Seven Months Sober in the Service Industry
Not drinking while everyone else around me is
I’m smack dap in the middle of my Jesus year, having turned 33 in July. After my birthday, I wrote a piece about embracing the specialness of this “divine” time in my life, when I was in a frustrating period of my novel. I realized my negative self-talk and constantly keeping myself busy was not helping. Like Jesus (lol), I needed to make more time for the quiet and the stillness— to let my soul catch up to my body.
All these months later, it's interesting to see the contrast between where I was then and where I am now. The novel I had been so upset about is now finished, for now anyways, as I patiently await notes from my writing partner. I can’t say I’ve mastered the art of slowing down, but I have been more conscious of the pace of life that works for me and my creativity.
Oh, and another thing. I haven’t had a drink in seven months.
I have been called to quit alcohol for a few years now. Whenever I would have a few drinks with friends or a glass or two of wine with my family, something felt off. I kept having this recurring thought, even in the midst of my buzz: this isn’t serving me anymore.
Alcohol was affecting me a lot more than it used to. Sometimes, I found it hard to stop refilling my glass even when I set a limit for myself, which frustrated and scared me on more than one occasion. I couldn’t sleep after a night out, even if I only had one or two. I woke up anxious and in a low mood, negativity seeping into every corner of my mind and suddenly, my life wasn’t good enough—I wasn’t good enough. No matter how much fun I had or good company I shared, the feelings my body held after drinking didn’t seem worth it anymore. I felt disconnected, like I wasn’t being the authentic version of myself.
But I was afraid of the social ramifications. The majority of my friends drink, and our activities revolve around hanging out with a drink in our hands. Family dinners always include wine and the joy of sharing a glass together. My father-in-law, a former bartender in his youth, loves an excuse to make up a new cocktail and present it to me when we come over for a visit. It felt like giving up alcohol was going to offend the people that I cared about. I know they would never say that, but it was a fear nonetheless. What would the sober version of me look like?
The potential divinity of my 33rd year and the creative and spiritual goals I set for myself gave me the push I needed to try it. I love a fresh start, after all, so as of July 10, 2023, I promised myself I wouldn’t have any alcohol until my following birthday.
But there was one obstacle, one I had been working on overcoming for years now. I work in a restaurant. And if you don’t already know, there is an unspoken right of passage if you want to keep the comradery going behind the bar with your fellow co-workers.
You gotta drink.
At the country club where I waitress, the alcohol is constantly flowing. There is an entire drinking culture attached to golf, and some of the members can drink most people I know under the table. Many golfers start drinking when we open the bar at 11:00 am and don’t stop until we shut it down. With this comes talking about alcohol, playfully encouraging more as the bartender, and being in constant proximity to it. At special functions or holiday parties, the members who want to celebrate with us, their favorite staff members, often buy us shots at the end of the night. Shift drinks are poured when we clean up. After the last ticket rolls in, someone has to ask the kitchen staff what they want to drink. It's just as important of a task as wiping down the bar and ensuring there is enough rolled silverware, after all. (Always keep the kitchen happy.)
I wholeheartedly participated in this ritual for many years of my life. I got my first country club waitress job during my last year of college. I worked there part-time until graduation and then spent my entire summer pulling doubles and working seventy hours over five days a week. I was friends with all my co-workers, and we had a blast together. We always found reasons to celebrate, reasons to make cocktails. We worked from 10 am to 10 pm, which gave us enough time to head to one of the local bars after sucking down our free shift drinks. We snuck shots in the liquor closets during busy Friday nights and splashed booze in our Sunday morning coffees to ease our hangovers. By August, I kept losing my voice from lack of sleep and all that drinking. This time remains a special one in my memory, even though emotionally, I was a mess and experiencing some of the lowest points I’ve had to date, which explains the heavy drinking. But it inspired my novel, so how could it not remain special to me somehow?
My life had changed a lot by the time I got to the country club where I now work. I got older, and wiser. I calmed down a bit. But this one had free shift drinks, too and still, I partook often. It wasn’t until I started refusing my shift drinks that I realized how much drinking held us all together.
I once heard restaurant life described as a collective trauma. Everyone experiences moments in the weeds, sometimes alone or sometimes altogether and at the end of the night, when the aprons and chef coats come off, we all breathe a sigh of relief together. We did it, we are saying. We got through the night. And yeah, a drink always sounds pretty damn good at that point.
And the thing about drinking is that most people don’t want to do it alone. So you get noticed if you are the only one not pouring yourself a vodka with everyone else. You get called out.
As I’ve gotten older, I’m finally developing that thing that older women have told me about —that thing where you give a shit what people think, less and less. In my 33rd year of life, Im getting bits and pieces of that attitude. When I first started saying no to offered shift drinks, and I got the “c’mon Kailey” or the “why the hell not?” responses, I felt annoyed or frustrated that I was being pestered. Sometimes, I’d even cave and have one. But once I made the decision after my birthday, once I had the clear motivation of not wanting to consume booze for exactly one year, it got easier. I didn’t want to break the chain of days booze-free. The goal keeps me accountable.
I feel really good about my decision, and as my next country club season is approaching—the club opens up again in March—I’m going into it with the confidence that the drinking culture of restaurant work doesn’t need to affect my shift or my relationships with co-workers. They still like me and care about me. I can still be part of the camaraderie. We still have something in common— we are working hard to get through the night.
I feel really good without alcohol in my life. It was a reminder that my body always knows what is right. Alcohol feels low vibration for me at a time when I’m working hard on my spirituality and fostering my authentic, creative self. It wasn’t serving me and I suspect that even when I turn 34, I won’t want to carry drinking into that new year either. And while I’m happy to serve it to others—I like being behind the bar and I’m pretty good at balancing a martini on a tray—my environment doesn’t need to shape me as much as I used to think it does.
Cheers to that! (sorry.)
Kudos to you, Kailey! I’m going to try dry March. There I said it out loud. My secret attempt at drey January failed. 😞 Thanks for sharing!