Reclaiming Fun & Rediscovering Joy in Sobriety
How Adele’s “I Drink Wine” helped me unearth my inner child and embrace life without alcohol
In the third verse of “I Drink Wine,” Adele confides: “When I was a child, every single thing could blow my mind, soaking it all up for fun, but now I only soak up wine.”
This line triggered something in me I could not yet verbalize: I once had fun—tons of it—and saw wonder everywhere without alcohol and drugs. Yes, it may have been some time since that was the case, but I began to feel that if it once was then it can be again. This ability is not lost, just buried.
Before I joined a program and used ~The A Word~ to describe myself, I spent the summer trying to get sober on my own. I was lucky to live in a new city where I knew so few people, so the opportunities to go out were minimal. I had become increasingly aware of my toxic patterns with alcohol and drugs, and I found the only way to curb them was to isolate.
I felt that I would rather have FOMO than say no, because I was realizing that I am unable to say no to that first drink. And it is never just one drink.
So I’d avoid making plans. I’d cancel at the last minute. I’d be over the moon when people canceled on me. That is unlike me. I am a naturally social person, and we all need community, but I’d somehow forgotten how to be social and communal without substances.
I replaced substances with solitude to ease social anxiety. Solitude was certainly healthier, but I was no happier. This isolation no longer felt like individuating, it felt like hiding. Aloneness was my new addiction.
I was hesitant to commit to sobriety because I was afraid it would make life less fun. Or, rather, I was afraid it would make me less fun.
I believed that my social identity hinged on my “extroverted, party girl” persona. I was impulsive and reckless. I was always the one to instigate a night out. And I was always the one out the latest. I came up with the best party themes. I had the boldest costumes. I never said no to a dare and I concocted the best ones for others.
I loved the dancing-like-crazy, the falling-in-the-middle-of-the-dance-floor, the spilling-shots-and-secrets, the egging-everyone-on, the hooting, the hollering, and the flirting, flirting, flirting. I especially loved the crazy tales I’d share the next day over hangover eggs and black coffee. For most of my teenage and young adult life, I relished this persona. I clung to it, desperately, because I believed the only thing I was good at was having a “good time.”
I was convinced that alcohol was the reason for my fun-time vibe. I slowly learned that, actually, alcohol was just an excuse to let my inner weirdo shine. Alcohol actually turned these fun times into potentially dangerous ones.
Yes I was the “wild party girl” who laughed a lot and danced a lot, but there was the flip side of that, too: the girl who lashed out at people, who locked herself in the bathroom sobbing. The girl who couldn’t understand her own thoughts and emotions while under the influence and attempted suicide and was 51/50 twice. The girl who got into cars with strange men or lost her phone or keys and was locked out of her apartment for the night. The girl who frequently had to ditch class or call out of work because she was so egregiously hungover.
I never really knew which version I’d get. Usually a frightening mixture of both.
Though I logically understood that alcohol did far more harm than good, I didn’t want to sacrifice having a good time for my health. I was worried that I would no longer be the “fun friend.” And if I wasn’t the fun friend, who was I?
Gaining a community was immensely helpful in garnering the confidence to socialize sober. Within a month, I was going to bars and birthday parties and big family gatherings without my magic anti-anxiety elixir.
It became increasingly easier with repeated exposure. What helped me the most though was memory. Or, memories. And for this realization, I thank Adele’s glorious melody.
Each time I socialized sober, I began to think of the child in me who used to “soak it all up for fun.” I called upon that brave girl I had previously shunned. My most difficult, rewarding dare was to remember.
I conjured images of the twelve-year-old who spent hours dancing with her friends, the only high being from scavenged sugar and the rush of staying up until sunrise. The one who shot her hand up in class for every question she had, and belted along to the songs on Hot 99.5 radio on the way to school. I remembered the buzz from truth or dare at recess and dreaming of our first kisses. I remembered how “cringe” was not in her vocabulary, and how she flung her growing limbs as though there was not a single embarrassment bone in her body.
I started to ask that girl I once deemed stupid and awkward for wisdom. “You were right,” I told her. “I’m so sorry I shut you down.”
I felt a flutter from deep inside. “At last, you get it,” she sighed. “I’ve been waiting.”
Slowly but surely, she was unearthed and something brighter, truer, more free in me was birthed.
In following my younger self’s lead, I finally realized that the magic of childhood wasn’t in its innocence, it was in its presence. It wasn’t in lack of experience, it was in lack of unnecessary insecurity.
In the chorus of “I Drink Wine,” Adele beautifully belts, “Well, I hope I learn to get over myself, stop trying to be somebody else.”
This has been my greatest task and accomplishment this past year: Shedding all the roles I’ve been killing myself to play, and becoming comfortable with just being me. Boring and weird and loud and anxious and embarrassing and kind and strange and selfish and confident and insecure and joyous and afraid and at peace with it all.
At a year sober, I still relish a night out and dancing until dawn. I still love to flirt. I am always down for a game of truth or dare. I will always love a costume party.
Yes, I am still “fun” in sobriety, and I believe even more so. Because my fun is no longer created by hurting myself. My fun has far less scary repercussions. My fun is honest and present, it is not a disguise for my insecurities. I've learned what a good time truly means for me.
Partying isn’t the only way to have a good time. In this year, I have re-discovered so much else. Like crafting and picnicking and thrift shopping and dinner parties and beach bonfires and lake trips and hiking and flea markets and stumbling upon new coffee shops and writing and and and and! I am re-learning how to “soak it all up for fun.”
Sobriety has returned that childlike wonder, but with the added wisdom of a young adult. I am reconnecting with things I loved, regaining curiosity in the world, and finding joy and magic everywhere. Unlike my inner adolescent, though, I am no longer letting my fear of being unliked or uncool hinder my enjoyment and ability to remain present.
That twelve-year-old and I are squeezing each other’s hands as we dance along this new terrain. We laugh with one another in grateful understanding. We encourage the other to admit we’re scared and do it anyway, to shine to our fullest without sequestering ourselves or using substances so we can, as Adele muses, “love each other for free” and simply—finally—just enjoy the music.
Making playlists has always been an outlet for me, especially during my recovery. “I Drink Wine” is just one of the many songs that have brought me hope and solace this year. I highly recommend creating a playlist to motivate and comfort you on your sober journey. Need song recs? Here’s mine:
Now you.
We’d love for you to share in the comments:
Has your idea of fun shifted since getting sober? What activities now bring you true joy?
What parts of yourself have you rediscovered in sobriety that you forgot about or lost along the way?
Do you have a recovery playlist you’d like to share? Or any songs that support your sober journey?
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I can feel your joy, creativity, and vitality flowing through this beautiful share. Thank you for offering such heartfelt, spirited inspiration, Margaret!
I had fully forgotten true laughter and fun by the end of my drinking career but in sobriety I have laughed a lot and in healthier ways, not just to mask pain and hopelessness. I have a very vivid memory of laughing so hard in a halfway house at less than 30 days sober that I literally rolled on the floor. Roflmao indeed. I didn't have a lot to give at that time but it made an impression because it opened my eyes, and spirit, to the possibilities. If I just didn't have that first drink.