increased stress and anxiety (alcohol only takes the edge off for the first 30 minutes; it’s downhill from there), waking with heart-racing anxiety at 3 a.m. (due to the very physical, very predictable impact of alcohol consumption and withdrawal), lying awake then and in the early morning, frantically reviewing everything I did, said, wrote, and sent after two glasses of wine, feeling tired, moody, weepy, foggy, guilty, and melancholy the day after (which I relieved by anticipating wine with dinner), and wasting a fuck-ton of energy and life on this boring-ass cycle.

You mentioned some time passed between your decision to go sober and actually quitting. What was your thinking process during that time? Was there an “aha” moment that made you finally pull the plug?

Because I never hit rock bottom and was drinking within a range that many people consider acceptable, I didn’t experience external pressure to quit or dramatic circumstances that might’ve pushed me to quit sooner. I was excelling at work despite dreading it, practicing yoga daily despite my shitty mood and sluggishness, and disciplined in my habits, routines, and billable output. From the outside, I looked like someone who had it together.

But on the inside, there was a quiet knowing that alcohol was robbing me of my ability to enjoy life, not to mention keeping me from changing the parts of my life that needed changing. Deep in the night and in my most secret rooms, I desperately wanted to quit—not just the alcohol itself, but all the mental and energetically exhausting negotiations (do I drink only on weekends? only one night a week? just wine or beer? one glass or two? etc.).

During fall 2019—for months leading up to actually quitting—I found myself devouring all the sober blogs and other sober content I could find. This led to me joining Holly Whitaker’s 90-day Sobriety School (which no longer exists, but you can find Holly here). I also enrolled in the live version of Annie Grace’s Alcohol Experiment, which, along with Annie’s book This Naked Mind, taught me what alcohol does to us mentally and physically (and what it doesn’t do—like actually relax us or reduce anxiety). I also started binging sober podcasts, including Aidan Donnelley Rowley and Jolene Park’s EDIT, which focuses on gray-area drinking and quitting before hitting rock bottom.

Before I knew it, I had immersed myself in content by badass sober women doing amazing things and exuding brilliance, resilience, and confidence. I wanted what they had. And what they had felt infinitely more exciting than alcohol.

In what ways has your life changed since quitting?

All the ways! Knowing that I’m no longer arranging any part of my life around a profoundly addictive, harmful substance and its side effects has brought tremendous relief—physically, mentally, and spiritually. My body and mind feel lighter, clearer, more spacious.

Since getting sober, I’ve experienced deeper, sounder sleep than I have perhaps my whole life. This impacts everything—body, mind, and spirit. I’ve also experienced a massive reduction in depression and anxiety. The anxiety is still there, but it’s far less intense. The depression is… kind of gone? Sure, I still have days and weeks that feel dark and low, but I no longer get stuck in that place where the walls close in, there’s no light or air, and I can’t crawl my way out for months.

Quitting alcohol entirely—without negotiation or moderation—has been by far the most impactful choice I’ve made to boost my confidence and lessen my feelings of shame. I also experience a deeper, more embodied connection to nature and intuition, along with heightened sensitivity and presence in yoga, meditation, and everyday mindfulness.

As well, my skin is brighter, less puffy, and more toned; I’m healthier and more energized; my metabolism and immune system are more robust. I mention these “pink-cloud” promises last because, for me, they are the result of quitting alcohol and sticking with other supportive eating and lifestyle choices. Prior to getting sober, consuming alcohol regularly was counteracting those choices and every health-supportive habit I had. For me, removing alcohol was the biggest variable with the most obvious impact on my health, my physical body, and my (ongoing!) experience of aging.

Every time I drink, I get hangover anxiety and don’t feel good about myself for days, even weeks on end — to a point where it feels like a waste of a life. And yet I keep drinking, as if I’m totally oblivious to the after effects. Would you say that some people are more sensitive to alcohol than others? And maybe also oblivious to the fact?

