The Power of Subtraction: How Sobriety Gave Me Back My Energy, My Time, and My People
For years, I thought the reason I struggled to keep up was simple: I was busy. Life felt heavy. Work was demanding. My calendar was a rotating roster of obligations I said yes to out of guilt, habit, or the fear that slowing down meant I was falling behind.
But the truth is harder to admit: I didn’t have a time problem - I had an energy problem. Or more accurately, an energy leak.
Loneliness is rising across Australia, even as our schedules are fuller than ever. The latest HILDA data shows we’re socialising less, connecting less, and feeling the “weight of the world” more. And underneath that? Many of us are simply exhausted. Not for dramatic reasons - but from the slow, quiet burn of living in permanent survival mode.
Nearly three years ago, I made a decision that changed everything: I quit drinking. I didn’t do it to become a wellness monk or write a redemption arc. I did it because the life I was living didn’t feel like a life I could sustain.
What I didn’t expect was how transformative sober energy would be. It felt like adding years back onto my life - not metaphorically, but physically, emotionally, socially. Every part of my days began to expand.
Sobriety didn’t just give me my clarity back. It gave me my capacity back.
And as wild as it sounds: subtraction ended up becoming the most powerful form of addition.
When we’re tired, we socialise less - but we also dream less
One of the main insights from the loneliness research is obvious in hindsight: when people are stressed, overworked, worried about money, and pulled in a million directions, the first thing to disappear is connection.
Not because we don’t care. But because we’re tired.
Socialising becomes a luxury. Even sending a text feels like a task.
I lived that for years. I’d bail on plans, not because I didn’t love my friends, but because I couldn’t outrun the fog I had created for myself. I'd wake up tired, go to bed tired, and spend the hours in between pushing through - or pretending to push through.
Drinking didn’t help. It amplified the highs but drained the days. It created sparkle in the moment and storm clouds after. My calendar was full, but my life was not.
When I removed alcohol, it was like removing a heavy coat I didn’t realise I was dragging behind me.
Suddenly I had energy.
Real energy.
The kind that makes you want to show up again.
Sobriety has become queer joy - not deprivation
Dry dance parties, sober drag shows, mocktail takeovers, late-night raves where people remember the conversations they had - this is becoming the new normal.
And for good reason.
Queer sobriety isn’t about saying drinking is bad. It’s about widening the definition of joy - and who gets to participate in it.
We’re realising our lives didn’t need numbing. They needed nurturing.
For me, sobriety didn’t shrink my world - it sharpened it. I can sit with people now. Listen properly. Hold space without running out of emotional battery. Be present at 11pm and still feel alive at 7am.
I joke that sobriety gives you superpowers, but honestly… it does:
More time - because you’re not losing days to recovery
More energy - the real kind
More clarity - and fewer spirals
More emotional stamina - the kind friendships rely on
More pride - not performative, but grounded
In a culture that taught us to celebrate until we couldn’t feel anything, sobriety taught me to feel everything - without fear.
The 77-year-old was right: life gets bigger when you stop chasing everything at once
There was a line in an article I read recently that stopped me:
“Happiness isn’t about addition. It’s about subtraction.”
That’s exactly what sobriety gave me.
I stopped pretending I could keep up with a life that didn’t fit me.
I stopped saying yes out of obligation.
I stopped mistaking chaos for connection.
I stopped replaying old versions of myself that no longer made sense.
-I stopped chasing the “vibe” of a moment instead of the substance of the life I was building.
And once I stopped all of that?
Everything else opened up.
My relationships got deeper because I was actually present.
My work got better because I wasn’t burnt out.
My ideas got sharper because I wasn’t foggy.
My community grew because I could genuinely invest in it.
We underestimate how draining it is to pretend we’re fine when we’re running on fumes. We underestimate how much connection requires energy - the stable, sustainable kind.
The superpower no one talks about: capacity
The biggest myth about sobriety is that it makes your world smaller.
Mine became enormous.
For the first time in my adult life, I had:
The capacity to show up consistently
The capacity to maintain friendships instead of losing them to fatigue
The capacity to build something meaningful (hello, Get Out)
The capacity to listen, care, and be emotionally present
The capacity to handle the weight of the world without crumbling
Being nearly three years sober hasn’t made me a different person. It’s made me the right version of myself - the one I couldn’t access when I was exhausted all the time.
The truth is simple: connection takes energy - and sobriety gives it back
When people ask how I’ve built communities, or how I juggle my work, or how I keep writing, or how I keep showing up, the answer is embarrassingly straightforward:
I’m sober - and I have the energy to care.
Sobriety didn’t just shift my habits. It shifted my entire emotional economy. I have more to give, more to feel, more to share - not because I’m superhuman, but because I’m finally resourced.
It’s why older people often report being happiest: they stop trying to keep up with everything that doesn’t matter. They preserve their energy for what does. They choose depth over speed. Stillness over proving themselves.
We don’t have to wait until 77 to learn that lesson.
We can learn it now.
And maybe that’s the real superpower sobriety gave me: the ability to choose connection not out of desperation, but out of abundance.