Who Are We Without Our Labels?

Individualism and collectivism, sobriety and queerness

Sometimes I regret creating an online identity that revolves around sobriety. It’s not that I wish to hide or quit being sober. It’s just that the things I think, feel, and write about go beyond that. They’re about being sober and being human. 

Seeing as the name of this newsletter is Sober Soulful, and seeing as I’m the host of SoberStack™ and actively engage in sober community, I think about sobriety often. But, really, this is a small part of something bigger. Even outside of “sober identity,” I’ve been feeling cognitive dissonance around “self-ing” more generally.

I feel resistance to the focus on self-as-brand, self-as-persona, and the expectation that we shove ourselves in neat little boxes. Here I am! This is me! Ready to put on display and parade. Ready for external consumption.

I’m still sorting through this resistance, but I feel confident that the internal tension I’m experiencing transcends how I identify in recovery. It encompasses all parts of me, and all the ways I’ve embraced, proclaimed, and celebrated those parts. My sobriety, my spirituality, and my queerness included.

I’m not ashamed of those parts. I love those parts. It’s the my, my, my that feels like a record scratch lately. Amidst all the messaging and signaling of Pride month, I’m feeling this extra acutely.

The intersection of identity and othering

Before going further, I want to underscore that none of this is a judgment against anyone else. Nor is it meant to diminish or dim your declaration and celebration of identity. It’s just that, for me, the process of identifying myself is evolving.

I’m a firm believer that more than one thing not only can be true, but beyond a doubt is true. This applies when we’re talking about different individuals or groups. It also applies to our internal experience. My conflicting feelings around self-ing reflect this; I choose to make space for ambivalence rather than solve it.

As well, I’m not conflating all aspects of identity. Some we’re born with; some are choices; some emerge where self meets surrounds. All reflect a highly specific individual experience existing within a highly specific cultural and systemic context.¹ For example: I’m sexually and romantically attracted to people of various genders; this is innate. I’ve been sober since 2020; this is a choice.

And yet, both identities set me apart and set me up to be “othered.” This othering can and does take the form of outright condemnation. This othering can and does take the form of performative allyship. This othering can and does take the form of overt and subtle judgments, assumptions, projections.

This othering is the number 1 reason I feel pulled to lay claim to those identities and to push back. Because whether I’m being demonized for perversion, or patronized as an addict or identified patient, or told that I’m not recovering correctly, I feel called to say: 

No. This is who I am, and we’re alike.

We’re all human, we’re all figuring it out, none of us knows much of anything. So while I choose to express certain identities—particularly when there’s still so much hatred and bias—my attachment to self-ing is shifting. Panning out, I am unimportant. Panning out, we are in this together.

Belonging online and off

But here’s the thing: The exact identities that mark me as “other” are where I find joy and a sense of belonging. 

I love connecting with folks who identify as sober, and queer, and spiritual. On a certain level, these folks “get me” in ways others do not. And yet, in my daily life offline, connections related to sobriety, queerness, and spirituality feel lacking.

For example: I’ve been in a monogamous relationship with a het-cis man since 2012 (two marriages, one divorce, more backstory here). This doesn’t change my sexuality or gender. It does change how I’m perceived, and it makes me more inclined to mention my queerness. 

It also makes me nostalgic for my twenties and thirties, when being out as queer (offline, “in real life”) was freeing and glorious and needed. For me, this was never about politics or performance or signaling to strangers. This was about being attracted to who I was attracted to, pursuing and being pursued, and reveling in being around other queer people—people like me.

I miss that sometimes, and the missing has nothing to do with looking for romance or sex or alternate partners. It’s that I miss being identified as queer in everyday life, by simply spending time with other queer people. So, when I travel from the rural south shore of Nova Scotia to The City (aka, Halifax), I head straight to my favorite queer-centric coffee shop. I exhale, I feel home, I belong. 

I feel a similar tug of belonging among sober people. And yogis. And Buddhists.

And yet, even though I miss being “out and proud” in more obvious ways, I’m finding beauty in subtler forms of connection. Ones that center kindness and humanness. Ones that are less about “me as my labels.”

Image of me by Rachael Shrum

Proclaiming and performing online identity

But what about online? After all, my work is fully remote at present. And since quitting other social media, Substack and this newsletter are my online home and where I engage with others.

Granted, Sober Soulful takes an expansive, inclusive approach to addiction and sobriety—one that goes way beyond quitting booze. That won’t be changing.

But what about how I present? Including when writing my bio? Do I underscore that I’m sober and queer? Do I ditch all self-ing and show up as human? If I continue to “brand” myself in specific-if-incomplete ways, here are some pluses and minuses.

On the plus side:

• It helps me declare parts of my identity that aren’t immediately visible from the outside. Yes, I’m in a hetero relationship. No, I don’t identify as such. 

• Publicly identifying as queer, sober, or anything else sends a clear message to folks who identify in similar ways—making it easier to cultivate community and find safe, kindred connections.

• It sends a “not for you” message to folks who condemn or simply dislike me because of how I identify. This makes my online home safer for me, yes, but also for subscribers and readers. 

On the minus side:

• It sets me up as a potential target (if not physically, at least verbally or in the form of hate comments).

• It overemphasizes the individual at the expense of the collective, reinforcing division and systemic imbalances.

• It perpetuates a societal tendency to mistake words, labels, and boxes for the actual thing. This not only obscures our sameness, as humans; it makes it easy to forget that we’re complex, fluid, and ever-evolving.

Where does this leave us? I don’t know! I don’t think there’s one right answer; for me, the “right answer” intersects with context and shifts over time. 

But, for now, here’s where I’ve landed:

• I’m keeping sober and queer in my bio. I love these parts of myself. I love the message this sends to kindred folks and to people who’d be better served staying away.

• I’m keeping the focus of Sober Soulful expansive rather than focusing solely or even primarily on alcohol addiction. I love exploring, learning, and teaching about our sameness, as humans. Unhelpful patterns and addictions take all different forms.

• I’m allowing my identity to inform my work (including by writing about it). I’m also allowing it to inform the boundaries I establish in my online home. For example: someone who espouses and spreads hate against queer and trans people wanted to be included in SoberStack™. My answer was No.

Wherever you are with your own choices around identity, I encourage all of us to practice curiosity and openness rather than insisting on be-all, end-all opinions and actions.

Because if our sense of identity feels true—if it’s truly part of our essence or what we’re choosing—what harm is there in loosening our grip and looking beyond the labels and boxes? What harm is there in asking: “If I couldn’t use labels or had to describe myself without those as a qualifier and reference point, who am I then?”

Now you.

I’d love for you to share in the comments—please just keep it about you and your experience (no collective language or unsolicited advice, please). Some suggestions: 

• What’s your relationship to self-identity and, specifically, the act of self-identifying in relationship with others?

• Does this differ online versus in-person? Or in private versus public spaces?

• What pluses do you experience when claiming and proclaiming your identity? What minuses do you experience?

• If you couldn’t use labels and had to describe yourself without those as a qualifier and reference point, who are you really?

And before you go, please tap the little ♡. It offers “social proof” and lets others know there’s something useful here. The more people become paying subscribers, the more time I can devote to Sober Soulful, which I consider my most magical, most meaningful work.

Thank you. I appreciate you. I love you.
Dana

1. This context includes systemic biases and inequities related to race, ethnicity, gender, sexual orientation, physical appearance, physical and mental-emotional ability, family of origin, socio-economic class, etc. This context also includes man-made extremes prevailing in our times: the noise, the lights, the technology, the screens, the consumption, the normalization of addiction to substances and behaviours that harm us.