Believe me, I’ve been there. You’re definitely not alone in experiencing that kind of fallout from drinking. I think (and research supports this) that alcohol makes nearly all mental health issues worse. This is definitely the case with depression and anxiety, and Annie Grace’s book does a great job of explaining why in a super-accessible, science-backed way.

But I think many people are so accustomed to numbing out, and addiction to alcohol is so normalized and aggressively marketed to us (along with the lie that it’s “safe” in moderation), that they might not notice—or might subconsciously choose not to notice or attribute its impact to something else. The fact is, alcohol is an addictive substance with clear and harmful effects. Using it, even in moderate doses, means dealing with some degree of fallout. And when someone is caught in a painful cycle with an addictive substance, it’s incredibly hard to gain clarity until they give it up—even for a little while, as an experiment. This is especially true for substances that have such a massive impact on our physiology, our body’s signaling systems, and our mind and emotions.

Do you then think there’s an indirect link between alcohol consumption and self-esteem? My body dysmorphia is at its worst when I’m binge-drinking. So is my relationship with food.

I think there’s a strong link. For me, the “permission granted” by alcohol led to other behaviors that harmed my body and mind. While drinking, for example, I’d overeat sugary, carb-heavy foods that (especially in those amounts) made me feel awful. Then, because I felt bad emotionally and physically, I’d “punish” myself by overexercising and overworking, only to seek relief by drinking again. And around I’d go in a painful cycle.

No surprise that this behavior left me feeling terrible about how I looked the day after drinking. This was partly because alcohol—and the disturbed sleep it causes—affects our metabolism and our appearance. But more than that, I felt shame for doing something, yet again, that I knew was hurting me. The depressive effects of alcohol, combined with the predictable impact of withdrawal, made me feel even worse about my body and more disconnected from it—almost as though I wanted to crawl out of my skin.

Ironically, when I was actively drinking, I’d feel a fleeting sense of body-related (and other) confidence for a brief window of time. But then it would snatch that confidence away, making everything worse for the rest of the 24-hour cycle. Now that I’m alcohol-free, I’m still somewhat self-conscious about my body, but much less so. And the confidence and embodied connection I feel are steadier and longer-lasting. This creates an entirely different kind of cycle—one where I feel motivated to do things that support my body and mind rather than reinforce patterns of shame and self-sabotage.

How has quitting improved your relationship with your body?

I touched on this above, but I really can’t underscore enough how much more at home and at peace I feel in my body since quitting alcohol. This didn’t happen overnight, but turning points seemed to come around the 30-day, 90-day, and 1-year marks. Now, approaching 5 years alcohol-free, I can say that new, unexpected, and very welcome layers and levels continue to reveal themselves year after year.

In early sobriety, it was an admittedly vain point of pride that kept me on track: no matter how shitty my day or night, no matter what was happening that might otherwise make my physical body feel less than stellar, I’d find great relief and satisfaction in reminding myself: Well, at least you don’t drink. If you were still drinking, you’d look and feel so much worse!

More generally, I’ve come to place tremendous value on how my physical body feels rather than how it looks. Doing what helps my body feel good in a lasting way (not just a quick hit followed by a downward spiral) has become a priority and impacts every other aspect of my life, including my inner peace, work in the world, and relationships. Waking up feeling energized, rested, optimistic, and excited for the day is worth so much more to me now.

What do you wish people knew about sobriety that isn’t talked about enough?

Sobriety doesn’t have to feel miserable or like deprivation! Good god, no. I love my life so much more without alcohol in it. This is in large part because of straightforward science and what alcohol does to us on a physiological level, some of which I’ve tried to include above. But it’s also because I never went into sobriety seeing it as a punishment. From the outset, I surrounded myself with people (even if online) who made sobriety seem exciting and fun. Rather than focusing on what I was giving up, I focused on what I was pulling towards and all the wonderful things I was inviting into my life through that one simple choice to not drink.

