Sober Dating: Who is She?

*written by a messy therapist in recovery

I’ve been avoiding this blog for weeks, and not just because I had zero energy for writing post-election.

Not only am I relatively new to the practice of sober dating in S.L.A.A. (Sex & Love Addicts Anonymous) but, generally, dating is embarrassing. Alas, recovery doesn’t work without humility and neither does my writing. 

Besides, this topic is important! After enduring withdrawal and abstinence and a disciplined program, it’s time to have a little fun, isn’t it!? 

Then again: sober dating doesn’t sound very fun. Or it hadn’t to me.

Sober or otherwise, I’ve never enjoyed the sport of dating. Exchanging niceties with strangers. Performing charm while I attempt to conceal my anxiety. Constantly monitoring for physical and emotional safety. As a woman, a sensitive introvert with ADHD, and a recovering people-pleaser, mindful dating is pretty exhausting. I sometimes can’t access what my body is telling me when I’m preoccupied with trying to read the person I’m dating. Why not just go out, get fucked up, quiet the chatter in my head, and have a one-night stand that turns into a multi-year relationship?! This sentiment is perhaps why most of my past dating experiences have been much more based on whim than plan.

For me, the real discomfort of sober dating lies in actually getting to know someone. This can take a long time and waiting around in the murky unknown can feel intolerable. Wouldn’t it be more fun to date my projection of a fantasy instead?! Oh right—that ends up feeling terrible when reality hits. Ergo, we are now in the business of cultivating real trust and intimacy in relationships, which can only evolve with time and consciousness, also known as sobriety.

In S.L.A.A. recovery, being sober as a dater does not specifically denote being chemically sober, though it may certainly include that; here, to be sober means making mindful dating choices that are aligned with our physical, emotional, moral, and spiritual wellbeing. To me, this is vague. In fact, lots of S.L.A.A. recovery exists in a gray area, which can be both freeing and frightening. I enjoy making my own rules, but then again, I’m making my own rules. How can that be allowed?! Can I really be trusted to decide how often to text my crush or when it’s time to put on the Janet Jackson? 

Like other aspects of S.L.A.A. recovery, there is no one-size-fits-all path for folks who plan to soberly date. What stokes our individual addictive sexual and romantic tendencies can vary quite a bit from person to person, but in one way or another we end up abandoning ourselves for the pursuit of sex, romance, fantasy, and/or validation. Yet, as I’ve written before, we do not find recovery in pushing away relationships altogether. Abstinence is an invaluable gift in the short-term, but full recovery asks us to learn how to be intimate with others in new, healthy ways.

I’ll be honest that when I first considered sober dating, the idea of exploring *healthy intimacy* had ZERO appeal to me. To start, I honestly couldn’t conceptualize a kind of connection that wasn’t either fully enmeshed or totally at a distance. Second, why would I interrupt my hard-earned peace to find an available, consistent lover who would surely bore and smother me!?

These surface-level fears protected me from the deeper fears that lay beneath: that maybe what I wanted didn’t exist; or worse, that something about me was so fundamentally broken that I may never be able to recognize or enjoy healthy intimacy. Although my fear fantasies were enough to stop me in my tracks, it was really the unknown that I feared; having an experience that would be completely different from those I’d had before.

And this was exactly why I needed to try it. This wasn’t really about finding some romantic relationship anyway—this was about following through on the commitment I’d made to further my own healing via expanding my mind and heart. 

The good news is that dating plans really do work! I imagine they may even be helpful for non-addicts. A dating plan is a template that prompts folks to reflect on past relationship patterns and outline future dating intentions. When done proactively, a dating plan holds the sober wisdom that we may lose once we start dating and are suddenly at the whim of our old behaviors and activated nervous systems. Whether activated by fear or potent New Relationship chemicals, or both, we are not always trustworthy in making healthy dating decisions.

Luckily, staying active in my program means learning tips from those who’ve done this before, feeling supported by a Higher Power, and being accountable to the secret loopholes in my mind that want to chase intrigue and avoid commitment.

So what’s in a dating plan? Here are some example questions:

• What are my intentions regarding dating?

• How do I usually begin a new relationship?

• What was I originally attracted to in past partners?

• What are my addictive cycles?

• What are the signs things aren’t going well? 

• What red flags do I tend to ignore or rationalize?

• What makes me stay in an unhappy relationship?

• What were the perks/payoffs in previous relationships? 

• How do I need someone to feel about Beyoncé ? 

• What are my Top Line Behaviors? (Behaviors that signal I am aligned with my goals, like practicing art, meditating, and continuing to attend meetings) 

• What percent of the time do I want to engage with my different interests? 

