How Sobriety and Writing Have Helped Decrease my Social Anxiety

It has taken me two years to get comfortable in my skin. Maybe it might also come with age, yet I doubt it in my case.

When I first moved to my small town, which was only eight months ago, I remember going out every Friday night; there was a language exchange in the pueblo. I also remember coming home and being completely irrational. Judgemental, annoyed, irritated, all the feelings I had at the bar that I suppressed.

I have always had these feelings around groups of people, especially strangers. Severe social anxiety is why I used to drink a glass of wine or two before going out in the past. Alcohol was my medicine to calm my nerves.

I also quit drinking during the pandemic. So my first real taste of sobriety, going out, started this year when I moved to Colombia.

It is not the alcohol being present that is my issue; it is the people I do not know.

I realize every emotion that I used to feel while going out is still there. I used alcohol for so long to bury these emotions, which is not a feeling that goes away after you stop drinking. What happens instead is all of these emotions are brought to the surface.

All my insecurities about myself, body, brain, and thoughts are now front and center. It was hard to be present because I wondered, do they think I am too old to be here, am I dressed like a “weirdo,” does my hair look ok, why do I feel so damn awkward — my inner monologue while speaking to someone.

I realize how irrational these thoughts are, yet I had no idea this was happening until I started paying attention and writing.

I have always thought that I am alone with these thoughts. We do this to ourselves; we assume no one has EVER had these feelings before; I am the first one ever. Ok, maybe just me, I am a little dramatic, yet my truth is that I felt this.

We need to know that it is also ok to feel this. The one thing that I used to deal with this feeling was taken away by me. I made my feelings irrelevant; I thought there were way more problems than your relationship falling apart or having a bad day at work.

I would feel helpless and hopeless at the same time. Yet I would look at my life from the outside and think how I can feel like this with everything I have, I am blessed, and these feelings of inadequacy, sadness, and inner trauma need to stay buried.

When there is real suffering in the world, what right do I have to complain and feel pain?

Except I was wrong. I did have the right to feel pain and hurt because if I did not fix how I was feeling, how would I ever make a difference in the world?

How could I ever show up for my niece and nephews and be a positive influence in their life and the life of those I touch if I am denying myself the gift of feeling and dealing with the hurt and pain that I have inside of me.

I was doing a disservice to myself and those around me. Once I realized my sobriety wasn’t just about me, is when I realized that I would never succumb to the pressures of alcohol.

I am also a healer; I will fail if I can not think of a bigger picture of why I do something.

Then I discovered the sober and sober curious community online and those writing memoirs about their sobriety. I saw that being sober is a superpower when those of us who have demons bring them to the surface to help others that is powerful.

In the past, I was afraid to let people see that I was not perfect; I wanted to have this perfect picture of myself. I have no idea why; I have never had a day of perfection, yet I craved it.

I never let anyone see the real me; I would cover her with layers of alcohol and adapt to my surroundings like a chameleon. Forgetting who I was at my core, which led to more unhappiness, some days I thought the world would be a better place without me; why am I here, and why am I so miserable.

Yet looking at the exterior, I had it all. It is a weird feeling to experience and an even harder one to reflect on. Why was I afraid to be me?

For so long, I had held on to the guilt that when my father died, it was my fault. When my mother died, I held on to the responsibility that it was my fault. I always felt like I deserved to feel like a human piece of garbage because I let my siblings down.

Except that was a lie, I was telling myself. I was a kid; I had no control over what happened to them. Yet as I think back, what if I ran for help in the middle of the night through the swamp, she would still be alive?

What if I made my dad take me to my doctor’s appointment the day he died, he would still be alive, but I can not change the past. I can only look back at what happened. Forgive me.

Instead of carrying the burden around, stop letting my emotions remain buried. It’s ok to cry, scream and forgive.

For me, the “booze” was helping me keep these memories in the dark, but at the same time, they were in my face every single day. The alcohol just made me forget because I never drank to have fun; I drank to forget to blackout, to have a few hours of peace with my brain off.

Now that I have been writing for seven months non-stop, I realize that writing has been my saving grace. Would I still be sober if I did not start writing and bleeding on paper?

I struggled a lot in August and Sept. When I was going to the bar with the language exchange students and come home in a fierce rage. I was pissed that they could all go to the bar and have fun, have regular conversations, and be normal.

I was so anxious, stressed, and worried about everything. I didn’t even recognize myself, yet I remained sober. I ran, walked, and immersed myself in learning Spanish. Except this, all was another cover-up, and I knew it would only last for so long.

I also was pissed because I had done a lot of inner work, and I felt like it was all falling apart as soon as I got into a relationship. So I knew I was walking a fine line and did not want to fall into drinking again. I was close for a few nights, but I used my willpower. Yet willpower only lasts for so long.

Then I found writing. I just started writing; I still JUST write. I used to journal but putting it where others can see what I am going through is different. Getting feedback that I am not alone in my struggles has made a difference.

Until this weekend, I didn’t think I had changed. Then I went out to a “social event” we went bowling, and I was around a bunch of new people, yet I felt no hint of social anxiety, no feelings, or am I good enough, do I look ok.

I just was who I am; I felt at peace and calm. It was the first time I remember having this feeling, being completely sober, with no anxiety.

I firmly believe it is sobriety, plus writing on here, has given me this new sense of calm. When I write, I leave it all on the page; I process my feelings and let them go; I keep the ones I want and release those I do not wish to.

I don’t know how to explain it. So I will say, writing has been a blessing to me and has given me something that I never expected: confidence, clarity, and the ability for me to show up the real me.

I thank everyone who reads my crazy tales; even though my grammar is never perfect, my stories sometimes are crazy, and I have heard that it’s my diary. So if you still read anyway, I thank you.

Originally published on Medium.

XOXO

S

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