Yahoo Lifestyle ‘I’m 7 years sober. Why do I still feel I have to prove I'm not boring?'
My hand twitches, hovering over my phone in my pocket. I know the exact picture I could easily pull up – to prove something to this stranger at a party: that I’m not boring. It’d be the one of me on the pavement outside the club, curled up in the foetal position. Or perhaps I could recount a now-infamous anecdote, the one about the boat party, where I untied my top and sang ‘Come on Eileen’ to twenty-five horrified strangers, my breasts bared for them all?
It’s bizarre. Since quitting drinking, I’ve had almost seven years of clear-headed mornings, authentic joy and to everyone’s surprise, more fun than I ever had as a drinker. And yet… why do I still feel the need to ‘prove’ I’m not boring when I meet new people – and why does this ‘proof’ still come in the form of pulling out souvenirs from the days when I regularly blacked out and was utterly miserable?
It was after a night out in February 2018 – one I still can’t remember — that I declared I was never drinking again. And, I haven’t. Although ‘fun’ is a subjective word anyway, I know categorically that I am not boring. Yet, whenever I meet new people who do drink alcohol, I always find myself trying to prove that my ‘fun-ness’ is an irrefutable fact. Actually, I just tried to prove it to you then.
At this point, it’s become standard that I follow up, “No thanks, I don’t drink” with some incoherent garble about how “I used to — a lot — actually. But then I took it too far and now I don’t, but I’m still fun! I promise!”. Sometimes I even whip out a hedonistic picture or tale for good measure, straddling the line between sharing in the name of relatability and just outright trauma-dumping.
I can’t really explain why this knee-jerk rambling exits my mouth before I’ve even finished my mocktail, but I think it boils down to a) not wanting people to assume I’m an absolute fun sponge and b) not wanting them to assume that this fun sponge is going to judge anyone else for drinking.
It’s a fear of being misunderstood. A feeling that if I don’t tell people my entire story, they’ll assume things about me. Maybe they’ll assume I’m uptight or a sanctimonious beacon of wellness, when in reality, I’m an ex-feral club rat who stopped drinking because she constantly ruined her life.
It’s not just in my head either; I have tangible proof that people make such assumptions. A few years ago, I went on a hen do where the bride was the only person I knew. When I met her for coffee a few weeks later, she told me that her sister had been pleasantly surprised that I was “actually fun”, previously assuming I’d be “bringing down the vibe” with my lack of boozing. It was both a flattering compliment and a harsh reminder that I’m often expected to prove my ‘funness,’ rather than being considered hilarious until proven boring like everyone else.
So why am I being such a sober try-hard? David Gibbs, the resident therapist for the 'They Think It’s All Sober' podcast, who has been sober for over a decade himself, theorises, “To not fit in is to die. This sounds a bit ridiculous in this context. But when we say ‘no’ to that drink it can feel like a ‘no’ to the group.” Gibbs explains that, to our primitive brain, this is bad news because in ancient times, if we were isolated or cut off from the group we were in danger. “The amygdala — the threat-focused part of the brain — sounds the alarm. We feel that uncomfortable, gut-wrenching pressure to belong.”
Gibbs also explains that one of the obvious ways to relieve this feeling is to drink. Meaning, it can feel like your only two options to prove that you’re a part of the tribe are either: over-explaining why you’re not a human snooze-fest or taking a shot of tequila.
We desperately need to shift the societal narrative that sobriety is boring—not just for those of us who’ve already chosen to abstain, but also for those wishing to change their relationship with alcohol but fearing the label of buzzkill.
Still, until we change the world — tips for handling the situation? Well, Gibbs suggests that one way to navigate this dilemma is to seek out experiences which do not equate acceptance with alcohol consumption. Whether it’s joining a running club, finding an alcohol-free rave (there are plenty) or just seeing your friends for coffee over cocktails. “It is incredible to discover how many groups, communities, friendships and fellowships exist and hold together without a single mention of booze.”
While I’m still figuring this out myself, one thing I have realised is the importance of patience because, over time, people do thankfully tend to see me for who I truly am. Snap judgments are inevitable, whether you’re sober or not. People will form opinions about you that are entirely out of your control. Seven years ago, the first impression I probably gave off was that I was obnoxiously drunk and annoying. So, when I think about it, being seen as "boring" probably isn’t that bad anyway — and besides, ultimately the only opinion of me that should truly matter is my own.
Pre-order 'Booze Less: Rethinking Drinking for the Sober & Curious―A Guided Journal' by Millie Gooch here. You can also follow her work via Sober Girl Society on Instagram, a community for sober and sober-curious women.
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