21 Months Sober: Still Figuring It Out

It’s a giant accomplishment to reach 21 months sober, but let’s face it, it’s not all confetti and high fives.

Maintaining sobriety has been an intense journey filled with highs and lows that have tested me at every turn. Honestly, I still don’t know how I’ve survived this long without going insane, though my Netflix algorithm suggests I might be close.

People often treat sobriety like a miracle cure, as if suddenly your problems vanish and you wake up as a fully functioning adult. Warning: I still haven’t received that manual in the mail. The truth? Sobriety is work. It’s like trying to solve a Rubik’s cube while riding a unicycle in a thunderstorm. Perhaps this is overly dramatic, but you understand the point. It’s daily, gritty, relentless work that demands patience, discipline, and a willingness to face your fears. By demons, I mean my anxieties and the inexplicable urge to reorganize my spice rack at two in the morning.

Initially, the most surprising aspect was recognizing the considerable number of hours in a day when one is not experiencing unconsciousness. I felt like a giraffe on stilts, stumbling through this new world of conscious living. But once the novelty wore off, the real work began. Celebrating your decision is one thing. Living with yourself, your actual, sober personality—is another. That’s when the real difficulties set in. And surprise: it turns out hangovers aren’t supposed to be a normal part of waking up.

Cravings still show up like an Amazon package I didn’t order. Some days, loneliness makes me wonder if it’s worth it. I even find myself tempted to text my ex, which would now be considered sober-texting and is arguably worse. However, I've learned to navigate through these moments, often with the assistance of true crime documentaries and an embarrassing quantity of ice cream. And yes, watching an entire season in a day absolutely counts as self-care.

Despite the challenges, sobriety has given me unexpected gifts: realizing I never actually liked beer, laughing at my jokes without irony, and finding genuine joy in remembering full conversations. One day I’m having an existential crisis in the cereal aisle at Target, and the next I’m convinced I’m hilarious. It’s chaos, but it’s also growth.

Sobriety is not a destination; it's a road trip. You get lost, question your GPS, and make too many snack stops. Sometimes I feel neutral, but I keep going. This condition is partially due to my excessive spending on expensive sparkling water but primarily because I've made significant progress and am unwilling to relapse.

If you’re struggling with sobriety, you’re not alone. It’s okay to feel miserable, to cry at commercials with dogs finding forever homes, or to eat cereal for dinner while binging your favorite comfort show. We're all navigating this journey, day by day.

I empathize with those who are still struggling. I know the mental battle when your brain whispers, “One drink won’t hurt.” (Spoiler: your brain is a terrible negotiator.) But I also know that recovery is possible.

Twenty-one months in, sobriety feels less like a shiny medal and more like a stubborn participation ribbon. And I’m proud of it. It reminds me I’m still here, still learning, and still becoming the person I was too drunk to meet before.

So here’s to sobriety—the beautifully messy, confusing, ridiculous journey we’re all making up as we go. Raise a glass (sparkling water, naturally).

Cheers.