A look back at six years of sobriety

From my last drink to the moment everything changed

On this night six years ago I had my last drink. 

It was one of those early fall Fridays in New York City that still feels like summer but buzzes with the possibility of cooler temperatures and new beginnings. I left work with hazy plans for the weekend: happy hour on a friend’s rooftop, dinner with coworkers, a workout class the next morning. As I walked up Berry Street in Brooklyn, I began to count the number of drinks I might have over the next 48 hours.

The previous weekend had been a big one: I celebrated my 28th birthday with drinks and dancing at a nightclub in Chinatown and woke up the next morning with a blank memory and slew of embarrassing text messages. I was getting too old and too tired for headaches and hangovers, and my blackouts made it so I couldn’t even remember the drunken nights I was fighting to keep around. 

This weekend, I decided, would be different. The first real one of my 28th year, which had no real significance other than what it represented: a fresh start. I couldn’t articulate what, exactly, I wanted, but I knew it wasn’t more of the same. I wanted connection, clarity, a sense of ease in my skin. Put simply, I wanted to feel better. I wasn’t going to give up drinking altogether – that seemed dramatic – but I was going to drink less. Tonight, I would stick to 2-3 drinks max.

An hour into my evening, my resolution crumbled. I drank one glass of wine, and then another. I write more about this night in my book, Drinking Games, but it marked the first time I realized I was powerless over alcohol. Once I took that first drink, I wasn’t in control of how many came next. I went from dinner to a club to someone else’s apartment, thirstily downing mixed drinks before blacking out.

When I woke up the next morning, I was deeply disappointed in myself. I checked my phone through waves of nausea and realized I had missed my workout class. It sounds small, but it was glaring proof of my inability to keep my word once I started to drink. When alcohol hit my system, my best laid plans fell to the wayside and I lost control. In that moment, I was hit with a newfound clarity: I couldn’t keep doing this dance. Bad things didn’t happen every time I drank, but every time bad things happened, I had been drinking. I blacked out, I fell down, and I broke promises to myself and others. If I really wanted to feel better, I had to stop drinking altogether. All at once, I realized I was done. I was scared, but I was also desperate to do whatever it took not to break my promise this time.

My desperation was a powerful force. It propelled me to get honest with my therapist and begin attending recovery meetings. These groups helped me navigate sober firsts — like weddings, happy hours, and Friday nights — one day at a time. I know many people stay sober on their own, but it simply would not have been possible (or pleasant) for me. Connection is the opposite of addiction, and I am deeply grateful for the tribe of women who helped me find my way in those early months. 

In the six years that followed, my life changed in big and small ways. You may already know some of the highlights: I left my marketing job and pursued my lifelong dream of becoming a writer. I went on sober dates and kissed a few frogs. I traveled to countries that had been on my bucket list for years. I fell in love and got married. I moved from New York to Los Angeles. I wrote my first book and sold it to an incredible publisher. I told my story on podcasts and panels and went on a book tour where I connected with sober curious readers across the country. 

None of these milestones would have been possible if I was still drinking, but they aren’t the biggest gifts of my sobriety. 

What is so special about being sober is the inner peace it has given me. I spent my whole life fixating on reaching the next goalpost: getting good grades, going to a top college, finding a boyfriend, hitting a fitness goal. But none of the outside accomplishments ever made me feel like I was enough. I was always onto the next milestone, convinced that this one would be the answer. For a while, drinking helped quiet all that noise and allowed me to relax. But the relief was always temporary. 

Sobriety is like waking up in clean sheets every day, or like releasing a massive exhale after years of holding my breath. I never have to worry about what I did or said the night before, and I get the opportunity to be a present participant in my life. Don’t get me wrong; I still have days where I feel irritable, anxious, and worried about the future. I’m human! But as my mind has continued to clear without alcohol, I’ve learned to trust my instincts. I worry less about what others think of me and how my life looks on paper and focus more on the kind of person I want to be. It isn’t always easy, but it is so liberating. 

In my sixth year of sobriety, I found out I was pregnant with a baby boy. As I write this I can feel him kicking away, an ever-present reminder of the next, still unwritten chapter of my story. It reminds me of the morning after my last drink: I knew everything was about to change, yet I had no idea just how profound the shift would be. It was scary, but every second since then has been so worthwhile. And I have a sneaking suspicion that being a sober mom is going to be the greatest adventure yet.

So here I go: embarking on another year of recovery, one day at a time. Grateful as ever for all the starts and stops that brought me here, and for the love and support I have received along the way. Thank you.

Xx

Sarah

6 years sober + 9 months pregnant

If you or someone you love is struggling with alcohol or drugs, you’re not alone. Here are some resources:

Alcohol Addiction Center
Alcoholics Anonymous
Alcohol.org