10 Pain Points of Sobriety is a weekly series where I explore the real pain points of quitting alcohol—the uncomfortable truths that surface when initial motivation fades. I didn’t need alcohol to be creative; creativity was already part of my life. Alcohol stole the time and energy I could have spent creating. It was my escape from feelings of inadequacy, from not being good enough, from trying to fit in. Five years into sobriety, I’ve learned that removing alcohol isn’t the end—it’s the beginning of becoming who you’re meant to be. Each week covers one pain point: the struggle, the truth no one mentions, and what actually helps.
The Pain
“Josh doesn’t drink anymore.” Each time it stung a little bit. Wrap parties. Social gatherings. I heard this a lot going through my transition. Each time, my body and emotions would shift. I felt my skin tightening from tension. My breath shallower. Fear swept over. Who was I becoming if I wasn’t the person who drinks anymore?
At times, it felt like I didn’t belong. In my head, I was surely inconveniencing the people around me by being there. Tip-toeing around their emotions, thinking they felt uncomfortable because I wasn’t in on the party. Maybe they didn’t care, maybe it was more blown up in my mind.
The biggest fear wasn’t about what other people thought. It was not knowing how to be this version of myself. How do I navigate this uncharted territory?
Anxiety is something that comes up naturally for me in social situations. My nervous system runs high - I’m aware of everything. The room. The energy. People’s emotional states. Drinking used to turn the volume down. Now, walking into these gatherings, the volume was turned all the way up.
How do I move through a space when everything internally is amplified? When every conversation feels too loud, every silence too heavy, every interaction requiring a level of presence I wasn’t sure I could sustain?
Isolation seemed to be the easiest answer. Just stop going. Stay home. Avoid the situations where I didn’t know how to be myself.
A few months in, I questioned whether stopping was the right choice. Every time someone would say “Josh isn’t drinking anymore,” I would almost say fuck it and join in. I didn’t know if I’d lose the relationships I cared about. How many friendships will be affected by this? How lonely would I become?
This is the pain of identity crisis in sobriety. Not just feeling uncomfortable at parties, but genuinely not knowing who you are anymore. Every situation becomes a test you’re not prepared for. Every interaction a reminder that your script is gone.
And without knowing who you are, how do you know what you’re becoming?
I want to point out that with each of these pain points, the answers come from self-exploration. You have your own unique makeup, history, experiences, and habits that contribute to the desire to drink. What may work for you may not work for someone else. Adopting a state of curiosity, being willing to experiment, to practice, and ultimately commit to the process, will lead you more closely to the changes you wish to seek.
The Story
Click, click, click, click, click, click.
The sounds of the metal chains as they move along the track. Afraid to look down and see the ants moving around eating their cotton candy. The track increases into the vast sky.
I want to turn back. I don’t want to be on this ride. But I’m locked in. I don’t know how to embrace this as being fun. The cart tips over the peak. My stomach flies upward from the rush of speed as I scream into descent. Uncertain if I can get through it.
Identity crisis in sobriety felt like this.
A text comes through. I look down at my screen: “Hey we have this event coming up tomorrow night, want to come?”
Even in the comfort of my home, I feel strapped in. Moving up the roller coaster as I stare at the text.
Fuck. Do I wanna do this? Do I want to go? Or do I want to stay home and not have to face it?
Event after event. The same questions. The same doubt. How do I act? Who is this person that doesn’t drink? How does he move through the world now?
I didn’t know. I was crawling. One event at a time. One text at a time. Learning how to be this version of myself I didn’t recognize yet.
The Shift
The same year I committed to sobriety, I started taking on bigger projects.
A client I’d worked with for years needed a solution for live, interactive presentations during COVID. A global company. Multiple millions in revenue. High stakes.
What started as a test run with one camera grew into a full production—ten to fifteen people, multiple cameras, live switching. I needed to hire local crew to save costs, direct people who’d never been on camera, manage personalities, and keep everything on schedule across three to four-day shoots.
It required a clear mind. Focus. The kind of sustained attention that doesn’t hold up if you’re drinking at the end of the day.
When the crew would go out after wrap, I’d go back to the hotel room. Not avoiding them—choosing rest instead. Choosing to show up the next day at the level this work required.
One of the company’s leadership pulled me aside during a shoot. “Hey man, you’re really good at this. You’re doing a great job.”
That was the shift.
Not the compliment itself, but the recognition that the work had been put in. This version of myself, the one I didn’t recognize a few months earlier, was doing things drinking Josh couldn’t have done. Leading teams. Managing complexity. Being trusted to help them win those contracts.
