Waking up sober after a night out can make a decision look very different than it did a few hours earlier.
I recently traveled to Nashville with a group of guys I have known for just about my entire life. These annual trips are always circled on the calendar with excitement. Each trip brings its own belly laughs, great stories, and genuine connection with people who helped shape who I am today. The only thing separating them from family is DNA. They are my brothers, and I would do anything for any of them.
I look forward to these trips. I love them. They are among the best parts of any year.
In the past, they have also ended with a return home carrying a head full of regret and shame, along with a few new physical bruises and emotional scars.
While I share a long history of drinking with these guys, many of them do not drink heavily during the rest of the year. Instead, they seem to save up all their shenanigans for this one weekend. That is usually a recipe for some interesting conversations come Sunday morning.
This year was no different from those that preceded it—with one important exception.
This was the first time I chose to attend in sobriety.
I was nervous before I went. I knew I could go and remain sober. I just wasn’t convinced how much fun I would have in that state of mind.
I knew I could still go out, listen to music, laugh with my friends, and enjoy Nashville without drinking. I knew I would enjoy watching the events unfold, sharing the laughter that followed, and collecting stories we would revisit for years to come.
I also knew I would be ready to call it a night before the rest of the group. I expected to lose patience as the nights progressed and the intoxication deepened. Most importantly, the weekend would test me more than I had allowed myself to be tested during my nearly three years of sobriety.
My anxiety and hesitation were high when the plane landed. Thinking through my approach before the weekend was one thing. Feeling comfortable while actually living it was something entirely different.
Friday Wasn’t Simple
I’ll be honest, the first few hours weren’t very easy.
To set the scene, I was standing with about ten of my best friends in the world. We share more than 40 years of friendship, and there we were on the rooftop of a bar in a city known for its nightlife. There were attractive women, there was incredible music, and there was plenty of booze. Whatever you drank, it was readily available—and being consumed in quantities some might consider unhealthy.
The night was warm, the music was loud, and the group was ready to go.
As I adjusted to the environment, I realized how differently I was viewing it. For as long as I can remember, this had been my happy place. In years past, this would have been the moment when the voice in my head screamed, “Gentlemen, start your engines!”
My first trip to the bar came with quiet confidence about two things: I was going to order a Diet Coke, and the bartender was not going to be thrilled about it. Tips on three-dollar soft drinks take a while to add up.
Alongside that confidence stood a small but persistent measure of anxiety. I wondered whether making this trip in sobriety had been a good idea. Would I have as much fun without alcohol? Would my friends accept—or even encourage—my choices? Or would I become the proverbial party pooper?
As I raised the Diet Coke for that first sip, I paused.
I thought about everything that had transpired in my recent past, and I felt a moment of gratitude. I stopped focusing on what I was not doing and chose instead to think about where I was in that moment, how I had gotten there, and how good it would feel to remember every part of the weekend.
I was committed. This trip was going to end with pride in my choices.
I listened to the music. I laughed. I spent time with people I care about deeply. I became part of the experience instead of standing outside it and analyzing where—or whether—I could fit in.
When I reached the end of my night, my announced departure was met with some disappointment, pressure, and good-natured hazing. In the past, I would have responded by ordering another round and probably adding a few shots to prove I was in it for the long run.
This time, I went back to the apartment we had rented. I walked right past the hundreds of bars that, during active addiction, would have served as waypoints on my decidedly indirect path home. This time, I had a clearer sense of my true north—and I stayed the course.
I had established my boundaries before the trip, and boundaries protect us only when we are willing to honor them.
So I did exactly that.
The Weekend Looked Different Waking Up Sober On Sunday
Saturday was more of the same. I rallied my energy. I participated. I contributed to the stories and the laughter—sometimes as the butt of the joke, other times delivering the key one-liner and soaking up the approval their laughter signaled.
It wasn’t always easy, but it was always fun.
By Sunday morning, the decisions I had made throughout the weekend had placed me decidedly on the positive side of possible outcomes. What had felt uncomfortable at the beginning of the trip now looked completely different.
When I woke Sunday morning, I looked around the room and considered how differently each of us had navigated the weekend. Some were struggling a bit, while others were quietly evaluating their decisions.
I woke up clearheaded and feeling great.
