“I’m still a little in awe that I, of all people, really don’t drink.”
For nearly two decades, I knew I had a problem with alcohol. Still, knowing I needed to quit drinking and actually doing it were two very different things.
Over the years, I tried Dry January, rules about weeknight drinking, 30-day breaks, and countless promises to myself. Eventually, something changed. I stopped drinking in February 2025, and this time it stuck.
What surprised me most was not what I lost by giving up alcohol. Instead, it was how much of my life I got back.
When and How Did You Quit Drinking?
I knew I had a drinking problem by my early 20s. However, academic and professional success made it easy to hide.
Over almost two decades, I had an embarrassing number of false starts. There was a Dry January here, a “no drinking on weeknights” rule there, several 30-day breaks, and two full-term pregnancies.
Part of what made quitting so difficult was my attraction to the promise of a wild night out. Alcohol felt like a portal to magic.
A glass of wine could turn off the part of my brain that tracked people’s reactions, counted all the shoulds, and managed how I moved through a room. Suddenly, I felt funnier and more relaxed. I could talk to a stranger at a party as though we had known each other forever.
Unfortunately, the portal only opened one way. I could get in, but I could not get out on my own terms.
One drink became three, five, or whatever came next. Eventually, drinking brought out a version of myself I barely recognized. The “fun” nights started costing more than they were worth.
I stopped drinking for good in February 2025. My last drink was a double rum punch at an airport bar in Turks and Caicos, which I drank like water.
It was not exactly a dramatic rock bottom, although I had experienced plenty of those over the years. Instead, the trip simply fell apart.
I was dealing with legal stress from the sale of my PR company. Meanwhile, my four-year-old daughter became very sick with tonsillitis. What should have been a vacation turned into an expensive nervous breakdown with an ocean view.
This time, though, something felt different.
I was tired of the excuses, the headaches, and the constant negotiations around alcohol. Most of all, I was tired of feeling that my husband and children were not getting the best of me.
So I decided I was done.
This time, it stuck. I’m still a little in awe that I, of all people, really don’t drink.
What Finally Made You Stop Drinking?
Since college, I had carried a fantasy that someone would eventually make the decision for me.
In my imagination, a friend or family member would arrive at my apartment, announce that my life had been paused, and send me to rehab. The logistics would already be handled, and the difficult conversations would be over.
I owned the Sandra Bullock movie 28 Days on DVD and watched it at least a hundred times.
Her character is a sarcastic writer whose life falls apart after a DUI. She is sent to rehab as part of her sentence, fights the process at first, and eventually admits that she needs help.
Strangely, I envied her.
I did not envy the crash itself. What appealed to me was the forced decision, the clarity that comes when someone else makes an impossible choice for you.
For years, I waited for a mistake dramatic enough to make quitting nonnegotiable. Instead, I became very good at pulling myself together at the last possible moment.
Every disastrous night became an isolated event. Meanwhile, every stretch of moderation seemed like proof that I could drink like a “normal” person.
As a result, my final years of drinking were not especially dramatic. They were mostly sad.
There was no single catastrophe. Instead, I repeatedly noticed the growing distance between the person I believed I was and the person who kept showing up at open bars.
What finally changed the pattern was not dramatic either.
First, I attended a handful of helpful AA meetings. Later, I committed to psychedelic work with a guide and sound healer.
At first, I approached the experience skeptically and expected to feel silly. Instead, I came away with a simple but powerful realization:
I am allowed to take care of myself. Drinking is the opposite of taking care of myself. In order to fully love my family, I need to love myself.
In the end, I did not quit drinking because I finally hated my life enough. I quit because I had started to forgive myself.
For the first time, I was beginning to believe that I deserved a life with less chaos and shame.
What Surprised You Most About Sobriety?
The biggest surprise is how much fuller my life feels.
Before I quit drinking, I expected sobriety to drain the color out of everything. I imagined a boring and sterile existence. Instead, almost the opposite happened.
I feel more alive now than I did when I was drinking. I also feel as though I am finally following a path that belongs to me.
