THIS is When I Knew I Needed To Stop Moderating & Quit Drinking

The moment I said it, I was faced with the certainty that I would die if I didn’t make a dramatic change in my life.

Would it be a physical death? Maybe eventually.

What would come much sooner was a spiritual death. The kind where your soul lives at the bottom of that sickening dark place inside of you. The metaphysical place that goes far beyond the depths of your physical guts and gore.

It was 1:37 am and I was 27 years old when I said it.

I was half-way through a sleepless night after 3 glasses of wine -- enough to change my internal state but nowhere near enough to knock me out.

Instead of sleeping in my cozy queen-sized bed next to my loving, live-in boyfriend under a canopy of string lights, I was knees-down and ass-up on the muddy gray couch of my 400 square foot New York City apartment. It was like I was in childs pose -- if the child was throwing a tantrum that included punching the couch cushions and muttering under its breath.

Only, the moment I said it, I didn’t mutter.

My words were loud and clear and they hit me like a force of nature. Or was it something super-natural? It felt more akin to something speaking through me rather than that I was speaking for myself. It wasn’t just a few words strung together: it was a declaration, a devilish voice making promises for my future.

“I hate myself”, I said with certainty.

THIS is the moment when I knew I needed to stop moderating & quit drinking because, when I said it, I really scared myself.

I was sick and tired of the same old habits, lack of follow-through on my dreams, and tired old surface-level friendships. I wanted my life to be better but I wasn't doing what was necessary to make it that way.

The result? Self-pity.

Poor me... poor me... pour me a drink every night.

That's no way to live.

I had survived an eating disorder in my late teens and I wasn’t going to let alcohol take me down that black hole of self-loathing again.

The Courage to Change

Some sort of spiritual blackout carried me, like a silent savior in the dark, to back underneath the canopy of sting lights to catch a few hours of sleep because the next thing I remember -- happened the next day.

“I need you to help me get help”, I mumbled to my boyfriend as my courage started to break through the residual fear of the previous night's declaration of hate.

We were standing face-to-face in our tiny apartment, its size making it impossible for me to hide from the truth.

“Let me be clear”, I confirmed with a little more confidence, “I need you to help me find help, I need you to take me to where the help is, and I need you to sit there with me through the whole damn thing so I don’t leave.”

Cut to the next Saturday morning, when we walked into a church basement filled with 40 plus humans under (none other than) a canopy of sting lights. In the 60 minutes that followed I didn’t dare utter a word, but I did open my ears wide enough to hear dozens of vulnerable, beautiful humans sharing honestly about what they were feeling and what was going on between their ears.

Never before had I heard so many people read my mind like a book, not even considering that these people didn’t know me from Adam. At the close of the meeting, my silent spiritual savior guided me to the tall, freckle faced woman who soon became my guide into a life without drinking.

For the first time ever, I was not alone in my desire to stop drinking and I had hope that what I’d tried to manage and control with all of my energy for the last several years could somehow be lifted from me – that I wouldn’t have to spend copious amounts of my precious energy and life having to think about or experience the grip of death, physical or spiritual, that alcohol threatened me with just nights before.

Turns out, it is always darkest before the dawn: the moment I said, “I hate myself”, my life changed for the better.

What About You?

When did you know it was time to make a change – whether that’s drink less or stop drinking completely? I respect that your story might be different from mine.

Sometimes it’s hard to acknowledge a problem. When we’re lucky, it hits us like a ton of bricks – then the challenge becomes seeking out our solution.

You know you’re on rock bottom when you:

• Have not asked for help

• Are sick and tired of hurting

• No-one but your knows the truth

At this point, your biggest failure is not the drinking - it’s the dishonesty. 

When you choose to stay on the ground, go it alone, and “fake it”, you have only yourself to blame. Which ruins your self-worth.

You have to trade your pride for courage.

But I know that it can be difficult to know where to turn to when you’re struggling.

When I stopped drinking 7 years ago the only solution I’d ever heard of was Alcoholics Anonymous.

I feel tremendously fortunate to have kick-started my sober journey in Manhattan, where I had the privilege of trying on dozens of different meetings, exploring my options until I found the one that felt “warmest” to me. There was a lot of trial and error involved. 

I know that not all cities have the same options and not all people have the same accessibility to AA that I have experienced. I’ve moved multiple times in sobriety and have experienced this for myself, which meant that there were seasons in my sobriety that AA was simply not the right or the complete solution for me at the time.

Things I've used to help me find and keep joyous sobriety:

• AA

• Therapy

• Journaling

• Meditation

• Movement

• Life Coaching

• Sober friendships

• Instagram community

• Podcasts (including hosting my own: Sober Reference Podcast)

Sometimes all at once, but not always.

Here's the raw truth: some of the things that work for me (or others) might not work for you. You have to be willing to experiment and research, gathering evidence about what works and doesn’t work uniquely for you.

I say all this and share my personal, detailed story for one reason: I hope it helps.

I know that there are some people reading this with 10+ years of sobriety and some that are working on 10 days. I know that you all have a unique solution, too. I know this for a fact because you’ve courageously replied to my letters with your own declarations. I am so grateful because that’s all I’ve hoped for: pen-pals and lab-mates.

People to do life with (which just might be the most universal solution for life in general).

Here’s to you.

Here’s to me, too.

And most importantly, here’s to us.

Jenna Lou