Rediscovering Joy: An anchor for sobriety

Anonymous submission

The first time I stepped into an Alcoholics Anonymous (AA) meeting, I was only thirteen or fourteen. My aunt had taken my father there, hoping it would work for him the way it had for their older brother. It was at Portuguese Church in Bombay. I remember it clearly—dark, gloomy, heavy with tension, almost like an intervention. Scary. My dad didn’t connect. Like many, he thought, I’m not like these people, I’m above this. It didn’t work for him.

That’s when we found out about Al-Anon Family Groups (Al-Anon), a sister fellowship for relatives of alcoholics. My mother and I went for a while. Those meetings were usually in schools or churches. But at fourteen, with nothing changing at home, it just made things feel heavier.

Years later, when drinking became my own problem, I tried AA myself. By then I was in my thirties or forties, and my drinking had escalated. What had started as evening drinks had turned into needing alcohol in the mornings just to calm the anxiety. I wasn’t working, I couldn’t be with people. I tried therapy, medication, and kept trying AA. But honestly, the whole time I’d sit in those meetings staring at my watch, thinking, when can I get out of here and get a drink?

AA works for a lot of people. It’s free, anonymous, and open to anyone. Meetings usually begin with a reading from the Big Book, followed by introductions—“I’m so-and-so, I’m an alcoholic”—and people sharing. If you’re new, someone will usually come over, explain how it works, maybe encourage you to get a sponsor and start the 12 Steps. Milestones like one month, six months, or a year of sobriety are marked with coins. The structure and sense of community can be life-saving. But for me, the baggage of those childhood memories made it hard.

Eventually, I reached a point where I had only two options: get better or end it. Around the same time, my brother had adopted a child. I couldn’t accept being drunk around a kid. So I began researching rehabs.

Rehabs in India are a mixed bag. Some are little more than lock-up cells where families force people in. Others are hospital-like, where overmedication creates new dependencies. Some are abusive. There’s no real regulation.

But I was lucky to find a place in Gurgaon that felt different. It was designed for working people, so I could take my laptop, even my Xbox. After detox, there was yoga, meditation, gym, regular meetings and even outings to the movies. What mattered most was that it felt like my choice, not something forced on me.

It wasn’t perfect. Staff weren’t professionally trained. Vulnerable people formed messy relationships. Some sneaked alcohol. But it gave me space. For the first time in years, I woke up one morning feeling good for no reason. I remember walking to the club, the sun on my face, and thinking, I just want to hold on to this feeling.

My first stay lasted four months. Back home, relapse came quickly. Facing yourself after a relapse is brutal. I went back to drinking harder than before. Eventually I returned to the same rehab a second time, but with a different mindset. I told myself I wouldn’t try to fix my life with clever plans—I’d failed at that before. I imagined a whiteboard in front of me and erased every solution I came up with. Slowly I realised what I had really lost was joy. That morning walk reminded me that’s what I was chasing.

The 12-Step program had barriers for me. One of them was sexuality. The forms you fill ask about everything—your relationships, your sexual history—but in a way that feels archaic. And then I was told, “You don’t need to talk about that part of your life.” How can I not? My sexuality is part of who I am. To be told to leave that out was another wall. Recovery is supposed to be about honesty, but if parts of your identity are off-limits, then how real is that recovery? Addiction is never just about alcohol. It’s about trauma, family, identity, sexuality—all of it woven together.

Even with those frustrations, I know AA and similar fellowships can be powerful. For people who don’t know anything about addiction, it’s an incredible entry point. You meet others like you, you share openly, and you know that if you call someone at 2 a.m. saying you’re about to relapse, they’ll show up. That kind of peer support is priceless. But there are limitations—the constant self-labelling, the repetition, the way your whole identity becomes “alcoholic.” Some people dismiss your recovery if you haven’t done all the 12 Steps exactly. For me, that was suffocating.

I also explored other fellowships. Co-Dependents Anonymous (CoDA) for people stuck in unhealthy relationship patterns. Adult Children of Alcoholics/Dysfunctional Families (ACA), which helps adults raised in chaotic homes recognise their patterns. These were broader, less boxed-in. They made me feel seen in more than one dimension of my life.

If there’s one lesson I’ve learned, it’s to research carefully. In India, some rehabs are nurturing, others are dangerous. Talk to people who’ve been there. Visit if you can. Red flags are easy to spot—prison-like conditions, no trained staff, purely punitive approaches, no aftercare plan. And choose your group carefully. The people you meet, their age, their outlook—it matters, because you end up doing life together, rebuilding ordinary joys like movies or sport.

I’ve had lapses, but I count myself sober now. What I wanted wasn’t complicated. It wasn’t some grand solution. It was just the ability to wake up, walk in the sun, and feel good for no reason. That’s the anchor I try to hold on to.

If you or someone you know is struggling, remember - help is out there.