These days, I show up as more of myself. There is less performance, less guessing what other people want from me, and more honesty about how I feel. In return, people often meet that honesty with the same energy.
I also spend less time deciding which parts of myself I should reveal. Instead, I can simply be present.
Of course, that does not mean every situation is easy. Cocktail parties can still be difficult.
Not long ago, I attended one where everyone around me seemed to be letting loose and having a great time. For a moment, I genuinely wanted a drink.
It was not the first time I had felt that way, and it probably will not be the last. However, I left earlier than I might have in the past.
The next morning, I woke up with zero regrets. That felt like its own kind of proof.
Today, I am more rooted in my decision, but being rooted does not mean being immune. If I am having a difficult day and do not feel ready for an event centered around alcohol, I simply try not to go.
What Was the Hardest Part of Quitting Drinking?
Early in sobriety, there was one night when I looked at my husband during dinner and started crying angrily. I told him I was done with all of this.
At that moment, it felt too hard to sit alone with my own thoughts, especially with two demanding children around me and no drink to take the edge off.
The alcohol-induced haze felt much more familiar than sitting with my feelings. I wondered why I was doing this to myself.
Was I really expected to white-knuckle my way through the rest of my life?
Ethan gave me space, but he also gave me some tough love. Because he had been on his own sober journey, he knew firsthand how difficult the early days could be.
He told me I owed it to myself to get through those first weeks before making any decisions.
He also reminded me that I was one of the most stubborn and disciplined people he knew. Maybe, he suggested, sobriety was finally a productive use for those qualities.
So I kept going, and he was right.
The first 30 days were by far the hardest. Afterward, the benefits started to build on each other.
I committed to a new workout routine, created better boundaries at work, and continued to process the lessons from my psychedelic experiences.
Eventually, being alcohol-free felt less like something I was trying to do and more like part of who I was.
What Are the Biggest Benefits of Sobriety?
Self-trust, self-love, and self-respect are probably the greatest gifts.
My mornings are much clearer now. I no longer wake up investigating what I said the night before, whether I hurt someone’s feelings, or whether Ethan is still angry with me.
Of course, I still wake up tired. I have two young children, and being 40 does not guarantee a luminous dawn.
But I do not wake up ashamed.
Sobriety has also made me calmer and more present with my children. Not all the time, because they remain committed to testing the outer limits of my nervous system, but much more often.
As a result, I feel that I am giving them the best of me instead of whatever scraps were left over.
Another unexpected benefit is the amount of mental space sobriety has given me back.
With that space, I finally started pursuing something I had wanted since elementary school: writing.
Instead of journaling or starting drafts that I abandon after a few pages, I am actually finishing things.
Since I quit drinking, I have written a novel and a half and started publishing personal essays.
Before sobriety, I never would have had the confidence for that kind of exposure. I was too focused on how other people perceived me.
Now, I am no longer spending my creative energy maintaining a persona. I get to spend it making something.
What Advice Would You Give Someone Trying to Quit Drinking?
You do not have to wait until alcohol has destroyed your life. Likewise, you do not have to prove that your problem is worse than someone else’s.
The line between this is fine and this is a problem is deeply personal. Ultimately, only you can decide where that line is.
Ask yourself:
What am I drinking to avoid? What am I trying not to feel?
You also do not have to solve forever today.
Start with one day. Then try 30. After that, try 60.
As the fog and shame begin to lift, returning to your old way of living may become much less appealing.
Most importantly, forgive yourself for however many attempts it takes.
I had almost two decades of false starts before one finally stuck. At the time, every failed attempt felt like proof that I could not quit drinking.
Looking back, however, I see those attempts differently.
Each one taught me something about what I was running from. As a result, it became harder to lie to myself the next time.
If you slip, that does not erase everything you have learned. You know more than you did before, and you are still paying attention.
About Rachel Van Dolsen
Rachel Van Dolsen writes about sobriety, identity, family, creativity, and the process of becoming more yourself.
After years of trying to change her relationship with alcohol, she stopped drinking in February 2025. Since then, sobriety has given her more space for her family, her writing, and a life that feels increasingly like her own.
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