Dating plans may also include quantities or time-specifics for certain dating behaviors. Maybe during the first few dates, certain acts of physical touch are off the table. Maybe phone calls are limited to 30 minutes per week. Maybe dates have specific start/stop times and are bookended with program calls. Maybe initial dates only happen in public places—but not the men’s sauna at Fitness SF. And perhaps it’s a good idea to wait on sharing that trauma history until at least the fifth date. Yes lesbians, I’m looking at you. Down the road, there may be suggested timeframes around meeting people in each other’s lives or when to define expectations for monogamy/non-monogamy.  

On the flipside, we may also have to watch out for our avoidant tendencies. Because I can lean a bit romantically anorexic, I have to monitor my quickness in deciding that someone isn’t a fit. Usually I’ve decided this before I’ve even met them, simply because I hated the shoes they were wearing in their dating profile. (Petty, I know! It’s just a defense mechanism.) If after the first date, I’m ambivalent but still curious, a dating plan might tell me to give it one more date. After all, initial ambivalence is probably a better sign than being immediately swept away! A person can always change their shoes, but maybe not their willingness to provide aftercare. 

Let’s talk about dating plans in practice. Is it too late to say I don’t want to put my personal life on blast?

On my first sober date, I had plans to meet up with a cute bisexual boi at the rose garden close to my apartment. It’s a place I frequent to find peace and watch other people on uncomfortable first dates. I figured this would be a safe space to hold my inevitable distress, or to make a run for it if needed. 

look at this beaut!

It’s a little laughable how scared I get for a first date. I start to feel pretty physically ill an hour or two before it’s time to go. Very First Day of School Energy—only this time I’m crying on the phone to fellows and my sponsor instead of begging my mom to let me stay home. As I headed for the bathroom one more time, my stomach in knots, I really felt it: this is why I don’t date. I’m totally terrified. 

My date alerted me that he was running late, which was fine, especially when he showed up and I was immediately attracted to him. His energy was very queer, that winning combination of masc and femme that allows me to feel physically safe, and thus, free to be turned on. My quick interest felt like a relief and a warning sign all at once. 

He had a swoopy well-combed quiff, a number of chunky silver rings (that his ex got him, I learned), and a canteen filled with herbal tea for us to share. He said caffeine made him anxious and I joked that I never get anxious, before nervously taking my hair down just to put it up again, crossing and uncrossing my legs several more times, and excitedly interrupting him with the next question that sprang to mind before he even finished answering the first one. Even through my fidgety panic, our banter was fiery and fun. He laughed at all my jokes and was endeared by the way I flirted by being mean. “This is actually something I don’t realize I’m doing,” I told him, which was true. It often got worse the more I was interested in someone and it seemed to be getting worse on our date. He teased me for being both shy and rude. I felt seen.

Also, this person reminded me of past qualifiers. I must’ve felt familiar to him too because we wasted no time exchanging stories of poly drama, messy breakups, and past therapy experiences. He shared a bit more than I, and of course, I took notes. The more he shared, the more it started to seem like he was going through a lot, only six months out of a serious relationship that seemed to still weigh heavy on him. A “normal” person might call this a red flag. I am not a normal person. I am a therapist who’s ready to inappropriately caretake and make some recommendations. 

This was obviously a dangerous, well-known combination for me, dating a person who might be both present and absent all at once. I left the date feeling excited and scared, a buzziness that didn’t quite make sense to me yet. Mostly I thought: “This person is hot and I could see myself becoming obsessed with him. I’m so glad I can still feel this way.” My reaction, of course, was the real red flag.

I barely noticed, or admitted to myself, that I’d blown past some of my dating boundaries already, or that he didn’t ask me a lot of questions. Still, my sponsor and I decided I didn’t have enough information. Of course I’d go on a second date—for research! (You see, once I’m turned on, I don’t fear dating anymore.)

“What’d you do this weekend?” he asked me at dinner after ordering tapas and paella.  

“Um, on Saturday I went to the farmers market and did art with a friend. On Sunday, I… I… I had a social thing.” I felt my face flush and my throat go dry.

“A social thing?” he smirked and raised an eyebrow. “Did you have a date? It’s cool if you did!”

“No, I… I… maybe we should order drinks?” I suggested, trying to bide my time while he waited for my response. “So a thing about me…” I took a sip of water and cleared my throat. “Sometimes I go to meetings… for Sex & Love Addiction.” 

This was another one of my red flags: not being in recovery per se, but divulging this tender piece of information too soon in an attempt to feel known, and because I struggle to hold back in the beginning. (Yes, I realize I’m writing a blog about S.L.A.A. but my dates don’t need to know that yet!) Maybe, unconsciously, I was even sharing my recovery as a means to be intriguing. Our chemistry prevailed and I felt relieved, ready to plan date three. 

