Three years ago today, I made a quiet decision that created profound change: I stopped consuming alcohol.

For years, alcohol had been part of my daily rhythm. A cocktail to “unwind,” wine to “enhance the meal.” Initially, it seemed social. Over time, I began to see it was more of a social coping mechanism than a social convention.

I had some well-entrenched beliefs: that it made social events and even one-on-one interactions more enjoyable, less stressed, more relaxed. That it made me less stressed, more engaged, But there was another underlying belief I didn’t see at first — that the world was big, I was small, and alcohol was my trusty armor.

I realized I had grown to depend on this armor. But then, perhaps inspired by having just conducted considerable research to complete my doctorate, I had an idea: what if I turn this into an experiment?

My research questions

What would it be like to go through (at first) a week unarmored? What would dinner be like? Conversations? Social events? Even work? While I never consumed alcohol while working, I knew its relief awaited at the end of the day. And most importantly, would I feel small or big?

At first, it was uncomfortable. I wasn’t physically craving alcohol, but I was psychologically craving my ritual. Interestingly (and surprisingly), as the week went by, not much changed. The days, meals, conversations were still the same. I wasn’t enjoying them any less. These early findings were promising!

Over time, the well-documented benefits arrived: better sleep, steadier moods, more clarity. Social situations got easier. Fewer people cared about my club soda than I thought and more seem to be disconnecting alcohol from the social experience. It’s no longer so different.

My key findings

Three things that helped me most in exploring and releasing this coping mechanism:

• Curiosity. Questioning the belief that I needed something external to handle life. Testing my assumptions, often playfully, one situation at a time.
• Coming Home. Returning to myself through my mindfulness practice and in community. Discovering ways to be with life and all its edges without numbing.
• Compassion. Letting go of that nagging inner voice that said, You should feel better, stronger, less bothered. Finding a new kinder voice that said: It’s OK. This IS hard. Of course you feel this way. Normalizing those feelings, letting them be present, and then noticing how they often moved on. They weren’t the disablers I made them out to be.

In sharing this, it’s important to note that, for many, medications are vital tools for mental and emotional well-being. I would have gladly accepted them if warranted. But I discovered my self-diagnosis was off, and the treatment plan — nightly cocktails — wasn’t the medicine I thought it was. (While I did become a doctor on this journey, I humbly recognized it wasn’t the medical kind.)

So what began as a 3-day, 3-week, 3-month, now 3-year experiment is quietly turning into a new way of being, a longitudinal study. One rooted in curiosity, self-trust, and kindness.

Is there a story you’ve been telling yourself about what you need to cope, connect, or belong — and what might you discover if you gently and curiously questioned it?

Here’s to your testing that out and writing your new stories!