Six Years Sober and I Almost Forgot

Have you ever forgotten your own anniversary? This month marks six years since I stopped drinking alcohol. March 10th.

I almost forgot about it entirely. I know people who celebrate every year. They post about it. They talk about how important it is. They mark the milestone publicly.

My journey was completely opposite.

There Was No Dramatic Story

It wasn't intentional. It started the day the world shut down, March 10, 2020. COVID lockdown hit. We were all home.

And I realized something sitting there: I was a social drinker. When there were no social events, there was no drinking.

And I just... never started again. No intervention. No rock bottom. No moment of clarity where I said, "I need to quit."

Just: "Huh. That's interesting."

And If We're Honest

We want dramatic stories. When people find out I don't drink, they ask: "What happened?"

They're waiting for the story. The event. The turning point. They want to hear about the night that changed everything.

But there was no night. There was a pandemic. And sparkling water. And curiosity about why I thought I needed alcohol in the first place.

That's it.

What I Don't Have

I don't have a "before alcohol and after alcohol" narrative. I don't split my life into two chapters. I don't talk about sobriety like it saved me from myself.

What I have is this: I wake up every morning without a hangover. I don't feel yucky. I don't have those symptoms.

And I wonder sometimes how much money I've saved by not drinking for six years. But mostly? I just don't think about it.

The Glass in My Hand

One thing I did notice: I love having a glass in my hand when I talk to people. There's something about it.

So now, every time I go to a restaurant, you'll see me ordering sparkling water in a wine glass. Even at a Mexican place. Even at networking events.

Sometimes I drink from a wine glass at home. I genuinely enjoy the feeling of a nice glass in my hand.

And you know what? It works magic. A friend of mine wasn't drinking for a while. She saw me doing this and started doing the same thing.

She told me: "I loved what I saw you doing. I started doing it. And it definitely helps." There's something about holding a glass with lime and bubbly water inside it.

It gives you the ritual without the alcohol.

Check: What Are You Actually Enjoying?

So here's the uncomfortable question: Do you actually like the taste of alcohol? Or do you like the ritual, the glass, the social permission to relax?

Because personally, I think a virgin mojito tastes wonderful. It doesn't need rum.

When I go to Mexico, the virgin mojito tastes absolutely amazing to me. People say: "I like the taste of alcohol."

Do you? Really? Or is that just the lie we tell ourselves so we don't have to look at what it's actually doing?

What it's helping us cope with. What feelings we're numbing. What we don't want to process.

What Alcohol Was Doing for Me

For me, alcohol was: Permission to relax. As if I couldn't relax without it. A social lubricant. As if I couldn't connect without it.

An anchor to normalcy. As if life required rituals involving a substance to feel structured.

And when I removed it, none of those things disappeared. I still relax. I still connect. I still have rituals.

I just do them without needing to alter my state to feel like I'm allowed to.

What Happens When You Stop Waiting for Permission

Because that's what alcohol does, isn't it? It gives you permission.

Permission to be loose. To let go. To not be "on" all the time.

But here's the uncomfortable truth: You don't need permission. You can choose to relax. You can choose to connect. You can choose to let go.

Without needing a substance to make it okay. And once you realize that—once you give yourself permission without the drink—you don't miss it.

At least I haven't. Not once in six years.

The Current Generation Is Drinking Less

Statistics show that the current generation is drinking less and less. That's fascinating to me.

And I wonder if it's because they're asking the question earlier: What is this actually doing for me?

Not "How do I moderate?" Not "How do I drink responsibly?" But: Why do I need this at all?

Because once you ask that question—once you sit with it honestly—the answer is usually uncomfortable.

For the Person Who's Curious

Maybe you're reading this and thinking: "I don't have a problem. I just drink socially." Same. I didn't have a problem either.

But I got curious. And curiosity led me to ask: What would happen if I just... didn't?

What if I went to the event and ordered sparkling water? What if I sat with the discomfort of not having the ritual?

What if I let myself relax without needing the glass of wine first? And what I found was: nothing bad happened.

Actually, a lot of good things happened. I slept better. I felt clearer. I saved money. I didn't wake up regretting anything I said.

But more than that—I learned I didn't need it. And that's powerful.

The Question I Keep Coming Back To

Why do we drink? Not "Is it bad?" Not "Should we quit?"

But: Why do we think we need it?

What are we using it to cope with? What are we numbing? What are we avoiding processing?

Because if the answer is stress, loneliness, overwhelm, grief, boredom—then the alcohol isn't solving anything. It's just delaying the reckoning.

And eventually, the thing you're avoiding doesn't go away. It just gets louder.

Six Years Later

I didn't quit drinking. I just stopped. And I didn't replace it with a new identity.

I didn't become "sober Irina" versus "drinking Irina." I'm just... Irina. Who doesn't drink.

Who holds a wine glass full of sparkling water. Who sometimes forgets her own anniversary.

Because it's not a big deal. It was never a big deal. It was just a choice.

And six years later, I still think it's the right one.

If you're curious about what might change if you questioned the things you think you need, we're here.

At MotivAction®, we help people build awareness and resilience—not through rules, but through understanding what's actually happening underneath.

Learn more at MotivAction.academy.