Sort-of Sober Isn’t Sober (Also: we don’t get to insert ourselves everywhere)

The validity of exclusivity in sober communities

A few weeks ago, I came across an essay by someone who identifies as “sort-of sober” and “sober with an asterisk.” The author, who drinks on occasion, expressed her loneliness within sober communities and her desire to belong. She suggested that sober communities might be “gatekeeping” because they don’t feel welcoming to her experience.¹

More recently, the author shared that she’d begun rethinking her use of the word “sober*,” in part because of a critical comment left on that essay. I know I’ve changed my mind after writing things and have deep admiration for her willingness to reexamine her language. Wow, do I wish that was the norm!

And, I feel lingering discomfort around an issue that goes beyond that particular essay. As more information about the negative effects of alcohol enters the mainstream, as mocktails find their way onto more drink menus, and as more folks identify as “sober curious,” a pattern is emerging. This isn’t the first or second or even tenth time I’ve read content that blurred the line between people who choose to be sober-ish and people for whom sobriety is life-saving.

On one hand, I love that being sober is trending! Anything that destigmatizes the choice to stop pouring a profoundly addictive, deeply harmful toxin down our throats is a win! On the other, use of the word “sober” by people who still drink, however occasionally, can feel insensitive, disrespectful, and outright offensive to folks who are committed to full, no-exceptions sobriety.

Because make no mistake: There’s a monumental difference between sort-of sober and going all in. Mentally, it’s a whole other thing. 

More than that, exclusivity in sober communities doesn’t mean that they’re gatekeeping.

Do I embrace an inclusive, expansive approach to sobriety? Absolutely. And, there is a place for exclusion. There is a place to create safe spaces for folks on different paths of recovery. 

If this is “gatekeeping” at all, which I don’t believe it is, I interpret it as a form of caretaking. If we’re choosing to participate in a sober community and feel like we don’t belong because we’ve embraced occasional drinking as part of our lifestyle and wish to discuss that, well…maybe we don’t belong.

This isn’t an injustice. This doesn’t make whatever you’re doing in your recovery or how you identify wrong. This isn’t about you at all. (And, to be clear, I’m including myself in that “you”—there are certainly sober communities in which I don’t belong.)

A shared, agreed-upon definition of sobriety is what folks in that specific group or setting have decided that they need in order to stay sober. Or to feel safe. Or to feel like they’re among others who get it. 

We may not fit into their crowd, and that’s okay. It’s not their responsibility (within the context of recovery spaces, specifically) to fix that. To try and fix it for every individual would be impossible. The group would lose meaning.

The recovery space is beautifully diverse. I love that. I celebrate and honour that. And, within that diversity, we don’t get to insert ourselves everywhere. 

Put another way, the adage “recovery comes first” doesn’t just apply to our recovery. As conscious humans—especially as conscious humans in recovery—I would hope we’re looking out for each other.

Image of me by Rachael Shrum

My name is Dana, and I’m sober.

I haven’t had alcohol in more than four years. I don’t identify as an “alcoholic.” I do identify as “sober.”

And, within my sobriety, I take a small dose of edible THC for sleep and, on rare occasions, use psilocybin for therapeutic (rather than recreational) purposes. 

I’ve discussed my use of those substances elsewhere. I mention them here to make clear that I still don’t belong in all sober spaces: Many people do not consider me sober for the simple reason that I use any amount of THC or psilocybin for any reason within any context. Alcoholics Anonymous (AA), for instance, does not consider me sober. 

I’m okay with that. 

When it comes to self-identifying in recovery (or elsewhere), I support folks in calling themselves and thinking about themselves however they find most supportive. How someone else chooses to identify is none of my business.

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What I would never do is swing by an AA meeting and declare myself not an alcoholic and not “one of you.” Nor would I stand up and sing the praises of my own non-AA path of recovery or proclaim how I’m fine using psilocybin and THC. Within that particular setting, doing so would feel inappropriate and disrespectful. 

I wouldn’t be self-censoring. It’s just neither the time nor place for it, and I’m comfortable enough in my own sobriety to allow these personal choices to exist without defending them or advocating for them.²

To insist otherwise would feel as though I was barging into someone’s home and putting my personal needs, beliefs, sensitivities, and preferences above the family that lives there. In the process, I might be making other people’s recovery more confusing or difficult. 

I would never want to do that. There are times when the most skillful, beautiful thing is to put my own desire to belong aside and to recognize that others in the room are in THAT room, with THAT level of exclusivity, for a valid and perhaps life-saving reason. 

Rather than poke holes in another person’s life-saving story, I focus on the ways we’re alike. My heart fills with all that we share.

A note on gatekeeping

I want to draw a distinction: Having trouble finding “a community that fits me” is a truly difficult, real experience. But it doesn’t mean a community is gatekeeping. 

For example, AA is considered fairly strict in how it defines sobriety. And yet, I still don’t consider AA as “gatekeeping.” For one, anyone’s allowed to attend. For another, their “house rules” are in place for helpful, life-saving reasons.

If we look beyond AA, we find something similar: Many sober communities welcome folks who are sober curious or still drinking but trying to stop. At the same time, they request that people don’t promote drinking or a lifestyle that includes “drinking on occasion” within their communities. Annie Grace’s programs and books come to mind.³ So does Holly Whitaker’s former Sobriety School (where, if folks were still drinking, they were asked to not do so on camera during meetings). 

Such spaces are not keeping non-sober folks out! They welcome those who are sober curious or sort-of sober while upholding rules to protect members who are already sober or trying to get there.

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Look, I empathize deeply with anyone struggling to belong and find community. Heck, as a sober person, I exist in a collective that glorifies, romanticizes, and promotes drinking alcohol. Not belonging is part of the deal.

