Welcome to TUL’s guest blog series, featured every Friday. These articles serve as a platform for guests to share their personal journeys, revealing how they embrace an unwasted life. Read on to be inspired by Cassie Cichocki’s candid and relatable journey to sobriety.

By the time you read this I’ll have celebrated 365 days of sober-curiosity.

At some point the curious part fell off and I just became sober. So many people speak of sobriety as the key to their happiness.

But I’m not necessarily any happier.

The truth is, getting sober doesn’t grant you access to a magical kingdom where weight loss is easy and finances are perfect and mental health issues drift away, leaving you with a life of bliss. Instead, sobriety is an invitation. Getting sober invites you to sit with the most shame-filled parts of you. It asks you to pay attention, to be honest with yourself, and to set aside your ego and admit to your struggles.

I was never someone that would be looked at as having a drinking problem. In my 20’s and early 30’s I drank normally, for the most part. Or, at the very least, I drank the way all of my friends did. Did I binge drink? Yes. Did I sometimes wake up not remembering bits of the night before? Yes. Did I sleep with men I would never even speak to? Unfortunately, also yes.

By the time I got to my mid-late 30’s alcohol was still a main part of my aesthetic. Shots and cheap cocktails were replaced by expensive wine and craft drinks made by expert mixologists. Late nights at a bar were replaced by long evenings on the couch, chatting and sipping. Yes, my life was calmer, but I wasn’t actually drinking less. It was the same habit with a different pattern.

Suddenly I just couldn’t do it anymore. I woke up hungover and was just done. I didn’t even have a lot to drink the night before but I still felt horrible. I knew something had to change.

I decided I would get curious without committing. I would pay attention to when I wanted to drink and why and decide from there. Turns out, I never really had a good reason to imbibe and on the rare occasion that I did I was either appeasing someone else or not admitting to myself that I secretly wanted to relive my glory days.

I was almost 40 but my drinking wanted to remain 24.

I began to really sit with the moments in my life that I’m ashamed of. Guess what the common denominator was in all of them?

I’m sure you won’t be shocked to hear that it was booze.

*We all hear so many stories about the beauty of sobriety and it was almost comical how opposite my experience has been.*

All of a sudden I was painfully aware of the moments where I was beyond messy.

I had flashbacks of the friends I’d ghosted out of embarrassment and the men I’d acted absolutely nuts over. I was mortified. My therapist, on the other hand, wasn’t surprised.

I had recently been diagnosed with severe ADHD and she suscpected I may also be a high-masking autistic. Apparently drinking was a common coping mechanism for those of us who spend their lives masking. It makes it easier to socialize, to be perceived, and to just exist. Combine that with a cPTSD from a TON of childhood trauma and addiction running in my family? I’m lucky that my drinking never went past the gray-area.

It’s been a really hard year, if I’m being honest. It’s like I quit drinking and the Universe doubled down on testing me. We all hear so many stories about the beauty of sobriety and it was almost comical how opposite my experience has been. This is why I say sobriety doesn’t equal happiness.

I am undoubtedly NOT the happiest I’ve ever been. At all. Even a little. I’m not grateful all of the time and sometimes I really miss Pinot Grigio. I still want to lose weight. I still want more money in my savings account. I still struggle with my mental health. It’s important to be honest about that.

I am, however, the most proud of myself I’ve ever been. I’m the most present I’ve ever been. I’m the most capable I’ve ever been. My words and actions align. I’m honest about my struggles. I’m willing to have hard conversations. I’m not numbing or escaping or just acting out of habit. I’m accepting of the parts of me that I don’t like very much.

And all of that is what will create long-term happiness, if I keep going.

So if you’re reading this and wondering if changing your relationship with alcohol is worth it, let me be clear. It is the best thing I’ve ever done for myself. It will be the best thing you ever do for yourself.

But you have to be willing to sit with the bitter if you want to get to the sweet.

No, Sobriety Doesn’t Equal Happiness

Her Dance

That Sober Glow’s Grapefruit Twist on the Moscow Mule