Drinking Games

by Sarah Levy

But being friends with a bright light doesn’t make you any brighter. It just makes you the person trying to stand in someone else’s brilliance instead of finding your own.

Small was synonymous with every wonderful adjective I could imagine: smart, loveable, successful. I would pass a thin girl on the street and write her life story from start to finish. She was organized, motivated, and bubbly. She attracted friends and romantic partners naturally and emanated an easy confidence. She was never constipated, starving, or uncomfortable. She was small, so her life was perfect.

As I scrolled through Instagram, I studied posts from other influencers I followed. Even the seemingly candid ones, I knew, were posing for the camera. What did it mean, I wondered, to be so influenced by people who were faking it?

A person with a peanut allergy is powerless over peanuts, and she doesn’t keep trying to eat peanut butter to reclaim her power. A few months into sobriety, it hit me: the insanity of my drinking was my inability to accept that it wasn’t serving me. Once I fully accepted that I simply couldn’t drink safely, I felt an incredible amount of relief. I didn’t have to work harder to be “better” at drinking. I could just not drink.

That day on the phone, my friend shared the three questions she asked herself before sharing her opinion with someone. Was it true? Was it kind? Was it necessary?