4 Years Free

Four years ago today, we were living in an Airbnb in Pensacola, waiting to buy our house, and I had finally reached a place where I no longer wanted to medicate my anxiety, my trauma, or my grief with alcohol. If I'm being completely honest, I think the real catalyst was the day I received my brother Jay's death certificate.

Jay died from a massive heart attack, but when I looked at that certificate, I saw so many other things listed that had contributed to the deterioration of his health. Uncontrolled diabetes. Alcoholism. Depression. Nicotine. My brother had already been through so much. Brain cancer, chemotherapy, radiation, multiple back surgeries, and years of medications to help him function after his brain tumor. His body had endured more than most people could imagine. And somewhere along the way, alcohol had become one of the ways he coped with all of it.

But it was seeing the word depression on that piece of paper that really broke my heart. Because I understood it. For much of my adult life, I had used alcohol to manage my own anxiety, depression, grief, and whatever else life happened to throw at me. I was never much of an everyday drinker, except during one particularly difficult chapter of my life, but I had an unhealthy relationship with alcohol for a very long time.

I could go months, even years, without drinking. When my children were babies, alcohol wasn't part of my life at all. But eventually, the occasional weekend beer or glass of wine would find its way back into the picture. I've also struggled with social anxiety for as long as I can remember. Meeting new people, going somewhere unfamiliar, or walking into a room full of strangers always felt a whole lot easier after a couple of drinks. And eventually, my anxiety had gotten so out of control that I couldn't even talk to someone on the phone without having a couple of beers first. Think about that. Something as simple as answering the phone had become something I felt like I needed alcohol to get through. That's how much I had come to depend on it just to feel comfortable in my own skin. And the crazy thing is, I didn't realize how much worse I was making my anxiety by trying to drink it away. Until I did.

I think things really started changing when my mother's health began declining. I knew I was going to lose her, and I had absolutely no idea where to put all those feelings. I started drinking more frequently in the evenings, and Gary noticed it, too. After she died, we fell in with a group of neighbors who liked to party. And Lord, did we party.

For a while, I thought I was having the time of my life. But looking back, I realize that none of us were dealing with our own perpetual shit. We were just having a really good time avoiding it. And eventually, as these situations tend to do, the wheels fell off. There was drama, arguing, ridiculous accusations, and situations I would have never found myself in if alcohol hadn't been involved. Some of those people were grieving, too. We were all just handling our problems in incredibly unhealthy ways.

What started out as fun eventually carried a whole lot more negative weight than positive. And the saddest part was that I still hadn't really dealt with losing my mother. That's the thing about drinking your way through grief. You can be four glasses into a bottle of wine, crying your eyes out, and convince yourself you're finally getting everything out of your system. But you're not necessarily healing. Sometimes you're just postponing the inevitable.

Thankfully, my drinking never destroyed my marriage or my relationship with my children. I wasn't neglecting my family, and I wasn't drinking from morning until night. Most of the people who know me would probably tell you that drunk Jenny could be a hot mess, but she didn't make an appearance nearly as often as people might imagine. Still, I knew I had a problem. And I think that's important to say, because alcoholism doesn't always look the way people expect it to look. You don't have to lose your marriage, your home, your job, or your family before you recognize that something is hurting you. You don't have to hit everybody else's definition of rock bottom. Sometimes you just have to get tired of your own bullshit.

And I was tired. I was tired of feeling like I needed alcohol to relax. Tired of believing I needed a couple of drinks to be comfortable around people. Tired of waking up feeling awful. Tired of the occasional embarrassment, the anxiety that followed, and the realization that I was still carrying around all the things I thought I had been drinking away.

The irony is that I had spent so much of my life being reluctant to take medications, yet I had absolutely no problem pouring alcohol into my body because it was legal, socially acceptable, and something everybody around me seemed to do. And then I looked at my brother's death certificate. I thought about how much he had suffered. How much my dad had struggled with alcohol, too. How easily I could continue down that same road if I didn't make a change. I didn't want that for myself. I didn't want it for Gary, and I certainly didn't want it for my children.

