When I Stopped Trying to Fit In and Learned to Belong

Navigating friendships in sobriety

What will they think of me? Will people still be my friends?

For too many years, this type of thinking kept me stuck in an unhealthy pattern of behavior, and I allowed myself to be controlled by the opinions of others. My entire life, I’ve worried about what others thought and sought approval from everyone I knew. I never wanted to disappoint people, so I worked hard to feel like I belonged. Starting at an early age, gaining acceptance from friends, classmates, boys, teachers, coaches, family, and anyone else was paramount.

In my first drink, at the age of thirteen, I uncovered a trick to mask my anxiety and a solution to quell the undiscovered pain deep inside. I found an ally that would hold my hand when I felt scared. A companion that never judged me.

Alcohol was that friend.

The need for approval continued into middle school, high school, college, and grad school, where I relied on alcohol to fit in and ease any and all social interactions. And with each chapter of my life, my alcohol dependence became heavier and more profound.

Fourteen years ago, I entered into a new, more terrifying stage of my life. I became a mother at the age of twenty-eight. It was no surprise that I turned to my old pal alcohol to help me find connection and support at a time when I felt isolated and confused. And because, as a new mom, making friends was hard, I surrounded myself with women who were just as overwhelmed as me. We hosted afternoon playdates with bottles of wine and walked to the local bar in the South End of Boston with our babies strapped to our chests.

Eventually, my family moved out to the suburbs, having expanded our brood by adding two more babies. At the time, I had three kids under the age of four years old and was exhausted all the time. From the outside looking in, I had it all. Yet, I felt lost, always desperate for friendship and connection.

For years, I found a way to cope with the weariness I experienced. Alcohol, which used to keep me company only on the weekends, started to become a nightly escape. Many evenings, I’d sip my wine, having left my neighbor’s house earlier, after several glasses. I’d open more bottles by myself, scroll Instagram, and stare numbly at the television.

My husband eventually began to wonder why the garbage bins were suddenly and noisily filling up so fast. He started to get worried, expressing his concern about the ladies I surrounded myself with, wondering why we had to meet at 3 p.m. on a Tuesday for wine in the backyard. He’d sit me down and ask me if I could drink less, only making me feel deeply ashamed. I had no way of explaining to him that I didn’t know how to stop.

But I tried. I attempted to drink only on weekends. I thought maybe just consuming beer would be the answer. Perhaps, wine spritzers would do the trick. I tried Sober Octobers. Dry Januarys. But I constantly failed at the moderation game. So, I kept lying, not only to my husband, but to myself as well. I had to maintain the picture-perfect facade, and I couldn’t let anyone know what was really happening.

I started to hide my drinking from my husband a few years before I quit. As soon as I began to lie about it, I headed down a path I knew I couldn’t come back from. There was a tiny voice telling me that I needed to make a change, that this whole drinking thing was just not working for me.

Yet still, I desperately wanted to “be a better drinker.” How could I give up my best friend, the one constant that had been by my side since I was thirteen? So I kept trying harder to keep alcohol in my life. It was the definition of insanity. One of the reasons that kept me drinking was that I was terrified of what my friends would think. What would the girls say if I stopped drinking? Would the ladies still want me around?

This fear of not belonging held me captive. I was so consumed by upholding a flawless image that I neglected to think about my own wants or my family’s needs. How would it affect my reputation if I stopped drinking? Would I be known as that girl? The one with “the problem.” The one we all sat around gossiping about behind her back. I also didn’t know how I would fit into my group of friends if I wasn’t known as the fun, party girl.

My identity was completely dependent on and wrapped up in my drinking.

Eventually, I just couldn’t do it anymore. My pain and suffering won out. As we like to say inside the walls of AA, I was handed the gift of desperation. Because on the morning of November 28, 2020, I made a choice. I finally accepted that I didn’t need to drink. And so what if I was that girl? I could no longer feel an ounce of joy. I was circling the drain, and I had to do something. So, I said it out loud, and I asked my husband in the early morning hours of Thanksgiving weekend to help me quit.

Finally, I realized then that I could just get off the ride. I could simply step out of it all and do something different. I didn’t have to drink. No one was making me. For so long, I was taught that if I couldn’t fit alcohol into my life, then I was the problem. But, I did it. I stopped, and it was a massive relief. I unlocked the handcuffs that kept me tethered to this beastly animal which held me prisoner my whole life. My husband was my biggest supporter, but I was terrified more than anything to face my friends. What were people going to think of me now?

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Over the course of the next few years, I was confronted with a great deal of pain, humiliation, and struggle. When I stopped numbing myself daily with alcohol, I was forced to face my emotions head-on. I learned a lot about my friendships, the process of recovery, and how much time I had wasted living for the approval of others.

I was incredibly insecure, and alcohol masked so much anxiety. In sobriety, I was suddenly shrouded in regret, fear, and anger. Through therapy, I was able to begin to wade through the muck, peeling back the layers of pain and discovering a lot of the reasons I chose to drink.

Consequently, many of my old friends distanced themselves, and isolation overtook me once again. Even though I knew my sobriety was holding a mirror up to their behavior, I was still ashamed. And because I began to change and grow, I knew there was no way those relationships would remain the same.

For too long, I believed that alcohol was the fast track to connection and fitting in, but I’ve learned that was a lie I told myself. Over the past few years, I’ve faced numerous challenges and setbacks. I’ve lost friends. I’ve hurt people and disappointed those whom I love. And through the process of self-reflection and personal growth, and with the help of the community of AA, I have learned acceptance.

Some friendships are not meant to last forever. I believe that people come in and out of our lives to teach us lessons about ourselves. I have discovered how to let go of resentment towards people who have hurt me, and I have come to the profound realization that I cannot control the actions, thoughts, or feelings of other people.

Because of this, I have learned forgiveness. I have begun to let go of the constant worry of what others think of me. I’m learning to not be so consumed by the need for external validation. By prioritizing my sobriety, I’m no longer living my life according to someone else’s standards. For so long, this worry caused me to drink, leading to such deep feelings of inadequacy, anxiety, and inauthenticity. Once I began to practice the Twelve Steps, I started to acquire new coping skills, giving me greater clarity, presence, and peace of mind.

Many of the friendships and people I used to surround myself with no longer speak to me. And I’m learning to be okay with that. I wish them well and have discovered a new level of compassion and understanding for where they are in life.

I now go to recovery meetings, where people appreciate and support me. It’s taken a few years to find my way, but I know I’m finally on the right path. I no longer worry about fitting in. Instead, I’ve found my place of belonging.

How about you?

We’d love for you to share in the comments:

• Have you noticed any friendships changing or even fading since getting sober?

• What’s one positive change in your relationships since choosing sobriety?

• Have you found it easier or harder to connect with people after beginning your sobriety journey?

And if you found this article helpful, please tap the little heart. It lets others know there’s something useful here and will help us grow this community.

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Kimberly Kearns

is the author of On the Edge of Shattered. She hosted The Weekend Sober Podcast, is the head writer for season 2 of the narrative podcast Fcking Sober: The First 90 Days, and founded the Boston-based social club Sober in the Suburbs. She lives with her husband and three kids in Needham, MA, and writes about addiction, parenting, and recovery in her newsletter:

Unshattered Sobriety

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