Growing up, I often felt like an outsider. If you know me personally, this might come as a shock. But yes, I was an extremely straight-laced kid who was more tethered to church activities than to the social lives of my peers. While most of my high school classmates enjoyed a little freedom, I spent three days a week in and out of church, trying to connect but never fitting in. My village didn't play about me. If I wasn't in school, I was at home or anywhere my family wanted me to be.
Over the years, I sought attention and acceptance in all the worst ways. I longed for acceptance and friendship but didn’t know how to bridge that gap. In my search for attention, I tried everything—from playing the class clown to briefly becoming a bully. Unfortunately, none of those paths led to the connection I craved. I drifted as a Harry Potter reading loner until I went to college where I met alcohol.
As most people who've been to college know, alcohol is a pivotal part of collegiate social life. For me, it served as a social lubricant, easing my anxiety and helping me connect with others in ways I couldn't before. A born entertainer, it was my mission to make people laugh and want to be around me, and for a very long time, I was successful.
Sharing a drink with classmates created an atmosphere of camaraderie and openness, breaking down barriers that had once felt insurmountable. Nights filled with laughter and late-night conversations transformed acquaintances into friends, and I began to feel like I belonged for the first time. I was the life of the party wherever I went, and I was everywhere.
While I knew this wasn’t a sustainable foundation for relationships, the connections I formed over those shared drinks gave me the sense of community I had long yearned for. People were inviting me to things and wanted to be around me. I needed the validation so badly, I was willing to drink myself to oblivion for it.
But over time, that once-thrilling feeling of belonging came with a heavy cost. I began to realize that many of these friendships were built on nothing more than a mutual dependence on alcohol. Looking back now, it’s clear that a lot of us were simply trying to fill our voids, using each other as emotional crutches in a pattern often referred to as “trauma bonding.” We were drawn to each other’s pain, and the nights of drinking became our shared ritual for numbing it.
As I got sober, I had to face the fact that some of these friendships weren’t built to last without alcohol. Sobriety brought a harsh clarity that revealed which connections were genuine and anchored by shared habits. I’d leaned into friendships where we bonded over our struggles, using humor and shared grievances to mask a lack of true compatibility. I clung to people who, like me, were struggling to find solid ground but who weren’t interested in getting there sober.
Letting go of some of these relationships was one of the hardest parts of my recovery journey. I’d shared years of laughter and tears with these people, but ultimately they couldn’t support me in this new chapter. I felt even lonelier for a while like I was giving up on the only people who had ever made me feel connected. But I knew I had to let go if I was ever going to create the kind of life and relationships that truly uplifted me.
In the end, sobriety forced me to rethink what I wanted out of friendship. Now, instead of clinging to people who feed my insecurities or fuel my vices, I seek out relationships that feel reciprocal, respectful, and free from toxic dependencies. It’s not an easy process, and sometimes I still feel that ache of loneliness, but it’s a loneliness that’s finally met with hope.
Letting go of friendships that once defined me has been one of the most challenging yet liberating parts of my sobriety journey. Sobriety isn’t just about giving up alcohol—it’s about reclaiming your life, your values, and your peace. It’s about choosing relationships that nurture you and finding people who uplift you without needing to pull you down first.
If you’re in a similar place, know you’re not alone. The path to healthier relationships may feel lonely initially, but it’s worth every difficult step. Take the time to evaluate the friendships in your life. Ask yourself if they’re helping you grow, or if they’re holding you back. True friendship doesn’t need trauma or substances to survive. It simply needs mutual respect and care.
Remember, it’s never too late to create the connections you deserve. Seek out people who align with your values and support your growth. Prioritize those who celebrate your wins, who can handle your honesty, and who value you without conditions. By doing so, you’re building a new community that reflects the strength, resilience, and hope you’ve worked hard to find.
Take a deep breath, and make space for people who genuinely care about you. Let go of what no longer serves you, and trust that better friendships and a brighter future await. Healing may be a solo journey sometimes, but remember, you’re creating space for relationships that are truly worthy of the person you’re becoming.
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