There’s More Than One Way to Get Sober

Personal Perspective: Finding a recovery path that works for you.

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KEY POINTS

• Sobriety doesn’t have to follow a single model—different paths work for different people.

• LGBTQ people often face unique challenges that can influence substance use and recovery.

• Self-reflection, healing shame, and understanding your patterns are key to lasting sobriety.

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For many people, Alcoholics Anonymous (AA) is synonymous with sobriety from substances. The 12-step model has helped millions around the world, and I have deep respect for the freedom it has given so many—including friends, clients, and people I love. But 12-steps isn’t the only way.

And it wasn’t my way.

I didn’t get sober through AA. My path looked different, and for years I hesitated to talk about it because I never wanted to diminish the value of the 12-step approach for those who rely on it.

But as a therapist, I’ve learned that recovery has to meet people where they are. When someone feels forced into a single path, they often pull away from the very help they’re seeking.

I may challenge them or invite another perspective, but I want to honor their autonomy, timing, and what works for them.

Whether it’s through the 12-steps or something else, healing from the guilt and shame many of us carry is an essential part of any path to sobriety.

Many people reach out to me with questions about sobriety: How did you do it? Where do I start? What if I don’t connect with the “God part” in AA? Am I allowed to try something else?

I understand those questions. Not everyone feels connected to God or to anything spiritual. But in my experience—both personally and professionally—healing our relationship with God, in whatever way we define it, is foundational for a meaningful and sober life.

At the same time, I also believe people need to find their own way. What matters is that the path helps us become more whole, more honest with ourselves, and more connected to something larger than our pain.

My Journey to Sobriety

Seven years before I quit drinking, I heard a story that I never forgot. A woman I knew—I'll call her Sarah—shared that she had spent most of her adult life barely drinking. A glass of wine here or there at a party. Then, suddenly, her husband of 30 years died from a massive heart attack. Her grief was devastating and she started having trouble sleeping. So, to take the edge off, she started drinking a glass of wine before bed.

One glass turned into two glasses, then three. Eventually, she said, she’d wake up in the morning with an empty bottle next to her.

Within months, she was waking up unsure of how she fell asleep. She told me, “Alcoholism is like a light switch. If it runs in your family, alcohol can flip the switch at any time—no matter how old you are.”

I started to think about my own family and how prevalent addiction was. If what she said was true, then every drink I took was a roll of the dice.

My decision to quit drinking didn’t happen over night. It was a growing curiosity that wouldn’t leave me alone.

I started noticing moments where I felt almost outside myself while drinking, like I was watching from a distance. Once, while using substances in the bathroom at a bar, something inside whispered, This isn’t going to end well. Your story won’t end well. Stop while you’re ahead.

Yet I ignored it and paid for it with hangovers, nights lost because I couldn’t remember, and shame that came from knowing I was doing something I knew deep down wasn’t aligned with my core values.

Numbing was easier than facing the parts of myself I didn’t yet want to see.

My sobriety unfolded in phases:

Phase one: I kept it private. I told people I was "taking a month off" since I wasn’t confident yet, and peer pressure can be hard to resist.

Phase two: I shared it with people close to me. Friendships fell away, routines changed, and without alcohol I faced who I really was, asking the questions I’d been avoiding: What did alcohol give me? What did I think I needed from it? Why was I holding on to something that never brought real joy?

Phase three: Where I am now. I feel confident, grateful, and clear about my sobriety. Sobriety doesn’t feel like giving something up—it feels like gaining what was lost. For me, “recovery” means recovering myself.

Why Many LGBTQ People Turn to Substances

Substance use is complicated for anyone, but in the LGBTQ community—especially among gay men—it’s layered.

Many of us grew up without safe spaces, carrying internalized shame, and without examples of healthy connection. By the time we found community, substances were already woven into the culture. For many, gay bars are the only place to find connection, and when substances meet unhealed shame and trauma, it becomes the perfect storm for addiction.

Substances can make socializing easier. For shame in particular, they’re like Pepto-Bismol, helping to wash it away. They quiet the loneliness and create a sense of belonging we hadn’t been taught to feel on our own.

I worked in a bar for eleven years, seven of them sober, and I watched how drinking and drug use blended into everyday life. Alcohol and drugs often helped men connect, especially in gay communities where many of us still carry unhealed beliefs about what it means to be gay.

If you’re curious about sobriety or thinking about cutting back or quitting, there are a few things that helped me:

First, pay attention to what the substance is actually doing for you. What role does it play in your life?

Second, explore your relationship with it the way you would with a person. Is it supportive, or does it pull you away from yourself and into choices you wouldn’t otherwise make? Does it leave you feeling more whole or emptier than before?

And finally, ask yourself what story you’re telling about why you drink or use. Before I became sober, I thought I was funnier when I was drunk or high. After a few months without substances, I realized, my humor is still intact. It requires me to let my guard down and to be seen.

Years ago, a friend who had given up substances relapsed. He told me a friend said, “You can keep drinking if you want, but you don’t ever have to feel like this again.” For me, knowing I don’t ever have to feel hungover again is a gift—and it’s what keeps me grateful for my sobriety today.

If you’ve struggled with alcohol or drugs—or wondered what life would be like without them—there’s more than one way to get sober. It doesn’t have to look like mine or anyone else’s; it just has to work for you.

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Psychology Today

Chris Tompkins is a gay male therapist in West Hollywood (Los Angeles) who specializes in working with adult gay men, individuals and couples. He supports clients navigating identity, relationships, religious trauma, addiction, and self-esteem. To learn more, explore therapeutic services or schedule a free consultation.