What seemed counterintuitive was the confidence that grew from this. The willingness to step into situations I would have avoided. Difficult conversations in relationships. Bigger projects with more responsibility. Being a group leader in a community. Jumping out of an airplane.
The scary part about early sobriety is thinking you can’t be something more without alcohol’s edge. But it’s backwards. You create more edge by removing what creates the false perception. You step toward fear instead of avoiding it. You take the power back.
The experience is better when you show up fully for it.
The Science
Identity doesn’t form through belief—it forms through behavioral evidence.
Psychologist Albert Bandura’s research on self-efficacy demonstrates that people build their sense of self through what he called “mastery experiences”—direct engagement with tasks that prove capability. In a classic 1977 study, Bandura found that participants who directly faced their fears (touching snakes) developed significantly higher self-efficacy than those who only observed others doing it.
The difference was clear: you can’t think your way into a new identity. You have to act your way into it.
The brain builds identity through a feedback loop: you attempt something → observe the outcome → update your self-concept based on the evidence.
Each time you lead a team meeting, navigate a difficult conversation, or show up to an event sober, the brain collects data about who you are. This isn’t motivational psychology—it’s how the prefrontal cortex processes experience and builds the neural pathways that define capability.
Alcohol disrupts this entire system.
From the National Institute on Alcohol Abuse and Alcoholism:
Chronic alcohol exposure damages the prefrontal cortex, disrupting the executive function, decision-making, impulse control, and emotional regulation needed to initiate and sustain behavior change.
The damage goes deeper than impaired function. Alcohol blocks the feedback loop that builds identity. The brain can’t gather behavioral evidence when someone is either avoiding the situations that would test them (social events, challenging projects, difficult conversations) or showing up impaired. The brain can’t process capability when the substance is doing the work—or preventing the attempt at all.
Studies show that 15-23% of cortical neurons are lost from the frontal cortex following chronic alcohol consumption. The very structure that would allow someone to step toward fear, sustain attention across complex tasks, and integrate new behavioral evidence into self-concept is compromised.
In sobriety, something different becomes possible. Without alcohol blocking the feedback loop, you can finally gather the data. Going to the event. Facing the difficult conversation. Leading the production. Saying yes when it scares you. Each action becomes evidence. And with enough evidence, the brain updates its definition of who you are.
This is how identity forms in recovery—not through affirmations or understanding alone, but by proving you're capable of things the drinking version of yourself couldn't do.
The Practice
Identity crisis in sobriety requires daily reminders of who you’re becoming. The brain builds identity through behavioral evidence, but you have to notice the evidence you’re gathering.
When you step into the bathroom to start your day, pause and take a moment to look at your reflection.
Ask yourself: “Who am I becoming without alcohol?”
Let whatever comes up be what you take away. You don’t have to believe it right away. You just have to keep practicing.
Examples might be: I am becoming more confident. I am becoming more capable. I am becoming more honest. I am becoming [fill in the blank].
Say them internally. Let these become anchors for your day.
Throughout the day, when you’re at the event, facing the difficult conversation, or stepping into something that scares you—come back to these words. Take a breath. Remind yourself who you’re becoming.
The mirror practice isn’t about positive thinking. It’s about directing your attention toward the evidence your brain is collecting. Each time you show up, you’re gathering data. This practice helps you notice it.
You’re not the person who drinks anymore. You’re becoming someone who can handle what comes.
One day at a time. One choice at a time. One reflection at a time.
You Don’t Have to Do This Alone
What You’re Feeling:
Sobriety isn’t just about saying no—it’s learning how to live without the false edge.
The quiet moments feel heavier. The creative spark feels unpredictable. You’re trying to rebuild trust in yourself, one decision at a time.
The Pattern:
You stay clear for a few days → energy returns → a moment of doubt hits → “maybe just one” → fog creeps back in → regret → restart.
Each cycle drains your belief that change is possible.
The Hidden Truth:
You’re not broken—you’re rebuilding your creative system. The fog isn’t proof you’ve failed; it’s evidence your body and mind are recalibrating toward clarity.
What This Costs You:
The energy that could power your next breakthrough
The focus that builds real momentum
The self-trust that turns ideas into finished work
What’s Next
The Sober Creative is more than a newsletter—it’s a movement of individuals reclaiming their creativity by choosing clarity over coping.
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Each step forward is an act of becoming.
Thanks for walking this path with me.
Josh
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Thanks Josh. Really appreciate you sharing your story like this. For me, when I stopped drinking 18 years ago there was also the whole "Sam doesn't drink anymore" but my friends soon got used to it and knew that this was no part of my identity. There's still a slightly weird conversation when I meet new people in a social interaction, but now I'm in my 40s it is definitely seen as less of a big deal. And I have lots of practice of what to say! 🙏