How to find sober friends

The one about soft underbellies

🔮September writing workshop is THIS Sunday! Join me on September 26, from 10am - 12pm PST. September’s theme is “DOG DAYS.” Register here.

💙 “The Deeper Blue: Finding FLOW in Long-Term Sobriety” I’m giving a talk at Sober Voices on October 2! The rest of the line-up is hella rad, too. Register here.

❤️‍🩹Next Sober From Bullshit Recovery Club: Storytelling Edition is Wednesday, October 6. Register here.

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In June 2018, Tempest was still Hip Sobriety, and meeting in person was still a thing we took for granted. I’d received an invitation: Hip Sobriety was testing out a beta program of IRL meetups in a handful of cities, including mine—would I like to go?

The meeting started at 7pm. The night was warm (ish), and I walked from BART to the dingy little yoga studio where we were gathering, passing along the way the tail-end of so many happy-hours, bar after bar filled with familiar scenes that only nine months prior would have been my scene. A group of about twenty of us crowded the narrow stairs leading up to the third-floor studio, waiting for the door to open. I was nervous, of course I was. And, I needed to be around other people who not only didn’t drink, but also were open to this orientation toward recovery, who subscribed (or were learning to subscribe) to the belief that stopping drinking wasn’t a about deprivation at all, but could actually be the key to what we’d been seeking all along: freedom.

Up to that point, I’d held my recovery close, keeping it mostly private, a secret I held in my pocket that occasionally I’d take out, hold up to the light, watch its rainbows reflect around the room. Nine months in, post-pink cloud, and with nobody to talk to about the puzzle pieces rearranging themselves inside me, I was longing for people who would get it, who wouldn’t make me claim any label, or assume I had a disease.

I was standing next to another woman who was also the earliest to arrive (because, I’d soon learn, that’s how we roll—on time, dependable, maybe to a fault) and we started chatting. Turned out, we were neighbors. She gave me a ride home afterward and it was one of those connections where you just know you’re going to be friends. I’ve moved twice since we met, but we’re still neighbors, and she’s become one of my truest blues (hi, Nicole).

I don’t remember a lick of the actual meeting, aside from feeling slightly starstruck when we counted off into our small groups, and I got paired up with Holly. I do remember the whole experience feeling like I was finally releasing my breath after holding it for generations.

Soon after, the woman who led the groups had to back out, and I volunteered to take over. Now here we are, over three years later, and that group continues on, now as the Sober From Bullshit Recovery Club. A month ago, I went on a long weekend trip with three friends I met there. Last Friday, one of them took me out for my soberversary, and I went out for Chinese food with a few others on Sunday. Most of us are still Bay Area based, but since we’ve gone virtual, we have regulars from Vermont, Mississippi, Alabama, Colorado, and Oregon.

This is my definition of magic. And I’d like to pass some on.

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The thing about making friends in sobriety is that it requires vulnerability. For those of us who used to drink our way into belonging, it can feel very strange to reveal the soft underbelly of our longing. Opening ourselves up to being truly seen takes risk. What if we are rejected? What if we’re hella awkward? What if we stick our foot in our mouths?

If you take anything from this essay, let it be this: I promise you, the risk is worth it.

Early recovery for me was about shoring up my leaky periphery. I got into the habit of drinking hot lemon water first thing in the morning, and deepening into morning and evening routines, and going to bed so early all the time. I read so many books and all of the blog posts and I listened to every. last. recovery related podcast I could find, sometimes listening to episodes over and over. I went to work on my shitty thoughts and began to interrogate my shitty beliefs. I practiced saying “no.” I started having preferences, slowly allowing my wants and desires to reemerge; I saw a therapist; I still see an energy healer.

All of these baseline practices are important. Vital, even. And, I know that recovery wouldn’t be what it is for me—I’m honestly not sure if I would have sustained it—had I not found my people. Community is hands down my most important tool. Being a person who doesn’t drink is already full of lonely moments. On top of that, it automatically shoves us into outsider status, since alcohol is still the gas that runs our cultural engine.