I remembered the entire weekend. I knew where my wallet and phone were. I could pack, get to the airport, and begin the trip home without wondering what I had said, done, lost, or damaged.
There were no apologies to make. There were no text messages I was afraid to read. There was no anxiety about the conversations waiting for me when I returned home.
Those might not sound like exciting rewards, but I have learned not to take them for granted. I have also learned that they are neither insignificant nor easily earned. However small those victories might seem to someone else, I found them deeply satisfying.
I felt terrible for a couple of friends who had been robbed. What happened was not their fault, and it could have happened to anyone. I did not view their experience as proof that I had made better choices than they had. They had done nothing to deserve what they endured.
But their experience did make me think about my own past.
There was a time when the way I drank regularly made me more vulnerable. I was less aware of my surroundings, less careful with my belongings, and less capable of responding when something went wrong. Even when nothing dramatic happened, I often woke up dealing with consequences I had created for myself.
This Sunday was different.
I was able to help where I could, manage my own travel, and get myself home without also battling a hangover, anxiety, shame, or regret.
I Didn’t Miss The Fun!
The important part of this story is not that I avoided negative consequences (I did get some pretty bad blisters after making the absurd choice to wear new flip-flops to the Titans game on Saturday). On previous trips, Sunday was rarely a time to celebrate having avoided bad outcomes. More important than that, though, was how much I enjoyed the positive experiences.
I honestly think I had more fun this weekend than I have had in the past.
I loved the music. I sang, danced, and did everything I would have done with the liquid courage that fueled so many nights before sobriety. My conversations were deeper and more meaningful. My belly hurt from laughing. Best of all, I soaked up every second of friendship I could before we parted ways again.
It reminded me of the long night near the end of Sleepers. Childhood friends with a complicated shared history gathered around a table, briefly feeling young again and trying to hold on to a night none of them wanted to end. Eventually, morning came, they parted ways, and each moved forward carrying whatever consequences came from the days that preceded.
We wanted our nights together to last forever, too. But when the weekend ended, we each had to return home carrying our own outcomes. I was grateful to leave feeling good about mine, even as I hurt for friends whose weekend had not ended the way they expected.
This past weekend, I was present. I was engaged. I remember all of it.
Sobriety did not prevent me from participating in the weekend. It allowed me to decide how I wanted to participate.
When it was time for me to leave, I left. My friends were allowed to be disappointed, and I was allowed to make the decision that was right for me. Both things could be true.
Their reaction lasted a few minutes. The benefit of respecting my boundary stayed with me for quite a bit longer.
Waking Up Sober On Sunday
Waking up Sober on Sunday after a weekend spent engaged in parties, celebrations, and shenanigans can come with many different feelings. For me, Sunday arrived with rewards that had been difficult to envision while I was making decisions earlier in the weekend. They were rewards I could not fully appreciate in advance.
It did not feel rewarding when I chose to leave my friends because the night had grown late—and I have grown old. Choosing abstinence did not always feel rewarding when shots were being passed around or craft beers were being sampled. Saying no felt awkward. Passing all those bars on the way home came with a healthy dose of FOMO.
Then Sunday came.
Waking up with gratitude for a weekend well lived, memories to cherish, and all my belongings was a welcome change from the way things had gone in the past. Reviewing my text messages without fear or regret was even better.
Most of all, I was proud of how far I have come.
This weekend validated everything I have been working toward. It felt like a meaningful test of the recovery I have built. I passed, and it seems only fitting that I left Nashville on the eve of beginning my fourth year of sobriety.
My journey home was not simple, but then again, neither was my path to sobriety. My train Sunday night was delayed because of a shooting along the route and eventually canceled. The rescheduled train on Monday morning hit a tree, causing another lengthy delay.
None of that changed how I felt about the weekend, nor will it change how much I look forward to the next trip.
Having successfully navigated my trip to Nashville, I can envision my future with quiet confidence and optimism—and feel excited about wherever we go next year. I could never have experienced everything this weekend represents without my recovery. It has changed how I view and appreciate nearly everything in my life.
For that, I am incredibly grateful.
If you or someone you know is struggling with alcohol or substance use, you do not have to navigate it alone. True North Sober Support can help you explore your options, build a plan, and take the next step toward recovery. Reach out today for a confidential conversation.
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