In my early drinking days, it was a source of praise and pride that I was able to binge drink with the guys and hold my own. It helps to carry hundreds of extra pounds to absorb and modulate the poison you’re pounding. Whether you were an indie Elliott Smith or a frat brother, I could match you drink for drink and not end up praying over the porcelain god for the sweet release of passing out. And yes, you were nearly always a man. I made a lot of friends, and many of them are still very dear to me.
When I joined the professional world, good things came to me because I liked to party. I went to a lot of thoroughly fun and deeply bonding happy hours. I was a driving force in wild karaoke nights that became office legends. I was offered new roles and given opportunities by drinking buddies who were also powerful in my organization. I’m honest about all that sobriety has given me, but I also have to be honest about this: Drinking gave me genuine opportunities. Actual, material opportunities. I made connections that mattered in my career. When it came time to quit, one of the hardest ideas was that I would have to give up this easy road to advancement. I would have to depend on the merit of my work, instead of my capacity for drinking.
But it was no contest, because I couldn’t drink safely any more. I wasn’t the 300-pound bottomless pitcher, I was the little sippy cup that went from good times to blacking out without warning. Being a blackout drinker in a work setting, as you can imagine, is… “dangerous” doesn’t even cover it. Drinking risked everything, in a career I loved and still love.
Still, even though I knew that hard truth, I could still be sad about the FOMO that wasn’t just fear – it was actual missing out. I knew that. My first work happy hour as a non-drinker, I left after a miserable 45 minutes and shed actual tears of frustration.
I had another experience on a work trip that underscored for me again that the professional networking lubrication system would never be available to me again. I was at a work meeting for a sales team in Las Vegas. Yes, effing Las Vegas, where I’d enthusiastically drank myself to hazy but happy memories many times. Vegas, a city built to drink. Where they bring you free freaking drinks. Where everyone I was with was drinking, except one sales guy who was public about his recovery status (he is a brave, brave fellow).
There was a crew of guys that hit the town after the staid work dinner, after the polite happy hour, after all the moderate drinkers went to bed. It was led by the “coffee is for closers” viper of a VP, and included some of my favorite colleagues, who I knew sure liked a drink. They had a blast. They bonded. They talked about it the whole rest of the week. The night became office legend. And I wasn’t a part of it.
I was all in my feelings about this. I was grim and sour thinking about what a great time I could have had if only I was still drinking. I was angry that I’d had to quit, and ruminated bitterly on how it would have advanced my career to have hours of party time with this powerful VP – a difficult man to get to know. How they would have clapped me on the back and roared at how I could keep up with them and still demand more shots. I was angry that I wasn’t a person who could do that any more. In my bitterness, I ate every carb I could get my hands on. At least I could still binge-eat.
And then I realized the truth. The reality would have been different. By the time I quit, I couldn’t drink like that any more. I would have ended up stumbling and staggering, desperate to pass out, and hopelessly and dangerously blacked out. I realized that I couldn’t have had that experience any more than David Bowie can rise from his grave and belt out “Suffragette City.” I liked the picture in my head, but that person simply didn’t exist any more. I wanted 2015 Stef to party in Vegas. 2018 Stef would have embarrassed herself and endangered her career. I was suddenly overwhelmed with relief that I am sober and didn’t have any apologies to make. The Wild Night experience is simply unavailable to me, and no amount of resistance will change that. Acceptance and gratitude, however, are very much available to me.
We live in a culture that is happy about drinking. It’s present in our workplaces, like it is everywhere else. Workplaces are teeming with jokes about “it’s 5:00 somewhere,” and “this is gin in my coffee cup,” and they’re jokes I still make myself. If you want to be an ally to a recovering addict, be thoughtful – not everyone is cheerful about liquor. If you are learning how to navigate life without alcohol, be careful about rose-colored glasses – you quit because you were a shitshow when you drank, not because you were just making too many friends. If you’re a powerful person in your workplace, maybe pay attention to whether you are favoring people because they’re fun and you like them, or whether you are maybe overlooking talented people who seem more private. Quitting drinking is a difficult and terrible decision. Are you contributing to a culture that makes quitting even harder for someone who wants to quit, needs to quit?
If this sparks anything for you, I’d love to hear your thoughts. What role has alcohol played in your bonding and friendships? In your professional life? If you’re in recovery, how do you cope with FOMO? Thanks for commenting!
Thanks for this. It’s an interesting topic and post.
I personally haven’t felt this conflict much. In the years when drug-centered social networking was part of my work culture, I was hardly drinking at all and just skipped them. Yes, I missed out on those connections, but I felt better off without the drugs and frankly without those people. Then, years later, when I _was_ drinking hard, the partying work culture had disappeared; those people had moved on or quit drinking already. So, I was never torn between the two sides, but rather squarely on one side or the other.
I like how you point out the huge gap between the idealized drinking you imagine and the disappointing reality you’ll probably experience. That is one of those classic thinking errors of addiction. When I got good (or merely better) at seeing through it, it quickly lost its power over me. The fact is that I don’t even _want_ those later drinking experiences, so I really am not “missing out” on anything by skipping them. And yet and yet… hope springs eternal that it would be different this time!
I met a man in treatment who was, unfortunately, an object lesson of this. He worked in sales, his work involved drinking, and eventualy he had a serious drinking problem. A treatment program is a good place to honestly work through these conflicts, and indeed he tried to. He was adament that he could not succeed in his job if he stopped that kind of “social” drinking, and that seemed true enough. He also refused to entertain any other solution, like accepting this diminished level of success or changing his line of work. I can’t imagine that he ever got sober with that attitude 🙁
I’m glad you seem to have a good handle on this challenge. As for changing the culture around drinking, I wish I knew how. In my workplaces, a few leaders set the tone, and everyone else only had a few easy options: follow or get out of the way. I have to think more about how to safely and tactfully create alternatives to that.
Thanks again for a good post.
“Idealized vs. disappointing reality” is exactly right. I wonder how much of the “everyone loves alcohol” tone was actually set by alcoholics. And the booze industry. You just never know what people are struggling with. I was recently at a work meeting where everyone was supposed to be excited about talking about their favorite candy, and one person said sadly, “I’m recently prediabetic, and I’m not really allowed a favorite candy now.” It really made me rethink how “everyone” doesn’t always include everyone.
Many work environments promote this “we work hard so we play hard” fantasy., as if you can somehow regain the time you spent OVER working by OVER playing. The Medical field is no exception. There is also a toxic masculinity tone to it, well chronicled in Emily Chang’s “Brotopia” book, deeply embedded in SiliconValley culture. Unsustainable and unrewarding .
That’s interesting to hear about the medical field. I don’t love the idea of my doctor coming into work hung over like I’ve gone to work hung over. I do find it sad that for a lot of male cultures, the only acceptable way to bond is over drinks. The “I love you, man!” cliches at the end of the all night bender are sometimes the only time dudes can express caring emotions. It’s a cliche for a reason. “Brotopia” sounds like an interesting book, I will have to check it out.