Here is what I know: the thing we are most afraid of is also the thing we long for most—to be seen. To belong.

What I know: when we have a safe place, or safe person(s), where we can tell the truth, where we can say all the ugliest things out loud and be met with care and compassion and maybe if we’re really lucky, some perspective shifting humor (because this shit is nothing if not absurd), it is profoundly healing.

What I know: when we reveal who we are; when we make friends from a place of honest messiness rather than perfectionism, people-pleasing, or performance, the depth of friendship that becomes possible is incomparable.

Another thing I’ve learned is that there are so many more of us than we think. “Us” being nondrinkers. I know that early sobriety was marked by a heightened self-consciousness and and uptick in my social anxiety. There I was, raw, without my tried-and-true social lubricant to numb out my toothy parts. I remember standing around, unsure of how to place my arms, what look to have on my face. I was even more self absorbed than normal. I didn’t want to draw any attention to myself.

As I settled more and more into my new identity, I was able to turn my gaze outward. I was more relaxed in myself which allowed me to be more relaxed in social situations - even the ones where alcohol was present and the people around me were drinking. What I noticed is that there was always someone who was also not drinking. It is always a joy to connect to these people. Even if they don’t become a sober bestie, there is a shared recognition, which allows for a sense of ease that can be so comforting in the moment, particularly if we were feeling like a fish out of water. After this happened a few times, I began to intentionally keep myself open to these moments of serendipity.

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This is the pithy, “put yourself out there” part of the advice. I’m sorry, I swear I do my best not to fall into cliché, but it’s true: wanting friends does not make them suddenly appear. You have to try. You have to reveal the soft underbelly of your longing.

So: how do we do this?

1. Look for what already exists. Y’all, there are SO MANY options these days. If you’re like me and AA isn’t your thing, it’s OK - the conversation around recovery is shifting so fast and there are so many ways to be a non-drinker. Search for groups that already exist in your area. See if you can plug in.

2. Start your own meetup. You could start a group on Meetup.com, or Eventbrite. My friend Karla started SoberIRL in San Francisco, and now she has groups in 10 (!) cities (you can also apply to become a local lead, and you’ll get her support).

3. Get online! I would be remiss if I didn’t put some shine on Tempest, which is where I found so many of my people (disclaimer: I am an employee!). There is also We Are the Luckiest Club, The Path by This Naked Mind, SMART Recovery, The Sober From Bullshit Recovery Club (😎).

   Here’s the thing: I know that virtual isn’t ideal for some of us. I’d encourage you to consider it anyway. Case in point: my very first houseguest was a friend that up until picking her up from the airport, I’d never met in person - we’d become superhomies via Zoom, WhatsApp, all those things. Authentic friendships are possible through a screen, this is another thing I can promise.

4. Reach out. Another fun story: A couple of years ago, after one of my articles was published over at The Temper, a woman slid into my Instagram DM’s to thank me for what I’d written, and offered me a free haircut. This is one of the women I went on that aforementioned long weekend with, and she’s now an integral part of SFBS Recovery Club (she’s also the only person I’ll let touch my hair, or what’s left of it).

5. Share yourself. This is something I’d recommend feeling into. A heart-on-my-sleeve wearer, I can’t tell you how many times I overshared about my recovery to someone I didn’t know that well and then regretted it later (vulnerability hangovers are for real). So, no rush to go public or to share with your social circles until/if you are ready. Listen to yourself when it comes to who you will share. Remember that for someone to receive your story, you are offering them a total gift.

   And, keep one of your little antennae up. You never know who you might meet, being a person out in the world, awake, senses open, present, fully alive, walking through the world heart-first. Let yourself be surprised by what is offered to you.

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💖”How I Embraced the ‘Pink Cloud’ of Early Sobriety”

⌛️This week last year: In a time of great contagion, what will we spread?

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SELF MADE is a newsletter for fellow 🌺late bloomers🌺 with a focus on recovery, creativity and community. It's written by me, Dani, a writer, coach, and recovery advocate in San Francisco, CA. 

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