Sobriety: The Silver Lining of My Autoimmune Disease
I’ve been sober for a year and a half. It’s been one of the best decisions of my life, and I have my autoimmune disease to thank for it.
If you had told 23-year-old me, neck deep in autoimmune disease hell, that my chronic illness would yield something positive, I would’ve told you to fuck off. (Actually, I probably would’ve just grumbled something under my breath and then immediately apologized for it because I can’t have anyone being mad at me. But I would be pissed on the inside, for sure.)
In today’s age of Dry January and sober-curiosity, abstaining from alcohol can seem like the natural next step in any twenty-something’s path toward self-actualization and internet relevance. Trade out your Friday evening glass of wine for a Sleepy Girl Mocktail complete with carbonation and fruit juice? Uh, yeah, I’ll snack on a late-night treat and cosplay an adult evening for a few weekends.
But what happens when Dry January ends and Dry Forever is introduced as the optional-but-highly-encouraged-if-you-want-to-have-any-chance-at-living-a-normal-life alternative? I’ll tell you what happens, you put down the tequila soda.
I’ll spare you the Cleveland Clinic studies, but essentially alcohol is a highly inflammatory substance that can trigger flares (the presentation of symptoms, AKA, The Enemy) in people with autoimmune disorders and other chronic illnesses. Flares manifest differently in different people, but for me, a common flare would look like *ahem* … debilitating fatigue, energy depletion, muscle weakness, joint pain, a sore throat, fullness/burning behind the eyes, brain fog, headaches, heart palpitations, and other fun stuff.
For many people living with chronic illness, sobriety becomes just another symptom of the disease; alcohol, another badge of normalcy yanked from our crippled, atrophied hooves. Like cutting out gluten or gorging on turmeric supplements, removing alcohol from our diet is one more box to tick on the journey of GOD HELP ME FEEL EVEN 10% BETTER I’LL DO ANYTHING I’LL CUT OFF MY LEG I’LL SACRIFICE MY NEIGHBOR’S OBNOXIOUSLY LOUD DOG WHO I’VE BEEN SECRETLY WISHING DEATH ON ANYWAY!
At 23, when I was finally confronted with the harsh reality that alcohol was making me sicker, I had trouble accepting that my fun, partied life was over. I had already given up so much: my ability to work, my active lifestyle, plans with friends, anything that tastes good, my time, energy, control… life as I knew it. To have to surrender the one thing that provided me escape from it all felt deeply unfair. Cruel, even.
Just another thing to separate me from all the normal people, I thought.
It was only after I had my last drink that I realized just how normal alcohol had become in my life.
I had my first drink at 15 years old, New Year’s Eve 2013.
In the following eight years of high school house parties, college fraternity ragers, and Los Angeles bar hopping, I probably didn’t go two weeks without a sip of beer, wine, or whatever I could buy with the most alcohol and the least calories possible (INSERT DRINK HERE).
Despite how alarming those facts look written in front of me now, I didn’t recognize the problem at the time.
Besides, how could I have an alcohol problem? I got good grades in school, was on multiple sports teams, had an active social life, a good relationship with my family, a full-time job. Everyone around me was drinking just as much, if not more. It’s not like I was an addict, probably. I mean I’d never actively tried to abstain from alcohol, but if I did, I’m sure it would be, like, no biggie.
Well, as it turns out, I did have a problem. Turns out, it was actually quite difficult to go to a party and not reach for a glass of sweet, warm something to ease the nerves; to end a work week and not “reward” myself with a break from lucidity; to live life as a 23-year-old in Los Angeles.
In the end, the only reason I was able to quit drinking was because even a sip of alcohol would leave me bedridden for days.
Ironically, it was my chronic illness that helped me go sober.
Now, a year and a half into my sobriety, I can testify to all of the positive changes that it’s brought me. The first being the newfound opportunity to become a stoner. That’s right people, I’m California sober. It’s basically like being normal sober except you get to say things like “That’s totally cool,” and, “I prefer an Indica-Sativa hybrid,” and, “Shit, I didn’t realize that gummy was 10mg. I’ve only ever taken 5mg. Why’re you looking at me like that? Is my hair on fire? It feels like it’s on fire. Someone call an ambulance, I’m gonna have a heart attack,” and moments later, “Actually I can’t afford an ambulance, just hold me and softly sing Riverdale’s cover of ‘Seventeen’ from Heathers: The Musical.”
Jokes aside, sobriety has truly changed my life for the better.
I get to invest more time into my hobbies like reading and writing. I have more meaningful relationships that aren’t diluted by intoxication or strobe lights. I don’t spend $15 on drinks or half a paycheck on Ubers.
Most importantly, I am more confident in who I am. Knowing that I can enter any room dressed fully as myself, not needing to worry about an embarrassing drunken exchange or clumsily spilled drink. I know that who I am sober is more interesting and valuable than who I am under the influence.
Now, knowing all of this, do I think that alcohol is the devil? No. Does this mean that I will be sober forever? I don’t know. As my health has gradually improved, have I had the occasional sip of my boyfriend’s glass of wine or fruity little cocktail (it’s a sign of how secure you are in your masculinity, baby!)? Yes. Whatever the answers to these questions, I know that the lessons sobriety has taught me are ones that I will carry for a lifetime. And if in the future you do find me with a drink in my hand, feel free to congratulate me, because that means my health has improved enough to bear it.
You know what? Re-reading this, I take back what I said about my sobriety being the best decision of my life, because it wasn’t a decision, it was an unavoidable conclusion. Like a surgeon amputating an infected leg, it was life or death. And if there’s one thing us chronically-ill folk are good at, it’s making the difficult choices. Cutting off the leg. Taking the risky medication. Mourning your old life. Embracing the harder one. Quitting alcohol. Choosing yourself.
Going sober wasn’t my decision; it was my chronic illness’s. And for that, I’m grateful.
So great!
I'm 63, and never was much of a drinker, but in my early 30s I stopped drinking and anytime since then that I have even had a tiny bit to drink, I've paid for it with very sore joints. It's just not worth it for me. I also did the Autoimmune Protocol diet many years ago and identified a bunch of foods that tend to cause me to flare. Not everyone's triggers are the same, but it's worth paying attention to when we flare and what we've been doing beforehand. Best of luck to you on your journey!