You’re dreading it.

Not the wedding, exactly. You’re looking forward to being a witness to love.

It’s the open bar.

It’s the champagne toast when everyone lifts a glass and suddenly you feel like the most visible person in the room. It’s the cocktail hour where drinking is the activity. It’s the reception that doesn’t end until midnight, and then the after party where the drinks keep flowing into the morning.

Here’s what I want you to know before you go: a wedding is just a BBQ in a prettier dress. You’ve already done the hard part. You know how to show up sober to a social event. You know how to hold a drink that isn’t alcohol. You know how to deflect the question. You know how to leave.

The wedding just has a few extra moments that we’ll go over…

Let’s walk through your first sober wedding

BEFORE YOU LEAVE THE HOUSE

Decide now. Don’t wait until you’re pulling into the parking lot, or standing at the bar as the bartender looks at you expectantly. Right now, today decide: you are not drinking at this wedding. Make the decision in the safety of your own kitchen and don’t question it.

Eat before you go. A real meal with protein, not just a handful of crackers. Eat a real meal.

Know what you’re ordering at the bar before you walk in. Sparkling water with lime. Club soda and cranberry. Your favorite N/A option if the venue carries one. Have your order ready so you won’t have to think about it.

THE COCKTAIL HOUR

This is the hardest part of the night, and it happens first, which is actually lucky because you’ll get it over with while you still have energy.

Almost everyone is drinking, but no one is tipsy enough not to to notice that you’re not drinking. The waiters are circling with trays of champagne.

Someone named Linda might hand you a glass of champagne without asking and maybe you’ll take it and hold it because you’re caught off guard. That’s OK. You don’t have to drink it. You don’t have to explain it. Set it down on a table and go find the shrimp cocktail.

Find your person in the room, whether it’s your husband or partner or friend from yoga or family member who knows you’re not drinking, and stay close to them for the first twenty minutes. You just need to get your footing. Once you do, you’ll settle in the same way you did at the BBQ and the concert. The first twenty minutes are always the hardest.

THE CHAMPAGNE TOAST

Here it is. The moment you’ve been dreading since the save-the-date.

Everyone picks up a glass. The best man clears his throat. You feel every eye in the room and you are certain that everyone notices you and your glass of sparkling water.

They do not. I promise.

Pick up whatever is in front of you. Raise it. Smile. Toast. And then keep it moving.

You’re here and you’re present and you will remember this toast, which is more than you could have said a year ago.

Clink your glass. Take a sip of your water. And that’s it. It’s over. You did it.

DINNER

This is the easy part. You’re seated. You have a glass of water. The food is coming. The conversation is flowing and you realize somewhere around the salad course that you’re feeling fine. Maybe even more than fine. You might even be having a good time.

This is the part where the old version of you would have had three glasses of wine and started to blur around the edges. This version of you will remember the toasts. You’ll remember who sat at your table and what they said and how it felt to be in that room.

THE DANCING

Here is a gift sobriety gives you that nobody talks about: you will be the best dancer at the reception.

While everyone else is at least 4 drinks deep before they step foot on the dance floor— their faculties overridden by alcohol, their coordination vanished, looking like Elaine from Seinfeld— you will have your wits about you.

Dancing sober is terrifying for the first 30 seconds, and then one of the most exhilarating things you can do. You’ll realize, mid “Mr. Brightside,” that you’ve healed a part of yourself on the dance floor.

Get out there. Shake that booty. Feel free.

THE EXIT

Leave before it gets weird. You know when that is. It’s around the time the tie comes off and someone requests “Don’t Stop Believin’” for the third time. That’s your cue.

Say your goodbyes. Hug the couple.

And then get in your car.

THE DRIVE HOME

You’ll have the windows down. You’ll replay the ceremony and the first dance and that thing your friend said that made you laugh so hard your eyes watered. Your feet will hurt from dancing the night away.

And you’ll think: I didn’t miss a single thing.

Keep going.

