Built to Last

On losing a crutch in order to learn how to walk

I have an event on my calendar for February 18th and it says, “2 YEARS ALCOHOL FREE!”

I forgot that I put it there because sometimes I forget that I am sober - which is a sentence I never thought I would say.

It feels strange to claim this as some sort of monumental milestone because I never identified as someone who was an “addict.” I was someone who had trouble moderating, who made stupid decisions while drinking, who lost control in deeply embarrassing ways.

But addict? No. I didn’t drink everyday. But sometimes - I did drink alone. Sometimes, I drank just to feel something inside. Sometimes I drank so that I wouldn’t.

When I think about the last 2 years, I resist the urge to cause-and-effect this choice - list out the ways that being sober has benefitted me. It is so hard to trace back anything to any one thing. Correlation is inherently entangled.

But there is one thing for sure - one pattern I can’t deny - one definite effect of losing alcohol. And that is: not what I’ve “gained,” but instead - what I’ve lost: a crutch that kept me numb to my own life.

Job I hate? Drink!

Lonely and insecure? Drink!

Feeling awkward in a social setting? Drinkkkkk

What I wanted the most from the bottom of that drink was to be someone I had decided “wasn’t me.” A more confident, uninhibited, liberated version. An Avani I was convinced I could never be.

What I have now is that version - whose presence actually lasts.

One that won’t leave me after an hour, or three.

One who neither outsources nor outcasts her own feelings.

Who trusts herself, forgives herself, is truly free.

I wish we talked more about what happens when you stop doing something - how that very act allows you to start something else.

Stop: using crutches long after they’ve served their purpose

Start: flexing your muscles to get up and walk

Stop: avoiding big feelings by escaping them

Start: gathering tools to ride the waves

Stop: letting discomfort dictate behavior

Start: making decisions with power and peace

Stop: resigning yourself with “this is me” and “this is life”

Start: experimenting with who else you could be

I thank this particular crutch for the places it got me to today - and feel peaceful watching it now gather dust.

I watch myself, my resolve - grow ever stronger in its absence.

Endurance built through bones grown - with lost comfort.