But whether I feel like I “don’t belong” in a community with a shared purpose and defined parameters is not, frankly, that community’s responsibility or problem. It’s mine. There are many ways to address it, and it’s still mine. 

This is especially the case if the community or group in question is marginalized—and, in today’s collective, I very much consider sober folks marginalized. We are bombarded with alcohol messaging every day in a million ways. We swim in a society that normalizes and celebrates addiction to alcohol. 

So, if you’re sober-ish, well, there are many sober groups that will let you in and even welcome you. 

But if you’re intent on talking about drinking as part of your “sobriety” in that setting? And advocating for occasional alcohol consumption as your personal preference? That probably isn’t the group for you. You probably don’t belong (and might instead check out mindful drinking communities).

The mindful drinking movement does not support my sobriety.

In my personal recovery, discussion about sober-ish life and mindful drinking are not supportive. In fact, the most supportive thing for my recovery is to distance myself from those conversations.

This isn’t to say I think the mindful drinking, sober curious, and sober-ish movements are bad. They’re just not mine. Same goes for the Sinclair Method, taking Naltrexone in order to keep drinking, etc. Actually, they’re great! I support any reduction in drinking. 

But being around folks who are advocating or even just discussing those sorts of relationships with alcohol is not supportive for my own recovery and sobriety. And so I choose, for my own safety and wellbeing, to not take part in their communities. That choice is my responsibility, not theirs. I make that choice without blame, guilt, or apology.

And, while I welcome all sober-ish (and non-sober!) folks to my “home” here at Sober Soulful, I don’t invite promotion of drinking in any form.

Is this universally inclusive? Nope. But it’s my home. If someone wants to create a mindful drinking or sober-ish home of their own, I support them. And, I support sober groups in creating and upholding their own clear parameters for their safety and the safety of their members—whether or not those parameters are the same as mine and whether or not they exclude me.

There is space for us—one heart to the next.

I was afraid to publish this essay. I acknowledge that my position is likely unpopular in certain sober circles and in the wider collective (in no small part because alcohol addiction and harmful drinking patterns are normalized). 

I also recognize that “inclusivity” is easily positioned as the progressive, morally correct stance. Meanwhile “exclusivity”—at least theoretically—is totally out.

That said, when it comes to my personal beliefs, please know the following:

• I do embrace an inclusive, expansive take on sobriety (and addiction, for that matter). I welcome everyone here at Sober Soulful regardless of whether you’re sober (many of my readers are NOT sober and would never identify that way).

• I don’t overly attach to any labels. I consider myself sober, queer, spiritual, and many other things. But I see labels as a tool, shorthand, and—when it comes down to it—a human construction. I don’t confuse or conflate labels with the actual person or the essence of anything.

• If people want to consider me “not sober,” I kind of don’t care? I’m confident in my sobriety. Sobriety feels like one of the most solid, secure things I know. And I support you in calling yourself whatever you wish and whatever you find supportive. My point here is to be mindful of whose home you’re in when you use certain labels.

• I also support harm reduction: Any reduction in drinking is a win. The healthiest amount of alcohol is no alcohol.⁴

I believe we are strong, honest, and human enough to make space for complex conversations and questions. I believe with my whole body-mind-spirit that there is space for us to sit here together. Setting labels aside. Noticing our sameness. Connecting one human, one heart to the next.

I’d love for you to share in the comments:

• Are there any safe, supportive spaces in your life (doesn’t have to be recovery related) that could be characterized as “exclusive”? 

• What about that exclusivity feels safe or otherwise supportive for you? How would you feel if it was taken away?

Those are suggestions. Feel free to freestyle. Just please keep it about you and your experience (no unsolicited advice, please). 

And please tap the little ♡ to offer the gift of “social proof” (sigh). It’s a small thing, but one that lets others know there’s something useful here. The more folks subscribe (and especially the more folks become paying subscribers), the more time I can devote to this newsletter—which I consider my most meaningful, most healing work.

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

1. Find the essay, by Gemma Hartley, here along with her follow-up response here. Also see

Laura McKowen

’s contribution in the essay comments, which helped me articulate my own discomfort in response to the author’s statement about “gatekeeping.”

2. For excellent, in-depth discussions on the difference between self-censoring and using our social filter, I recommend the work of Africa Brooke, including her podcast Beyond the Self. See, for example: Episode 30: Why cancel culture thrives on you being a terrible communicator (let’s talk solutions!) and Episode 24: Why you don’t have to speak up on every social issue. 

Although I didn’t get sober through AA and don’t identify the same way as AA’ers, I have tremendous respect for that community and go through phases of attending meetings online. Even folks who don’t identify as alcoholics are welcome so long as they have “the desire to not drink today.” Again though, I would never use those meetings as an opportunity to proclaim how “my sobriety” is different and includes occasional, medicinal use of psilocybin and THC.

3. Annie Grace’s online programs and book, This Naked Mind: Control Alcohol, Find Freedom, Discover Happiness & Change Your Life, were pivotal in my own choice to get sober. Notably, she does not insist that someone stop drinking as a prerequisite for getting started (whether reading her books or joining her programs). One reason that I found her work so effective was because she helped me bring exacting attention to what happened to my body and mind before, during, and after consuming alcohol. (That’s an affiliate link for Bookshop.org, where I curate quit lit and other lists and may earn a small commission if you use my links to make a purchase.)

4. For more on the science of what alcohol does to our body and mind, see this podcast episode by Dr. Andrew Huberman, a neuroscientist and tenured professor at the Stanford School of Medicine. Find key takeaways here.

Also see

Jolene Park

’s outstanding discussion of language and labels as relates to “gray area drinking.” Jolene coined that term and breaks down what it means and how it’s been misappropriated.