“Loneliness does not come from having no people about one, but from being unable to communicate the things that seem important to oneself, or from holding certain views which others find inadmissible.”
—Carl Jung
Finding connection in sobriety has not always come naturally to me. For years, I could be surrounded by people and still feel completely alone.
Picture a hot summer day at a country club pool. Kids spring from the diving board and splash one another. Parents are scattered around the pool deck, while others stand together in the water. Nearly everyone seems to have a cup or glass in hand, and most of those drinks contain alcohol.
I sit on the pool deck and watch people talk freely. Part of me desperately wants to be invited into one of their conversations. At the same time, I feel completely outside those connections.
It is like being the bubble boy, except there is no physical bubble. The barrier is interpersonal, and I do not know how to break through it.
The Loneliness Beneath Drinking
Sometimes, I would grab a drink and work up the courage to talk with some of the other guys. Even then, I still felt like an outsider.
I would go round for round, hoping the next double might quiet the tension inside me. To some extent, it worked. Alcohol made approaching people feel easier, but it never created the connection I was searching for.
Every trip to the pool brought the same conflict. I wanted to feel included, yet I remained convinced that I did not belong.
That period of my life stands in sharp contrast to this summer.
I still go to the same pool, but now I am almost four years sober. This is the third summer I have arrived without liquid courage. Instead, I bring soda water and a growing sense of connection with myself.
In the beginning, it was difficult. I will not pretend otherwise.
Showing up in a familiar place in a completely new way can be uncomfortable. I had spent years attending social events while drinking or at least feeling slightly tipsy. Suddenly, I had to experience those same situations fully sober.
Learning to Connect Without Alcohol
Something began to shift this summer.
A couple of weeks ago, I took our daughters to the pool. Once the sunscreen was applied, they ran off to have fun with their friends.
I sat down to read and noticed a man sitting alone. I recognized him from the gym and the pool, although we had never spoken much.
Then I did something that surprised me.
I walked over, pulled up a chair, and started a conversation.
We had a pleasant chat. Nothing dramatic or life-changing happened. We simply connected. A few minutes later, another man joined us.
Four years ago, that afternoon would have looked very different. I would have remained in my chair, drinking ranch water and silently wondering why I was sitting alone.
You might read this and think, “You really couldn’t talk to someone without drinking?”
Looking back, I understand that reaction. However, the 36-year-old version of me found it incredibly difficult. He was consumed by the need to be liked. He worried about offending people and tried to hide the parts of himself that he believed others could not, or would not, accept.
Sobriety has helped me see that genuine connection does not require a perfect performance. It requires presence, honesty, and the courage to say hello.
How Sobriety Created Deeper Friendships
The courage I have found in sobriety extends far beyond conversations with acquaintances at the pool. It has also opened the door to some of the deepest friendships of my life.
I am part of The Luckiest Club, an online sobriety support community. Last fall, I attended a men’s camping retreat with other members of the community.
I was excited because I had seen and heard most of the men during our weekly sobriety calls. However, I was also terrified.
What if they did not like me? What if the trip felt awkward? Was I crazy for committing to spend a weekend with them?
As you might expect, the retreat went much better than I had imagined.
Each person had an opportunity to share his drinking and sobriety story. No one was forced to speak, but many chose to be vulnerable.
Listening to those men share their experiences was a gift. Our stories were different, yet each one contained moments the rest of us could recognize.
That weekend taught me an important lesson about connection in sobriety: the things we most want to hide can become lifeboats for other people.
When we share them honestly, someone else may realize they are not alone.
Vulnerability Without Shame
After the retreat, a smaller group of us started a Marco Polo video chat. We have kept it going ever since.
Most of us share something on most days. Sometimes, we discuss difficult subjects, including struggles in our marriages or questions about what it means to be a man.
On other days, we talk about dachshund races. Yes, you read that correctly.
We also share whatever strange, funny, frustrating, or ordinary things are happening in our lives.
The best part of these friendships is the absence of shame.
For the first time, I feel like I am part of a group where nothing needs to remain hidden. No subject is automatically off-limits.
That level of openness may sound intimidating. I understand why. Vulnerability can be frightening, especially when you have spent years protecting yourself from rejection.
Yet vulnerability has also created a depth of connection that I had never experienced before. It has strengthened my relationship with these men, and it has helped me build a healthier relationship with myself.
Why Recovery Communities Matter
This experience feels like the opposite of the loneliness Carl Jung described.
In this group, I do not have to hide the things that matter to me. Even when loneliness appears, I can name it and bring it into the conversation. Speaking about it takes away some of its power.
Having a community that welcomes honest conversations is an extraordinary gift.
These are people who are willing to sit with their own struggles and yours. They do not always try to solve the problem or offer an immediate answer. Instead, they listen, witness, and provide a compassionate presence.
To me, this is one of the most beautiful qualities of recovery communities, regardless of their particular approach.
People in recovery often learn how to be present without trying to fix one another. They allow you to find your own way. They may offer advice when you ask for it, but often, they simply listen.
That kind of listening is a powerful form of connection.
Rewriting the Story of Loneliness
I probably will not find the same depth of friendship at the pool this summer. However, I can still find connection there.
That is possible because I have started telling myself a different story.
I am no longer the lonely outsider who waits for someone else to notice him. Now, I introduce myself first. I say hello first.
Those actions may sound small, but they make the world feel friendlier, safer, and more engaging.
This range of relationships would not have been possible without sobriety. Sobriety helped me stop hiding. It taught me to tolerate discomfort, reach out to others, and allow myself to be seen.
If connection in sobriety does not feel possible for you right now, give it time.
You do not need to rush out and fix every relationship or become the most outgoing person in the room. Start with something small. Sit with the discomfort. Say hello to one person. Share one honest thought with someone you trust.
Remember that other people around you may be experiencing the same loneliness.
Your willingness to reach out could become the connection they need. It may also become the connection you did not realize you needed yourself.
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