I Wasn’t an Alcoholic, But I Quit Drinking. Here’s Why.

I used to think sobriety was something you earned only after hitting rock bottom. So when I say I’m two years sober, there’s this small voice that says, “Does this even count?” But I’ve learned that just because something isn’t catastrophic doesn’t mean it’s not worth changing.

It’s a funny thing to think about me celebrating sobriety, because it seems like that’s always been reserved for people who had real “problems” with alcohol. Actual alcoholics. And I never fit into that category.

I’m finding that to be true across a lot of things in my life, actually. I don’t often fit cleanly into any category of “problematic.” I’m rarely on the extreme end of anything—but that doesn’t mean those things haven’t impacted me in quiet but meaningful ways. Sometimes, I’ve just decided that’s reason enough to change.

When it comes to alcohol, I was what you’d label a very occasional, social drinker. In fact, I think I can count on less than one hand how many times I had a drink while not in the company of others who were also drinking. If I had to put a number to it, maybe a few drinks every few months. Not someone you'd ever label an alcoholic, or even someone with a “problem.” Honestly, I probably drank less than most people I knew.

It felt silly to question it—people around me drank far more and seemed totally fine.

But as time went on, I became more aware of what even that small amount of alcohol was doing to my body. I wasn’t bouncing back the way others seemed to. My sleep was trash. My anxiety would spiral. My stomach would be off for days. And as new research started surfacing about how even “moderate” drinking could have long-term effects, I couldn’t ignore the signs anymore.

I’ll use my last drink as an example—because it was the perfect one.

It was July 1, 2023. We had a couple of my husband’s coworkers over for a little BBQ. Both of them were drinkers. Nothing crazy—just your typical summer night hangout.

It feels worth mentioning that my husband has never been a drinker. He’s had exactly one beer in his entire life, and it was so gross to him that he never tried anything else. His commitment to never drinking has nothing to do with religion or superiority. It’s just not something he’s ever wanted—and the more he saw the impacts of alcohol in his job and the lives around him, the more solid that choice became.

The sun was still blazing at 7 PM. The smell of burgers lingered in the air, and the sound of laughter bounced off the back patio. I grabbed a Red, White, and Berry Smirnoff—one of my all-time favorites. It was cold and crisp and tasted exactly like summer. I drank about half of it before I felt that familiar wave—my nervous system kicking into high alert.

I didn’t have the language for it then, but I’ve since learned how sensitive my body is to a lot of things. Alcohol just happened to be one of the most consistent triggers. Before that point, I would’ve just dealt with it—powered through the anxiety, the restlessness, the stomach upset, the headache, the hangover that felt disproportionate to the amount I drank. It happened every single time. And July 1, 2023 was no different. I hadn’t even finished one full can of a 5% drink.

On July 2, after another anxious, sleepless night, I made the decision: I was done.
Done pretending a single drink was worth the aftermath.
Done bargaining with something that never gave me anything back.

The next few social events were a little uncomfortable. Normally I’d be joining in the “fun” of drinking. I had to re-learn how to interact at those gatherings without alcohol. A friend of mine suggested bringing fun “special occasion” mocktails or sparkling drinks—and that actually helped a lot. I started packing my own drinks. Eventually, it stopped being awkward. People got used to me not drinking. I got used to it, too.

Now, two years out from that last drink, it would feel strange to have something. Not drinking has become my normal. It’s one of the simplest but most impactful decisions I’ve made for my wellbeing. And surprisingly? I haven’t missed it at all.

It’s funny how something so small—a quiet choice to stop—can end up being a catalyst for becoming someone I’m proud of.