💛

—Suzanne

New here? Catch up on the series:

Hi! I'm Suzanne Warye. I write about the myth of moderation, the lie of rock bottom, and the bright side of sobriety. My book, The Sober Shift, is the book I needed when I was facing my first sober summer.

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If you read this and thought I want to do this with other moms who get it, that’s why I created The Sober Mom Life Cafe.

It’s a private community of sober and sober-curious moms doing exactly what you’re doing this summer. We have 6 Peer Support Zoom meetings each week (including one I host on Friday mornings), a book club, a private Facebook group.

Join us in The Cafe ☕️

Think back to your first concert: Who did you see? How old were you? (Let me know in the comments!)

I was 12. My dad took my friends and me to see New Kids on the Block at Alpine Valley. Though my childhood memories are spotty at best, I can vividly remember the two hour drive down, excitement swirling around us as my dad blasted “Hangin Tough” and “Step by Step” on the cassette deck.

That concert was magic. We had seats on the lawn and the guys looked like mini action figures on the stage, but that didn’t stop it from feeling like Jordan Knight was singing “Please Don’t Go Girl” just for me.

Somewhere along the way, as my naive preteen self grew into an angsty teen and party college girl, my unbridled childhood enthusiasm was muted by bottomless beer and power hours.

Maybe this trajectory is similar to you. Maybe you can’t remember a time when you were fully present at a concert.

Because we’ve been convinced that alcohol is essential to enjoy concerts.

I’ve been to countless concerts and invited alcohol along with many times, and by the encore I was fuzzy at best, brownout or blackout at worst. I hadn’t planned to miss the concert. I didn’t want to miss my favorite song. But, when alcohol is involved, even the most carefully laid plans can evaporate.

In 2018 my husband and I went to see one of my all-time favorite artists, Ray Lamontagne. It was a hot summer night in Chicago, and he was playing at Northerly Island - a cool amphitheater nestled on the shores of Lake Michigan. The weather was perfect. The music was amazing. And I didn’t think twice about having some drinks.

I didn’t get drunk. I remember every song. At first glance, it would seem that alcohol didn’t steal anything from me during that concert. Except…

I was waiting all night to hear my favorite Ray song, “Jolene.” I was standing in line for the bathroom (because drinks), when I heard those beautifully haunting opening chords. My heart sank. I missed it.

I came back to that moment a lot during my first year of sobriety. Alcohol is sneaky and steals so much more than memories.

That’s what alcohol cost me, and maybe it’s costing you more than you’ve realized, too.

Your first sober BBQ was a daylight test - tactical, social, contained. The concert is different. It’s emotional and personal and experiencing it fully present can feel a lot like healing.

Tips for your first sober concert

Decide you won’t drink. Don’t leave it up to chance. Don’t wait to see how you feel when you walk into the venue. You have to make the decision before you leave home and leave nothing up for debate. You will commit to experiencing a sober concert, whether you think you’ll enjoy it - or not.

Avoid the “just one” trap. You know that tricky trap, right? It’s the loop that sounds like: everyone here is having more fun than me, I used to love this, one would be fine, I’m the only sober person in this entire amphitheater. None of that is true, no matter how true it feels. Remember, you don’t want just one. You will have just one, and alcohol will override your brain as it has done a thousand times. You never want just one.

Focus on the music. You’re going to feel it. The music might make you tear up with gratitude or hope or nostalgia or heartbreak. That’s it. That’s why you came. After tonight, you’ll have different memories of these songs. Now when the song comes on the radio, you’ll remember the night you chose to be in the moment with the music you love.

Call it a night. The rule for your first sober summer: nothing fun ever happens after 10pm. (Actually, that’s a good rule for life.) No second location, no after party. You’re tired and will be so happy you called it a night when the concert was over.

Drive home happy. You’ll drive home with the windows down. You’ll replay the show in your head and remember every song. You’ll feel energized by the natural dopamine of live music and the crowd.

It might even feel a little like being 12 again.

💛

—Suzanne

Hi! I'm Suzanne Warye. I write about the myth of moderation, the lie of rock bottom, and the bright side of sobriety. My book, The Sober Shift, is the book I needed when I was facing my first sober summer.

