The Best Part
The Sober From Bullshit Recovery Club turns 3 (!) years old (!!!)
Friends! Come hang ::
👉🏽 Next Sober from Bullshit Recovery Club is June 21st. It’s our club’s *3 year* anniversary! And the day after solstice! Register here.
👉🏽 June writing workshop is coming up! Join me on June 27th, from 12pm - 2pm PST. This month’s theme is “Beginner’s Mind.” Register here.
Questions? Just ask. I’m here and I’d love to hear from you.
In the fall of 2017, after a particularly harrowing hangover, I took yet another “break.” It wasn’t until a few weeks in that I realized something had clicked on, or off, whatever, inside me, and I was actually, finally, blessedly done drinking for good.
It took me a while to announce this to the world, because I’d been there before. Overdoing it and then taking breaks from drinking was a thing I’d done so many times, and I had a lousy-at-best track record when it came to trusting myself to keep my word to myself. So I kept it private. I was so hungry to understand why this time things felt different, but I had no idea where to go. Not only did I not identify as an alcoholic, I had incredibly negative associations with AA. Like so many of us, the thought that I’d have to claim that label in order to get help kept me from taking steps (heh) to do so. I wanted to believe that there were other people like me out there, but I had no idea where to look, and mostly assumed this would be a thing I would go alone.
Enter—you guessed it!—the internet. A few weeks after what would end up being my last ever binge, I googled “alternatives to AA” and stumbled upon this article by Holly Whitaker. This line acknowledged what I didn’t have language for but was starting to feel in my body:
Whatever benefits alcohol seems to provide I assure you they are trite in comparison to the possibilities of the life that stands beyond. Saying goodbye to the junk was saying goodbye to the life I had accepted as good enough and hello to a life that continues to unfold in magical, reality defying ways.
As I read, the grandest sense of relief flooded me. I was the babiest non-drinker person ever. But this post spoke directly to that part of me that knew that this time was different. The sober seed was a-sproutin (sorry), and having my sense that this choice was the key to expand my life, rather than something that was depriving me of life, was the exact validation I needed. I subscribed to the blog and hungrily ate every prior post.
But! Believe it or not, this isn’t a story about me, it’s about us, so I’m going to hurry up to the good part.
*
Here’s the quick timeline:
In June of 2018, Tempest (then still Hip Sobriety) began experimenting with in-person meetups, and by fall I was hosting them after the original facilitator backed out. In the fall of 2019, the yoga studio we were renting space from closed, so we moved to The Women’s Building (in the Audre Lorde room!) in the Mission District, ending each gathering with snacks and dancing to jams blasting out of the mini speaker. A solid crew had formed, converging each month from all over the Bay—not just The City, but the East Bay, Marin, and down the peninsula, too. Outside of those gatherings, we were hiking and hanging at each other’s houses and meeting for coffee and food and attending each other’s plays and going to see live music. We were becoming friends.
Then, pandemic. We, like everyone else, pivoted online. In the fall 2020, Tempest ended the program that was never intended to be virtual.
By that time, our community was so strong, we no longer needed to live under the umbrella of a larger organization to exist. So we kept going, and now we’re The Sober from Bullshit Recovery Club. Our next meeting, on June 21st, will mark the three-year anniversary of our very first time together.
Three years!
<insert celebratory dance break here>
One thing I’m so particularly present to as I reflect on those early gatherings is that at the time, we were all the babiest-non-drinker people ever. We were all brand new to this practice. And now, three years later, hanging out in my kitchen this past weekend guzzling Topo Chico and Spindrift, wilding out at a party (y’all I had a party) that ended at 7pm (magic!), I looked around at us and what hit me is how we’ve grown up together. We have our sober legs underneath us. We have learned how to swim. We are in the deeper blue, and though our directions are unique, the we’re out in the water together. This is the best part.
People are primary to this practice. The hacking of habits, the rhythm of routines, the figuring out of boundaries, the therapy, the thoughtwork, the forgiveness, the grace, the learning how to communicate, all these things are so important. But I’m going to say that people are the most vital.
We laugh so hard together. We also cry. We know about each other’s families, and all the messy dynamics. We celebrate milestones. We walk each other through grief and loss. We give each other advice, but only when it’s asked for; mostly, we listen with our full selves. We allow each others’ hard parts to exist, to be seen and attended to with softness and maybe, eventually, some love. We say the impossible things out loud; we re-write our stories. We know that we are not alone, never never alone, and finding a place where we belong is medicine for those of us (read: all of us) who spent most of our lives convinced that there was something uniquely wrong with us and that if only people knew, they would run away forever. We know! We know, and we love each other, we love each other until we are able to love ourselves, we swim in the water together and we laugh and we cry and we roll our eyes and shake our fists at the absurdity of this shared experience, we keep showing up and practicing and all of a sudden, three years have passed.
Most of us are still local. But the virtual space allows for Birmingham, Baltimore, Portland, Los Angeles, Humboldt, San Diego, Austin, Driggs—even Costa Rica for a hot minute—to participate, and now, I can’t imagine our club without you far-flung friends.
As I sit here this morning, I catch myself venturing into advice giving (“if I could recommend one thing”) but really, I just want this week’s post to serve as a love letter to you boo boos. Showing up is everything. Your friendship is everything. I am so grateful, and excited to see where we go.
For anyone else reading: Are you curious? Are you reaching? Consider this your invitation.
SELF MADE is a newsletter for creative types with a focus on recovery, creativity and community. It's written by me, Dani, a writer, facilitator, and recovery advocate in San Francisco, CA.
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Love this but would also love to read your “If I could offer one thing” piece of advice. What is it?!