A year before I got sober, I went to two 12-step meetings. I was 25 and a few years into drinking heavily every night. Still, when I shared how much I drank with the group — mainly white men at least 10 years my senior — they practically smirked. It appeared I was a cute girl with a questionable penchant for wine.
Convinced I didn’t have a problem after hearing these dudes swap drinking horror stories — beer while driving to work! — I walked straight to a bar after the meeting. The following year was the worst of my life.
Women’s and non-binary/trans folk’s addictions are severely underestimated. According to a 2002 study, women are more likely than men to seek medical help for problems relating to alcohol consumption, yet are less likely to be identified and diagnosed with alcohol use disorder. Furthermore, a 2009 study noted that women who struggle with alcohol use disorder are frequently “unseen, misunderstood, misdiagnosed, or ignored” by their primary care physicians.
Nevertheless, alcohol use disorder among women in the U.S. increased by 83.7 percent between 2002 and 2013, according to a 2017 study. Not to mention the fact that LGBTQIA+ individuals are 2.5 times more likely to experience substance use disorder compared to heterosexual individuals, according to a study by the American Psychiatric Association.
Additionally, 3.8 million female survivors of rape have post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) stemming from the traumatic event, and 50 percent of people seeking treatment for substance use disorder have a co-occurring diagnosis of PTSD. We live in a rape culture where women’s stories are constantly questioned. A 2016 meta-analysis of studies examining unacknowledged rape found that only five percent of sexual assault incidents were reported to the police. One of the top three reasons was “fear of not being believed.”
Women who struggle with alcohol use disorder are frequently “unseen, misunderstood, misdiagnosed, or ignored” by their primary care physicians.
This parallels with findings in the 2002 study on misdiagnosing alcohol use disorder in women. In the study, the authors note: “Much of the stigma attached to women when they drink is related to failure to fulfill societal expectations about femininity and role of caretaker and mother. This stigmatization may lead to increased isolation and decreased opportunities for identification and treatment.”
From rape to drinking to sobriety, women constantly question themselves, and how they are fulfilling gendered expectations.
Because of this, women and non-binary/trans folks also haven’t been recognized as leaders in the recovery space. Yet the Internet and social media are turning this concept on its head, with online recovery spaces such as Tempest and SheRecovers.
Recovery is no longer a secret kept in church basements; women and non-binary/trans folks are sharing their stories to heal and help others, says Tawny Lara, a sober writer, public speaker, entrepreneur, and event producer.
“Sobriety is being celebrated, and it’s a sign of personal growth, whereas five years ago, it was a sign of weakness and something being wrong with you,” Lara says.
So, how do we know things have really changed? One word: Criticism.
Redefining rock bottom
At this point, you’ve probably read the scathing articles chronicling the “sober curious” movement; the New York Times called it “somewhere between Carrie Nation’s and Carrie Bradshaw.”
The Guardian wrote, “While having a cool life may once have meant getting in at 5 am and sleeping with your makeup on, today’s luxury looks more like having a chic ‘spirit-free’ beverage, leaving the party at its peak, completing your nighttime skincare routine in full, and getting a good sleep so you’re ready for a productive morning.”
The headline of Vox’s recent piece “Sobriety is having a moment. Here come the influencers” says it all; the article also included an Instagram post of LivingSober365 wearing a necklace with the words “sober bitch” etched into metal.
These days, you no longer have to identify as an alcoholic to quit drinking, and you don’t need to be a friend of Bill W. to put down the bottle.
I’ve got news for you: This criticism exists because people are terrified. They’re scared because for nearly 100 years, society’s narrative has stated that you’re either an alcoholic or you’re not. If you are, you go to Alcoholics Anonymous forever and ever. End of story.
These days, you no longer have to identify as an alcoholic to quit drinking, and you don’t need to be a friend of Bill W. to put down the bottle.
Jes Valentine, a sober tattoo artist, explores the grey areas of drinking on her podcast Seltzer Squad, which she co-hosts with Kate Zander. In the episode “Am I An Alcoholic?,” the two chat about different types of problem drinking.
“You always have that picture of an alcoholic as a hobo on a park bench with a brown paper bag,” Valentine says. “You see people on the Internet openly talking about their sobriety, and I think it’s great that people are talking about it.”
“You see people on the Internet openly talking about their sobriety, and I think it’s great that people are talking about it.”
In fact, one in six U.S. adults binge drinks about four times a month, and more than 90 percent of U.S. adults who drink excessively report binge drinking in the past 30 days, according to the Center for Disease Control.
Ultimately, this shoves a mirror in people’s faces, says Amanda Kuda, a sober writer, coach, and educator.
“Instead of saying, ‘Good for you, that’s great,’ it’s easier to challenge it because when you support it, it leaves you in this crazy uncomfortable place,” Kuda says. “It’s a little bit of cowardice; you’re just complying to the societal norm because it’s easier and more comfortable.”
Perhaps most significantly, though, this gendered vitriol exists because it’s primarily women who are leading the way in changing the sobriety narrative, and society loves to downplay women’s drinking.