You RSVP’d “yes” to the BBQ invite when in it dropped in your inbox a month ago and now that the party is almost here, you’re dreading it as much as you would a root canal. (A tale as old as time.) Except…there’s a small part of you that wants to get your first sober BBQ over with —and so you decide to go.

If a summer BBQ/party elicits memories of day-drinking under the sun and carefree afternoons that dissolved into sloppy, drunken nights and shame-filled mornings, this post is for you.

And, congrats! You are well on your way to shifting your perspective of day-drinking. What you once considered a fun way to spend a day will soon turn into your idea of hell on earth.

First, though, you have to give yourself a chance to spend an afternoon at a party with a cold non-alcoholic drink in your hand, knowing you’ll remember every conversation you had and go to bed with a clear conscience and a lightness you haven’t felt since childhood.

Before we get started, remember…

Let’s walk through your first sober BBQ

3:30pm — before you leave. Make sure you decide what you’ll be drinking, and bring it with you to the party. Don’t leave it up to the host to provide N/A drinks for you. Grab a 6 pack of your favorite Athletic Brewing N/A beer or make a pitcher of your go-to mocktail. Come prepared. What to wear? Something with pockets. (Trust me on this one.) Eat a little something with protein before you go. Don’t show up hungry and stressed.

4:15pm — the arrival. The first 10 minutes are the hardest. Plan on feeling socially awkward. You don’t know what to do with your hands (remember the pockets??), where to stand, what to say. You’re suddenly aware of every move you make, and you feel like a fish out of water. That’s OK. The feelings will subside —they always do —and you’ll settle in. Make sure you have your go-to drink in your hand right away.

5:30pm — the questions. Someone you run into is likely to push and ask, “Are you sure you don’t want a drink?!” This is where you use one of your two rehearsed responses from the toolkit and just keep it moving. They’re going to forget you’re not drinking, especially as they keep their drinks flowing.

6pm — boredom sets in. Most of the guests will probably be drinking, which means by now the party is in full swing. You might feel suddenly, dramatically bored. You might feel compelled to drink to liven things up, and feel the familiar chaos alcohol used to bring. Instead, take a moment to notice and name it: “Oh, this is boredom. This isn’t a sign I should drink. This is a sign the buzz used to take over, and now my brain is online.”

8pm — the exit. The single best skill of your first sober summer is leaving on time. Not waiting for when the party gets weird, or when everyone is drunk and annoying. Before. While you’re still having a good time. Pick your exit line in the car on the way there, not at the door on the way out. “We’ve got to get the kids down” works in every demographic. Then go. The post-9pm portion of any cookout is, statistically, where the people who stayed regret it.

Now, imagine…

You get in the car at 8:14pm. Your kid will be asleep before you hit the highway. You’re not worried about getting pulled over for a DUI. You know you’re driving safely. You’ll think: that wasn’t actually as hard as I made it in my head. You’ll think: I remembered the entire conversation about the Italy trip. You’ll think: I am going to feel so proud of myself tomorrow.

The best news? You’ll have your first sober BBQ under your belt and be well on your way to seeing day-drinking for what it is: actual hell on earth.

I’m so proud of you.

Let’s meet back here next week and I’ll walk you through your first sober concert.

Keep going,

-Suzanne

Share Sober for Good by Suzanne Warye

If you read this and thought I want to do this with other moms who get it, that’s why I created The Sober Mom Life Cafe.

It’s a private community of sober and sober-curious moms doing exactly what you’re doing this summer. We have 6 Peer Support Zoom meetings each week (including one I host on Friday mornings), a book club, a private Facebook group.

Join us in The Cafe ☕️

Hi! I'm Suzanne Warye. I write about the myth of moderation, the lie of rock bottom, and the bright side of sobriety. My book, The Sober Shift, is the book I needed when I was facing my first sober summer.

The free Sober Summer Series will walk you through every scenario this summer. This is the toolkit you set up before the scenarios start.

