beyond the bottle

A six-year journey of sobriety, self-discovery, and healing

The first time I drank, at the age of 14, I thought I had found freedom. It was the first time I truly felt liberated, free to express myself, free to be who I truly was. Alcohol seemed to open a door to a world where I could let go of my inhibitions, laugh without care, be intimate with a man, and even step onto the dance floor without the weight of self-consciousness. I believed it was granting me freedom. But that first sip marked the beginning of a journey that would ultimately teach me what true freedom really is—one not defined by the bottle.

At first, alcohol seemed to enhance good times, creating a sense of ease, entertainment, and connection. For a while, it felt like the solution to everything; helping me forget discomfort, numbing pain, and providing a sense of belonging. But what I thought was liberating me was, in fact, slowly pulling me further from the freedom I was seeking. I didn’t realize it at the time, but alcohol was inhibiting my growth and distancing me from the very things I truly craved: clarity, courage, peace, confidence, and authentic connection.

It wasn’t until recently that I fully realized how truly free I am from the need to rely on anything to numb my feelings, ease discomfort, or create intimacy. I now know I never needed alcohol to feel good, to bond, or to ease my struggles. What I truly needed was curiosity, courage, and the capacity to face life’s challenges.

The process of change wasn’t easy. True transformation never is. My teacher often speaks about the "easy edge of practice." Nearly a year before I gave up alcohol, I participated in a group challenge in my Philosophy Friday class, pledging to give up something for a year. I chose peanut butter, one of my favorite foods, but secretly, I longed to stop drinking socially too.

The commitment to give up peanut butter tested my will and was difficult but it prepared me for the much greater challenge: the choice to give up alcohol.

The issue wasn’t daily drinking, but the social pressure to drink and my inability to stop once I’d started. The initial buzz felt good, and I often chased it. But the real problem arose when I couldn’t stop, when things went too far.

More often than not, I’d wake up with hangovers, not just physical discomfort, but the mental toll of shame and self-judgment. I’d promise myself I wouldn’t drink as much, but those promises were broken again and again, leading to more shame, less accountability, and growing distrust in myself. The cycle seemed endless.

Eventually, I made the decision to quit drinking, and while it wasn’t easy, looking back, I can honestly say I will never return to it.

There were moments of longing, especially after my husband left last year. I missed those carefree afternoons with friends, sipping wine, laughing, and enjoying each other’s company. But deep down, I knew returning to alcohol would only bring temporary relief, at best.

What I’ve learned over the past few years is that life is hard, and it will continue to challenge me in ways I never expect. I can’t imagine facing the immense grief I’ve experienced with a hangover. Numbing my pain or distracting myself with alcohol would have made the grief harder to bear.

Instead, I’ve learned to sit with my discomfort, to be with my pain in ways I never thought possible. And in those moments of discomfort, I’ve found my true resilience.

Key moments marked my transformation. The first was when I realized the urge to turn to alcohol wasn’t even an option anymore, it wasn’t attractive or appealing. I could be in social settings, feeling uncomfortable, and instead of reaching for a drink, I learned how to simply be there with my discomfort. I was no longer afraid of those situations. I knew how to be present without escaping into old habits. I also stopped overthinking before speaking in social situations, speaking more naturally, authentically, and with ease. I was no longer worried about how I was being perceived. I was just me, without the need for a crutch to help me fit in.

While I’m not free from feelings of despair, fear, or suffering, I now have the tools to navigate those feelings without unhealthy coping mechanisms. I’ve stopped trying to bypass my pain through shopping, sex, or substances.

I’m slowly unraveling the layers of heartbreak I once buried deep inside. The healing process is difficult, but it’s necessary. I no longer judge my younger self for turning to alcohol as a coping mechanism. She didn’t have the capacity or know life could be different, that freedom lay on the other side of alcohol.

My yoga practice and spiritual journey continue to guide me back to the freedom that resides within all of us. Now, six years sober, I feel more resilient, more stable, and more grounded than I ever have, despite the fragility and instability that life brings.

A few months ago, while I was in the shower, I had a powerful realization: I had just made it through the hardest year of my life without resorting to any of my old coping mechanisms. Not a single drink, not the distraction of a man, not even a cigarette (I’ve been free of them for eight years). To have endured such immense loss—one after the other—and survived without falling back on my old habits was a testament to how far I’ve come. I survived, and more importantly, I practiced feeling my way through it all.

This resilience didn’t come overnight, and I did not do it alone. It was built over years of dedication and devotion to my yoga practice, my healing work, and the support of my family, friends, teachers, and community. I now realize how incredibly strong I am, even in the darkest moments when I felt at my weakest. I survived. I kept going. I am no longer shackled by alcohol. I am free.

As Lindsey Buckingham once said: “Been down one time, been down two times — I’m never going back again.”

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Taken on the last day I drank, marking the end of one chapter and the start of another