So four years ago today, I opened the refrigerator, threw away an entire drawer full of beer, and decided I was finished. That was it. But here's the part that still amazes me. When I went to bed that night, I had absolutely no idea how I was going to do it. I wondered what I would do the following evening when I wanted a beer and there wasn't one in the house. What about the next weekend? The next social gathering? The next time something terrible happened and I didn't know how to cope? I didn't have a plan for any of that.

So I lay there in bed and talked to God. I told Him I didn't know how to do this, but I was going to trust that He meant what He said. I was going to give Him something I had spent the better part of twenty years trying to manage myself. I told Him I didn't want to do it anymore. I was done. I surrendered. And when I woke up the next morning, the desire to drink was gone. I'm not kidding. I haven't had another craving since.

I know that sounds unbelievable to some people. I know there are people who fight every single day to maintain their sobriety, and I would never minimize that struggle. Some people need rehabilitation, medication, counseling, meetings, and years of support. There is absolutely no shame in any of it. But I also know what happened to me. I gave something to God that I had never been able to overcome on my own, and I believe with every fiber of my being that He took it away.

Four years later, I can be around alcohol without wanting it. I don't miss it. I don't envy people who drink. I don't feel like I'm missing out on anything. If anything, I look back and wonder why in the world I ever thought I needed it in the first place. And I think one of the greatest blessings of getting sober when I did was that I finally learned how to grieve without trying to escape it.

I got sober a few months after we lost Jay, and for the first time in my life, I navigated a devastating loss without reaching for alcohol. I allowed myself to feel every bit of it. I cried when I needed to cry. I sat with the sadness. I prayed. And I learned that I was so much more capable of handling difficult things than I had ever given myself credit for. I haven't experienced those same bouts of depression since getting sober, either. And while I certainly still have anxiety and difficult days, I've learned that I don't need to alter my state of mind every time life gets uncomfortable.

Life is going to be uncomfortable sometimes. People are going to disappoint us. We're going to experience grief, anxiety, heartbreak, and things we never saw coming. But we're also a whole lot more resilient than we realize. And when I think about how much our society encourages us to find a quick fix for every uncomfortable feeling, I'm more convinced than ever that sometimes we need to allow ourselves to actually experience life instead of constantly trying to escape it. I know not everybody will agree with me, and that's fine. I'm speaking from my own experience after twenty years of doing things the hard way.

The beautiful thing is that sobriety gave me so much more than it took away. It gave me peace. It gave me clarity. It gave me the freedom to walk into a room and be myself without needing a drink first. It gave me the ability to process my emotions instead of postponing them. And it gave me the opportunity to forgive myself. I have things in my past that I'm not particularly proud of. I have memories that make me cringe and situations I wish I had handled differently. But I don't carry shame about those things anymore. God has forgiven me, and I've forgiven myself.

I remember having my liver checked shortly after I quit drinking and being terrified of what they might find. Thankfully, everything came back fine. I am so incredibly grateful that I made this decision before alcohol caused damage I couldn't undo. Not everybody gets that opportunity. My brother didn't. And I don't take a single day of these four years for granted.

So if you're reading this and recognize some of your own patterns in my story, I hope you'll at least consider what life might look like without alcohol. Maybe you don't drink every day. Maybe you only drink on weekends. Maybe everybody around you drinks just as much as you do, so you've never really questioned it. But if you find yourself needing a drink to get through a difficult evening, to be comfortable around other people, or to avoid something painful in your life, it might be worth asking yourself why.

And if you're ready to stop, please know that there is help available. Pray about it. Talk to somebody. Find a support group or a professional who can help you. And if you've been drinking heavily or regularly, talk to your doctor before stopping abruptly, because withdrawal can be dangerous. You don't have to have everything figured out before you decide you want something different. I certainly didn't.

Four years ago, I went to bed wondering how I was going to get through the next twenty-four hours. Today, I'm celebrating four years. And I can say without hesitation that surrendering that part of my life to God was one of the greatest decisions I've ever made. There is so much life on the other side of the things we think we can't live without. And it is beautiful over here.

Anyway, I've got kids to get on the bus, a little October painting I'd like to work on, and a whole lot of living to do today. If you're struggling and ever need someone to pray with you, please don't hesitate to reach out. I'd be more than happy to.

Here's to four years of sobriety, a whole lot of grace, and the freedom of never having to chase another buzz.

Have a wonderful weekend, y'all. 🤍