The end of the patriarchal model
For many people — myself included — the thought of attending 12-step meetings was a major obstacle to my sobriety. I’m hesitant to bash 12-step groups because I have friends who would literally be dead if not for Bill W. Yet I’ve also grappled with the patriarchal nature of the group, which can best be described as dogmatism at its finest with a large heaping of mistrust in self.
When a person walks into a 12-step meeting, they’re told they’re powerless. As a woman with a history of questionable sexual encounters, that’s the last message I needed to hear. I needed someone to tell me that I’m powerful beyond measure, and that I didn’t need a man — i.e., God — to lead me to greener pastures.
I needed someone to tell me that I’m powerful beyond measure, and that I didn’t need a man — i.e., God — to lead me to greener pastures.
I’m not alone in my distrust of 12-step programs. The Atlantic published an article in 2015 titled “The Irrationality of Alcoholics Anonymous,” citing various studies analyzing the ineffectiveness of the heavily lauded model.
“No conclusive data exist on how well it works,” the article states. “In 2006, the Cochrane Collaboration, a health-care research group, reviewed studies going back to the 1960s and found that ‘no experimental studies unequivocally demonstrated the effectiveness of AA or [12-step] approaches for reducing alcohol dependence or problems.’”
Lara Frazier, a sober freelance writer, started her recovery in 12-step meetings. In 2016, though, she started to question the model.
“When I first read Holly [Whitaker’s] manifesto, I was deep in 12-step, and I was like, ‘Oh no,” Frazier says. “I had never met anyone who had recovered outside of AA.”
Frazier ultimately left 12-step meetings and signed up for Tempest, formerly Hip Sobriety.
“Other women were willing to be honest about their stories,” Frazier says. “Their bravery is contagious, and they pass on that torch to others.”
Of course, cis women are not the only ones opening up online and changing the patriarchal model of traditional recovery systems. Non-binary and trans folks are also a major part of our current sobriety momentum, and they’re rocking it. People like Tracy Murphy and Lazarus are making major strides for queer and people of color through their activism, online and off.
Murphy’s recent post stating, “There is nothing wrong with you” is a particularly moving part of their story. Their openness about their sobriety journey as a queer, agender lesbian is particularly inspiring for those who don’t often see themselves as part of a traditional cis-gendered, heteronormative narrative.
“What I’m interested in is dismantling cisheteronormativity in recovery communities through language and conversation,” Murphy says. “I know that cisheteronormativity is a byproduct of the patriarchy but, in the recovery communities I’m a part of or observe, it’s often perpetrated by white cishet women and white cis gay folks. That makes my focus less on men (who are often the focus of ‘smashing the patriarchy’) and more on the systems or ideas or unquestioned beliefs that enable white cis gay folks and hetero women to be able to disconnect with the humanity of queer and trans folks, especially queer and trans POC.”
“The things I do, like talking about how language impacts everyone, discussing my own internalized homophobia, and acknowledging folks of all sexual and gender identities helps to create a space where people feel seen” Murphy adds. “Knowing that you’re not alone or weird or a freak is so important for folks in the LGBTQIA+ community because feeling ‘other’ is often one of the core reasons we began or continued to drink problematically in the first place.”
“Their bravery is contagious, and they pass on that torch to others.”
Meanwhile, Lazarus admits tot feeling that their recovery was very gendered from the start — a fact that was further emphasized by also being the only Black person in the room. “‘Men and women’ echoed out in church basements as I squirmed in my seat and focused on just making it through another day without a drink. On top of that, I couldn’t help but notice how often I was the only Black face in the meetings.”
“A lot of folks don’t know how hard it is for trans folks,” Lazarus continues. “Especially for those like me that live outside the binary, to find in-patient facilities that will accept us or provide a safe place to heal. Legal scholar Dean Spade calls these spaces sites of ‘administrative violence’ where the maintaining and policing of the gender binary hurts us — and rehab centers fall under this umbrella. As a result, one of the only options for trans folks are the peer-led meetings often dripping with heteropatriarchal words and resources.”
This is one reason why it’s so important for women, non-binary, and trans-folks to continue to rock their recoveries and open up online and off. It is only through supporting one another that true change can happen because, yes, that change is needed, too.
“The first weeks sober are hard as hell — trying to find the help that will slow you heal as your whole self is a Sisyphean task,” Lazarus says. “I ended up white-knuckling it through my early days, and am grateful now for a solid community of queer and sober folks in recovery. Trans addicts exist, and we have every right to recover as anyone else.”
“Trans addicts exist, and we have every right to recover as anyone else.”
In the 1986 journal article “How Many Feminists Does It Take to Make A Joke? Sexist Humor and What’s Wrong with It,” Merrie Bergmann writes: “For anyone who refers to feminists as ‘women’s libbers’ or, better yet, as ‘ladies libbers,’ it typically takes only one feminist to make a joke. In fact, she is the joke.”
Yet again, women and non-binary/trans folks have become the joke, and this time, it’s because they’re changing the recovery narrative. Yes, there are hashtags. Yes, there are selfies. But more than anything, there’s bravery, honesty, and the willingness to stand up and ask for help in a world that discourages women and others in need to reach out.
I’d take that over moldy church basements any day.
