A Queer in Recovery: Awkward AF
Hi, my name is ________ and I’m an alcoholic.
If I’m living my truth, I have to be honest and say that sobriety isn’t only a challenging thing to sustain; it downright sucks sometimes. There are a lot of things that I miss about drinking, including late nights out at the gay bars, happy hours at the newest restaurant, and beers at barbecues. However, most of those things that I miss, I have been able to grieve and let go of. Though, one thing persists that I fear will never go away: I miss social drinking.
At my core, I am a socially anxious, insecure, neurotic mess. Alcohol, at it’s best, provided me a lot of relief from these uncomfortable feelings. After a few vodka sodas, I felt like I was a sexy, shiny object that was untouchable by shyness and uncertainty. I could shamelessly take to the dance floor; I could engage in small talk with randos. I was confident; it lifted my worries, and I was more comfortable in my skin; I was finally able to relax.
The way that alcohol allowed me to disregard some of my biggest fears, I am left now with a glaring issue since I’ve entered sobriety. I am again consumed with social anxiety, insecurity, and neuroses. Something as simple as engaging in small talk feels crippling and with the best of intentions, I find myself making plans only to cancel them and sit at home alone, allowing my concerns to consume me. While in my active addiction, alcohol was ruining my life, I still feel like alcohol made me better in a lot of ways.
As contrived as it may sound, losing the ability of relinquishing social anxiety has meant that I now have lost the ability to confidently enter spaces, to take up space, and to blossom from a wallflower into a part of the party.
So, what do I do now? It feels like the most logical thing in overcoming a fear is to look back at when the fear formed in order to work through it. For me, it all stemmed from adolescence.
I am emotionally stunted, and I have observed the feelings of anxiety, insecurity, and uncertainty directly mirror how I felt as a teen. I still feel like that 16-year-old me who was an outsider, lonely, and empty inside. I felt invisible to the outside world and like I never fit in anywhere. Instead of accepting my shyness, my introverted self, I deemed myself unacceptable and searched for anything that would ease the self-hatred. Enter drugs and alcohol.
I never grew up from that 16-year-old mindset, and I carried that narrative that I needed a substance in order to be more liked, to be less anxious, and to fit in. I’ve also discovered in many conversations with other addicts that the majority of us feel like we are frozen in time, never maturing beyond the age of when we first started using. Growth is uncomfortable, living life on life’s terms is uncontrollable, and in that petrified progression of growth, we stopped developing diversified coping mechanisms other than escape.
Part of the work I do in 12-step groups, with my therapist, and with trusted friends, is, I am learning how to sit with discomfort, how to pause before I react, how to communicate my needs, how to uphold boundaries, how to live a life that is aligned with my values, and how to even discover what my values are. I would often choose to escape in the bottle anytime I was faced with uncertainty in order to ease my nerves and calm my racing brain; now, that’s not an option. Like a child, I am learning to use my words, to self-soothe, and to integrate into social situations with an openness to experience. It’s fucking terrifying. However, I don’t have to do it alone.
I came out as queer at 26, and I came out as an alcoholic at 34, and those two admissions have been met with similar outcomes. People were supportive; they were understanding; they were compassionate, and they were proud of me for speaking out. While I know that is not the experience many folks have, I have learned that we can all choose to focus on gratitude, and that, then provides hope. The more I stand in my authenticity, I find people who accept me, support me, and encourage me. It’s not always the people I want, it’s not always the people I expect, but it’s always the right people.
Social anxiety will probably be something that takes me a long time to overcome; my insecurity and self-esteem may ebb and flow depending on where I am and who I am with, and I’m certain my neuroses will always be there … but I am grateful that I now have the ability to acknowledge all of these parts of me. They say the first step to change is admitting we have a problem, and I’ve to admit a lot of things, to myself, and to others. I had to admit that I was living a lie as a straight person in order to embrace my queerness; I had to come out as an alcoholic in order to get help and find sobriety, and now, I’m coming out as a socially anxious, awkward person, in order to overcome my fears and insecurities.
Watch out, world; I’m coming to meet you.
-An anonymous queer in recovery