Summer, for a lot of us, was the season alcohol made the most sense. The patios. The pool floats. The “it’s five o’clock somewhere” that started at noon.

Winter has cozy substitutes: a hot chocolate, a roaring fire in the fireplace, a heavy blanket. Fall has…well, pumpkin flavored everything. Spring is gentle.

Summer doesn’t have substitutes. Yet.

Here’s what I want you to know:

The first sober summer is probably the hardest season of year one.

I’m telling you that not to scare you, but because I think the worst part of early sobriety is feeling like something is wrong with you when really, you’re just doing the hardest version of the assignment first.

If summer feels disproportionately heavy, you’re not weak.

You’re not “bad at this.”

You’re doing the hard work up front, which will make everything that comes next feel lighter.

Read more

My book, The Sober Shift, is the book I needed when I was facing my first sober summer. Grab your copy now!

Can you feel it?

The days are getting longer, the patios are filling up, someone in your mom group chat sends the first “rosé season ☀️” text, and your stomach drops a little. Summer is almost here.

And maybe you’re secretly bracing for all of it to happen again this summer.

I want to tell you something I wish someone had told me before my first sober summer:

It’s probably going to feel weird at first.

And then it might feel like freedom.

And that’s why for the next twelve weeks, every Thursday morning now through Labor Day, you’ll get an essay from me in your inbox that walks you through the specific thing that can be challenging about your first sober summer.

Over the next 12 weeks, we’re going to walk through all of it:

The Social Stuff — the events you’ve always assumed required drinking.

• Your first sober BBQ

• The wedding with the open bar

• The country club event

• The girls’ trip

The Family Stuff — the days that can feel like a minefield.

• The pool day with your kids when 12pm used to mean wine

• Your first sober vacation with your husband

• The cookout where you used to disappear into a third drink by 5pm

The Big Holidays — the dates you’ve been secretly dreading since March.

• Fourth of July (and the long weekend on either side of it)

• Labor Day weekend — and the Tuesday after, which nobody warns you about

The Hard Ones — Three essays I wish I had at the beginning of my first sober summer.

When did summer start requiring alcohol?

You’ve been taught that summer means fun and freedom, and that requires alcohol. Summer is the big exhale after a long, hard winter.

But…where did you learn that? And how old were you?

I want you to go back to summer when you were a kid - just 9 or 10. You didn’t think about alcohol. You didn’t have a running tally in your mind of the number of drinks you’d had that week, or a nonstop negotiation with alcohol as background noise. You had full days, from sun up to sun down. You had dewy grass and cannonball contests and s’mores. You had sandy feet and sunburned shoulders and when you finally collapsed into bed at night, you smelled like outside.

That was freedom.

Somewhere along the way, you were convinced that alcohol was essential for a “fun” summer. That the pool days weren’t fun enough without champagne. That a day at the lake required beer. And soon enough, you were bought in.

Big Alcohol spends billions of dollars every year making us believe we need alcohol to enjoy summer. Meanwhile, we’re slipping into addiction, drowning in our shame and blaming ourselves for not drinking the “right” way.

It’s time to reclaim your summer. It’s time to feel free.

The freedom when you wake up early because you want to, not because you’ve been awake since 2am with your heart in your throat. The freedom of remembering the vacation. The freedom leaving the cookout at 9pm when your kids are ready to go because the second half of the party was never the good part anyway.

That’s the summer we’re going to build, week by week, starting now.

A reminder

Summer is composed of weeks and weekends and days and moments. It’s not ONE BIG SEASON. You don’t have to focus on a sober summer.

That’s too big. Instead, we’ll break it down into more manageable parts here.

And we’ll walk through it.

Together.

Week by week.

You are not going to white-knuckle through this. You are going to be walked through it.

Save this email. Star it, pin it, screenshot it — whatever you do. You’re going to come back to it on a Friday afternoon in July when the group text lights up and you feel the pressure to grab a drink.

This is the summer you stop losing the plot in August.

This is the summer you’ll remember.

Let’s go.

xo, Suzanne

LISTEN TO THE EPISODE: Day Drinking Is Hell On Earth

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