Addiction, Recovery, and How Mindfulness Can Support Emotional Sobriety

As someone who has been sober for 26 years, and in my work as a recovery coach, I’ve come to understand there is more to recovery and wellness than being substance- free. While it may begin there, what is equally, if not more important, is our emotional sobriety.

When I first heard the term emotional sobriety, it sounded like an unattainable, distant experience reserved for Buddhist monks. Heroines of mine like Tara Brach and Pema Chödrön seemed like they might have it nailed, but it felt well out of reach for someone like me. It wasn’t until I went through a particularly emotionally challenging time —one that ultimately became a portal—that I truly came to understand its significance and have since been able to share this important facet of recovery with my clients.

When I first heard the term emotional sobriety, it sounded like an unattainable, distant experience reserved for Buddhist monks.

One day my son announced he was moving from New York City to Los Angeles. On the surface his decision seemed exciting and full of promise, but he didn’t have a job or a place to live; he was going to figure it out once he got there. The ongoing uncertainty around his well-being pitched me over the edge. I was an anxious, nervous wreck. For weeks, I checked my phone to see if he had texted me, and scrolled through Instagram and Facebook, furtively scanning for little snippets of his life, trying to confirm if he was okay.

His life had been my favorite TV show, and I couldn’t get my fix. I couldn’t stop thinking about him, couldn’t stop worrying, and I felt emotionally hijacked.

Noticing When Your Past Shows Up In Your Present

As the saying goes: When it’s hysterical, it’s historical. When I took a deeper dive in therapy, I began to understand why his departure had hit me so hard. It mirrored something much older. When I was in college, my mother abruptly moved to Switzerland. No long goodbye, no gradual adjustment — she was simply gone. Decades later, my nervous system didn’t know the difference between then and now.

My body was grieving an old loss through a new one. I knew enough to attend Al-Anon meetings to try to unhook emotionally, but my peace of mind remained elusive.

My body was grieving an old loss through a new one. I knew enough to attend Al-Anon meetings to try to unhook emotionally, but my peace of mind remained elusive.

The shift came when I learned to meditate. As a novice, I was first encouraged to turn my attention to my breath, and to notice the moment, the pause, between my in-breath and my out-breath.

As I practiced that awareness, an insight bubbled to the surface. My breath, the singular most subtle physical experience, was my life force. This quiet activity that happened without my making it happen—it was the defining characteristic between life and death. I felt a reverence for my breath that I had never had before. Slowly but surely, I developed the ability to observe how my mind, like a cricket, jumped from thought to worry to thought—and eventually, it began to settle.

For many, substances helped to numb their feelings and had been a type of escape hatch. So when we put substances down, and come into a more intimate relationship with ourselves, being still and quieting our minds might not feel safe. We no longer have something to shut off the noise or dampen the fears.

Over time, I felt at peace—I felt emotionally sober. I wasn’t scrambling for something outside of myself to ease my discomfort.

Making the Mind a Quieter Place

In my work with people who struggle with substance use disorders and/or eating disorders, many clients share with me that they continue to struggle with quieting their minds. For many, substances helped to numb their feelings and had been a type of escape hatch.

So when we put substances down, and come into a more intimate relationship with ourselves, being still and quieting our minds might not feel safe. We no longer have something to shut off the noise or dampen the fears.

In my coaching sessions, we discuss the concept of emotional sobriety, and I offer a variety of entry points, like: 

In all these small practices, I am gently guiding them to reconnect with themselves through curiosity rather than judgment. Given there is no single path to stillness, we find one that fits, and we go at the client’s pace.

Being emotionally un-sober can look like checking out, endless distraction, mindless scrolling. Mindfulness practices help us, over time, to understand that we can be with our uncomfortable emotions without lurching for that escape hatch.

What I’ve come to understand is that insight and self-awareness are essential, but even with the best intentions we can still get emotionally hijacked, triggered in an instant—and suddenly the urge to escape those uncomfortable feelings feels overwhelming.

And while we might not reach for the substance or the activity that brought us to recovery in the first place—which is in itself, of course, a marvelous accomplishment—we might reach for other, perhaps more innocuous activities that serve a similar purpose. Being emotionally un-sober can look like checking out, endless distraction, mindless scrolling. Mindfulness practices help us, over time, to understand that we can be with our uncomfortable emotions without lurching for that escape hatch.

What mindfulness and meditation offer, and what my clients tell me again and again, is a way to reset the emotional thermostat, regardless of what’s happening around them.

A pause between the in-breath and the out-breath. A moment of choice where there used to be none.

That is emotional sobriety.

Stephanie Hazard is a certified peer recovery specialist (CPRS) as well as a certified Carolyn Costin Institute eating disorder recovery coach (CCIEDC). Her debut book, Making Sobriety Stick: A Recovery Coach’s Guide to Sustainable Change, will be released September 22nd during National Recovery Month, and can be pre-ordered at www.pathtowardrecovery.com.