You probably already have the answer to your question, you just hate the answer.

13 years sober & 10 months off social media

Wild Letters is a newsletter about self-exploration and building a right-fit life.

Thank you for being here with me!

Print by Jessica Molina

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My dear reader.

Today is my 13-year soberversary.

I have not had a drink in 4,749 days.

Let me tell you though, that on the day I quit drinking I did not want to quit drinking.

What I wanted was a different answer — literally any other answer — to the question of how to no longer be in so much pain while still remaining alive.

But as I once heard Carmen Spagnola say, “You probably already have the answer to your question, you just hate the answer.”

I hated the answer of sobriety so fucking much.

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My dear reader.

It has now been 10 months since I left social media, which as it turns out is the only other thing in my life that requires complete abstinence in order for me to be okay.

I do not mean to imply that Instagram and alcohol are the same (they’re not) but instead to be honest with you about the fact that moderation was simply not a solution for me to lessen the pain of using either one of those things, not in a real way and certainly not for long.

“Don’t drink on weekdays” and “no social media before breakfast” were the type of rules that worked until they didn’t, until I found a good excuse (and there was always a good excuse) for why it was okay for me to break the promises I’d made to myself.

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My dear reader.

Most of the time when I am asking someone for advice what I am really asking for is permission.

The true question was never “should I leave social media” but whether/how I could leave without losing my readers, my job, my ability to earn enough money to survive, plus my long-distance friendships and the ease of access to time-sensitive mutual aid requests. I knew I needed to leave — I knew it, I knew it, I knew it — and so my multi-year fixation on the question of stay-or-go was actually a kind of desperate stalling, a way to comfort myself that if I just waited long enough then maybe I’d find an answer I hated less than logging off forever.

Similarly, back in 2011 the true question was never “should I quit drinking” but whether/how I could quit drinking without losing what felt like my entire life — my friends, my boyfriend, my sense of self, plus my only known tool for making it through everything from anger and grief to joy and celebration.

The question wasn’t if, it was how.

How do I do this thing that feels utterly impossible?

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My dear reader.

Sobriety for me is only ever about one thing: surrender.

Continually letting go of the fantasy that it/I could be different, should be different, would be different if only __________.

I am no longer trying to fill in that blank.

If 13 years of no alcohol and 10 months of no social media have taught me anything it is the soul-deep exhaustion of trying to be someone I’m not.

If I had a dollar for every time I fervently wished to be a person who could be “normal” with alcohol, my god. A dollar for each time I thought, “What is wrong with me that 10 minutes on Instagram can make me hate myself this much?”

I genuinely think I would be the richest person on the planet.

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My dear reader.

Today is my 13-year soberversary.

I have not had a drink in 4,749 days.

Many of those days ended with me feeling like I hadn’t done enough — hadn’t accomplished enough, worked enough, wrote enough, earned enough, cared for myself and others enough — but through the clear lens of perspective I always seem to be granted on the 1st of May I can now see that actually, not drinking was enough.

Not drinking on day 1 is what got me to day 2. Not drinking on day 964 got me to day 965. And not drinking yesterday is what got me to today, to right now, to this damp and foggy morning when I am so grateful to be sitting at my desk with a mug of vanilla rooibos tea and writing to tell you that the things we do to save ourselves must always come first, and that even if nothing else happens beyond that on any given day we will have done enough.

I love you. Keep going. You’re doing great.

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More soon—

Nic