Also, you don’t need to “have a problem” with alcohol or identify as an “alcoholic” to decide to stop drinking. Alcohol is a harmful, addictive substance, and we shouldn’t have to justify choosing not to drink it. A simple, “No, thanks. I’m not drinking right now,” is enough. Of course, for anyone who finds certain identities or labels helpful, I fully support them in that.

My main concern/fear post-quitting is my social life. I don’t enjoy alcohol, but I enjoy the social opportunities it provides me with, as well as the relaxation/loosening up aspect. I think this could be a very common culprit. How does one go about this? Is it just a matter of exposure therapy?

I hear you—I think fear of social ramifications is a major reason many people keep drinking even when they want to stop. This does seem to be changing in certain circles, and I wrote about Gen Z and alcohol use here. Among the younger generations, especially, more and more people are choosing to not drink or to drink less. I think there’s also way more acceptance of others who make that choice and less stigma.

Even at my age (49), I’ve been delighted to discover that many people don’t care if you don’t drink (they’re more concerned about whether they’re drinking). The times I find myself hanging out with people who are drinking, I bring some alcohol-free beer, AF wine, or sparkling water. There are more and more AF options these days, and some even include adaptogens and nootropics that can produce a subtle effect to shift your mood—whether you want to relax or feel energized.

The other side of this, however, is that some people probably will push back against your decision (which says more about them and their relationship to alcohol than anything). And/or you might not find certain people fun or interesting to be around anymore, once you’re not bonding over a shared drug of choice. Years before I quit alcohol, I experienced grief around quitting a party-all-night, hard-drugs-on-weekends kind of lifestyle. I still love people from that (brief) phase of my life, but the lifestyle itself would have destroyed me. All to say, certain relationships may change or fall away in sobriety. I think it’s important to allow ourselves to grieve that loss and past versions of ourselves, even as we celebrate all that we’re making space for and choosing.

I’m scared of what happens to my dating and sex life once I quit. Is that also a common concern?

Not going to lie—I got off pretty easy with this, because my partner has been sober from alcohol and other drugs for 30 years. BUT I still worried that things would feel awkward (and that he liked me more when I was drinking and more outgoing). It was awkward at first! But that awkward phase passed so quickly that I barely remember it. Our relationship is so much closer and so much more full of laughter and listening now that I’m sober.

Everyone is different, and many people who quit alcohol continue dating people (or stay in relationships with people) who still drink. I personally wouldn’t choose that—not because I think I’d be tempted to drink, but because I don’t really enjoy hanging out with people who are drinking anymore. Wherever you fall in this regard, I think it’s super important to be honest with the other person from the outset that you don’t drink. Also to get clear for yourself whether or not you want to date someone who drinks, and if so, how much you’re okay with them drinking (nightly, on rare occasions, drinking but not binge drinking, etc.). It might take some time and trial and error to figure out what will and won’t support you—especially in the first year of not drinking. Don’t feel like you need to have this sorted from the beginning; give yourself space and grace while also safeguarding your choices.

Oh, and good news: alcohol is an anesthetic, and it doesn’t selectively numb. Sober sex means heightened sensation!

How has quitting helped you show up for yourself and for the world?

Quitting alcohol has brought a deeper sense of inner knowing and confidence than I ever thought possible. It has also done more than anything I know to lessen feelings of amorphous guilt and shame that I’ve experienced since childhood. As a result, I feel more empowered, courageous, and able to stand in life—to really be here and participate without numbing out. This impacts every single aspect of my life, every single relationship in my life, and how I show up for myself, my loved ones, and my community.

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And so we go, sober and Advil-less, into the new year and beyond. I’m both excited and sad, and that’s okay. There’s a lot to mourn: the nights at Silencio in Paris, the drunk kissing, the unmatched cig and wine duo, the messy hair and leaking mascara, all the laughter with strangers. But I have faith that I can do all of the above even better, this time with a clear mind and skin, some boundaries, the nights I remember in detail, and a liver that loves me back. Even if I have to remind myself why every time there’s an acute temptation. One day at a time, friends, is really all I can say.