Sober, Awake, and Still Figuring It Out

How did I get here? Lately, it feels like I’m having a daily existential crisis the longer I stay sober. The truth is, the more time that passes, the harder it gets to resist the urge to give it all up—to just stick my head in the sand, plug my ears, and go, "la la la, I can’t hear you." Because let’s be real: adulting? It’s for the birds.

I mean, seriously, who signed us up for this? Bills, responsibilities, showing up every day like we’ve got our lives together—it’s a joke. Before sobriety, I could at least numb the nonsense with a drink (or ten), but now? Now, I’m fully aware of just how ridiculous it all is. The irony of sobriety is that while I’m clearer-headed, I’m also more painfully aware of how absurd adulting (and the world) really is. It’s like someone handed me a backstage pass to the reality show of life, and spoiler alert: it’s all bullshit.

The truth is, nobody really knows what they’re doing, and we’re all just trying to survive the best we can. Sobriety just takes away the buffer—the escape hatch where I used to hide from the chaos. Now I’m out here, raw and exposed, with no drinky-poo in hand to soften the edges of this weird, messy life. Sometimes it feels like I’m stuck in a grown-up version of a bad sitcom, only I’m both the main character and the laugh track.

But here’s the kicker: despite all the absurdity, staying sober forces me to confront everything. No shortcuts, no "I'll deal with it later." It’s like being wide awake in a world where most people are walking around half-asleep. I can’t help but wonder—do they feel the same way but just haven’t woken up yet? Or is sobriety the rude awakening that no one warns you about? Either way, here I am, trying to navigate this circus without the crutch I leaned on for so long.

And don’t get me wrong; there are moments where I get it—where the fog lifts and everything clicks into place. I’ll have a random Tuesday and for a brief moment, I feel like I’m in control, like I’ve got this whole life thing figured out. Those moments are fleeting, though. Reality comes rushing back in the form of an unexpected bill, a meltdown over something spilled, or the realization that the kids forgot to take out the trash—again.

But that’s the thing about sobriety: it doesn’t promise perfection or constant clarity. It just makes you hyper-aware of the imperfection, the chaos, and the grind. It's like, congratulations, you can finally see life for what it is—now what? There’s no running away from it, no numbing it out. You’ve just gotta stand there and face it, even on the days when it feels like everything’s falling apart.

So, I guess that’s what this is all about. Not some magical transformation where everything suddenly makes sense, but a slow, messy process of figuring out how to be okay with the fact that it doesn’t make sense most of the time. Sobriety isn’t about fixing your life; it’s about living it—fully, even when it’s uncomfortable, awkward, or downright unbearable.

And let me tell you, living life fully without a crutch is exhausting. There are days where I’m like, “Is this really better?” because, honestly, ignorance was bliss. Numbing out gave me an easy pass. It let me coast through the hard stuff without really feeling it. But now? Now I feel *everything*—the highs, the lows, and the in-betweens that used to slip by unnoticed. The hard truth is, when you take away the numbing agent, you’re left with the raw, unfiltered reality of existence, and sometimes, it’s ug-LEE. 

But here’s the kicker: even though it's harder, it’s also real, and these days, I’d rather be real, raw, and authentic. Fleeting moments of clarity, of feeling like I’m actually living, are worth way more than the years I spent avoiding it all. Sure, I’d love to escape the monotony and chaos of daily life, but I’d rather live in this mess, fully awake, than go back to the half-alive state I was living in before. 

Don’t get me wrong: I’m still learning to find balance—figuring out how to sit with discomfort without immediately wanting to run from it. Sobriety hasn’t turned me into some Zen master who’s always at peace with the world. Hell no. I’m still figuring it out, just like everyone else. The difference is now, I’m doing it on my terms, without hiding from the parts of life that scare me. 

So, if you’re waiting for some grand epiphany where everything suddenly becomes easy and life feels like a smooth ride—spoiler alert: it doesn’t exist. What you get instead is a daily decision to show up, stay present, and keep going, even when the weight of it all feels like too much. And that, my friends, is the messy, beautiful truth of living sober.