THIS IS GRAYSON FROM THE ROSE GARDEN. I WILL STRAY FROM MY DATING PLAN FOR HIM

After the date, talking with my sponsor, I asked: “Are you sure it’s too soon for me to have a date with him in private? Maybe it’d be nice to be at my place. I’m sure I’d be less distractible.” My addiction had a good point, didn’t she?

“I mean, those were the rules you set,” she said. “It might be good just to see that you can keep them? You can always change your dating plan later.”

Hmph. “Fine.” I rolled my eyes, even though I knew she was right. The issue was that I had a feeling this guy wouldn’t want to wait as long as my dating plan required. 

And he didn’t. Neither did the next guy, who teased me any time I brought up one of my “rules.” Only after we ended things did I start to see that I’d begun fawning with him a lot, saying yes when I was tired of saying no, trying to ward of his rejection when I sensed him growing frustrated with my limits.

“I know it’s probably a no, but are you sure you don’t want to come in?” he asked after our second date, during which I reiterated my difficulty setting boundaries and had already said I wouldn’t hang out with him in private yet. But again, I liked his potential, and I’ve been socialized to feel wanted when someone pushes back on my boundaries. So I ignored what it felt like to be pushed, or that all questions seemed to turn into something sexual even though we barely knew each other. At times I acquiesced, leaning on my sexuality in hopes of winning more affection, making excuses for what I didn’t like in order to keep the fantasy alive. I felt hooked by my scarcity fears, but couldn’t go forward getting less than I desired—not when I’d have to admit that to myself and others in my program.

It was another short-lived dating experience that ended sooner than I expected. I was filled with rage—at my addiction, at men, and at a culture that encourages sex before safety. I was also really fucking grateful that I now had the ability to get out early. What a gift! Whether I liked it or not, my dating plan was working already.

Still, it’s painful when things don’t work out, especially with valiant efforts to make them different. As it turns out, my addiction is a finicky little minx who’ll find any excuse to flirt with her drug of choice, just to see if things will be different this time. (“But they’re in therapy!” “They do art!” “They care about the environment!” “Maybe my boundaries are just too rigid!”)

It may sound obvious to normies, but it’s pretty important to track the red flags. Not only am I liable to ignore them but I may just straight up eroticize them. Oh, you don’t know your attachment style? You’re not over your ex? Sounds like a challenge (that will keep us from achieving true intimacy)! I’m in. Plus, it’s easy for me to attract people who are phobic of intimacy because I am too. A dating plan provides necessary checks and balances in the event that I follow my dick and bypass any gut feeling telling me to walk away. This format has allowed me to SLOW DOWN enough to see what’s really happening and make changes. And without rushing into physical and emotional intimacy, letting go has been far easier than before.

It was time to take note of my findings and reassess my plan. 

Of the many takeaways, I saw I needed to get really specific about what kind of availability I was seeking and why I was so scared to actually find it. Also, I’d need to be honest with myself about when my nervous system wasn’t feeling safe with someone, even if that meant I wouldn’t be able to sleep with them. Womp womp!

As my sponsor says: “The solution will look different from the problem.”

One of my biggest resistances in sober dating has been around facing my grief. I knew I’d have to give up my old tricks eventually and now I was giving them up in real time. It may seem silly to grieve something that’s caused me such distress but these survival tools have been with me forever and releasing them often triggers another iteration of withdrawal. Goodbye obsessing over people who can’t meet my needs. So long using emotional caretaking and sexual intrigue to lure in potential lovers. Hello… being myself. With all my feelings, needs, contradictions, and adorable neuroses. (To the tune of Whitney Houston: “I’m every attachment style! It’s all in meeeee.”)

It was time to remember my faith that things would unfold as they were meant to. They already had! I started dreaming into the green flags that I still doubted could exist: like feeling excited and safe all at once; or receiving love and care that was reciprocal and steady but still allowed me to breathe. Perhaps in the absence of a hot-and-cold, barely-there love, I could have connections that were even better than before. Maybe this would take longer than expected to happen and that was okay, too.

Thus far, sober dating has been more challenging than I anticipated and also, more rewarding. By practicing discernment about what doesn’t work, I’ve been able to make space for what does. And as it turns out, healthy intimacy doesn’t have to be boring or smothering at all! I *can* find safety and excitement all at once, in part by embodying those qualities myself. As I come back to myself over and over again, I am grounded by my wholeness, which exists outside of any lover or partner. Ironically, this wholeness is the offering I can bring into my connection with others.

a few more roses for the road