What Is Emotional Sobriety? Lessons From 38 Years Sober

In plain English

Emotional sobriety is what happens after you put the drink down. It's learning to feel what you actually feel — fear, anger, embarrassment, disappointment, plain old sadness — without needing to numb it, argue with it, or blame somebody else for it.

Not drinking is the beginning. Emotional sobriety is the part that keeps going: honesty about what's happening inside you, responsibility for your own behavior, and staying connected to other people instead of hiding.

It isn't a state you arrive at. I've been sober more than 38 years and I still work at it. Some days I do it well. Some days I don't.

Why the drink was never the whole problem

When I was a kid I never felt well-liked or like I belonged anywhere. Then I found booze and drugs, and they cleared some of those hurdles for me. Underneath that liquid confidence I still didn't feel worthy, and that low self-esteem stayed with me for years. I wrote about that in The Kid Who Just Wanted to Be Liked.

Taking the alcohol away didn't take that kid away. It just left him sitting there with nothing to drink. That's the honest reason emotional sobriety matters: the drinking was one symptom of how I was living, not the entire condition.

I want to be careful here. Not everything hard in a sober person's life is caused by alcoholism. People get sick, get laid off, get their hearts broken, and have bad days for ordinary human reasons. Emotional sobriety isn't blaming everything on the disease. It's being able to handle life as it comes without the old escape hatch.

What emotional sobriety looks like

Telling the truth about yourself

In early sobriety I would gladly tell everybody in the room what was wrong with them while sharing superficial nonsense about myself. What changed things was finally saying out loud how I actually felt — to my sponsors, to a therapist, to a room. In Shame Was Eating Me Alive I wrote about learning the difference between guilt and shame. Guilt said I had done something wrong. Shame said I was wrong. That distinction let me put down a tremendous amount of baggage.

Owning your behavior instead of your story about it

For years, even sober, I blamed other people when things went wrong. I ran a landscaping and irrigation company and I could behave like a tyrant with the men who worked for me — at 15 and 20 years sober. Then I'd tell the story in a way that made me sound right, and people would agree with me, which was exactly what I wanted. That's in Sometimes It's a Bitch Being Human. Emotional sobriety started for me when I stopped editing the story.

Letting the people close to you tell you the truth

Not long ago my wife looked at me and said, "You never apologize when you're wrong." I was shocked. Then I thought about it, and I apologized to her for not apologizing. Thirty eight years in, and my wife could still see something about me I hadn't seen. That's I Heard My Brother Coming Out of My Mouth. Your closest relationships will show you what still needs work faster than any amount of thinking about yourself will.

Amends you can see, not just hear

Saying "I'm sorry" is easy. Changing the person who walked through the door is the hard part. My parents didn't need a speech from me; they needed evidence. I went to meetings, stayed sober, went to work, and slowly became the person they'd hoped I'd be. More on that in You Can't Apologize Your Way Out of It.

Not doing it alone

The single thing that broke the whole pattern for me was other people. AA ruined my isolation, and I mean that as a compliment — here's how that went. Isolation is where the old thinking grows unchallenged. Connection is where it gets found out.

What it does not mean

It isn't permanent serenity. I was supposed to be peaceful and practically God-like by 20 years sober. That fantasy has never been part of my story and probably never will be.
It isn't never being angry. It's what you do in the ten seconds after the anger shows up. Most of the time now, I can shut up before I lose control. Usually.
It isn't perfection or a graduation. I don't practice any of this perfectly, and I've let old ways creep back in more times than I care to admit.
It isn't a substitute for professional help. I went to therapy. Plenty of people need a doctor, a counselor, or medication, and there's nothing un-sober about that.
It isn't a score you can compare. Time sober doesn't make anyone immune, and it doesn't make anyone better than the person who walked in yesterday.

How I actually work at it

Nothing here is complicated, which is the annoying part. I go to meetings and share. I pick up the phone and spew whatever I need to spew. I take commitments. I made coffee and cleaned ashtrays. When I'm wrong, I try to say so out loud, on the day, to the person. Large changes get built out of small actions repeated every day — and if you're off by an eighth of an inch at one end of a long span, you're off by three inches at the other.

If you want the day-to-day version of this — structure, cravings, isolation, relationships, what to do if you drink again — that's the Living Sober guide.

Who's writing this

I got sober at 21 after a five-day bender, spent 90 days in rehab, and drank for the last time on January 23, 1988. I'm not a counselor or a clinician, and I don't speak for Alcoholics Anonymous or anyone else. I'm one alcoholic writing honestly about staying sober. More about me.

This page is personal experience, not medical advice. If you're in crisis or unsure about withdrawal, talk to a doctor or a local emergency service.

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