Quitting Drinking Was Easy. Learning How to Be Myself Around Friends Was Hard.

About six months after I quit drinking, I sat at a corner table in a candlelit restaurant with one of my closest friends. It was the kind of place where we used to refill each other’s wine glasses all night, sharing appetizers and intimate details of our lives.

That night, though, it felt more like we were catching up: surface-level conversation you might have with a work acquaintance or when seated next to a distant cousin at a wedding. By the time the entrees came, we’d reached the end of these “so what else is new” updates. I recognized that we were at a threshold — one I had been unable to cross so far without booze.

There are studies that confirm what I — and anyone else who has ever made friends with another drunk woman in a bar bathroom — have always known: Drinking can help build social bonds. It lowers inhibitions and fosters feelings of connection. But what happens when you’ve come to rely on alcohol to establish and reinforce those connections?

I started drinking when I was 13, skipping class to chug cheap vodka and 40s with friends. We’d sprawl out on park benches or huddle on stoops, laughing about everything and nothing. I liked the sloshy, blurry feeling; the warmth in my cheeks and heaviness in my body. But what I liked most about being drunk was that it made it OK to say how sad I was — or to just start crying, without saying anything at all.

By my late teens, a drink in the evening (and then a second and third) to soften the edges of my life seemed normal — even more so once I became a bartender, tucked away in a nocturnal world that revolved around alcohol. I prided myself on being able to do shots with customers all night and still settle the register correctly at 5 a.m.

On my nights off, my friends and I went out, often to the same bar where I worked. And though I didn’t loiter on stoops drinking vodka out of the bottle anymore, the end of a night out was ultimately the same: Once I’d had enough to drink, it felt safe to admit to being sad or lonely or unsure.