The Self in Fragments

A good start. Or pour a sip.

Moving. Performing. Drinking. It worked. Till it didn’t.

The thought that alcohol was becoming a problem had been hanging out rent-free in my mind for a while. Quiet at first. Then louder and louder.

Three years ago, I started having panic attacks—big, breathless ones. Out of nowhere. They cracked something open.

To be honest, I wasn’t serious—I was scared. And spinning.
But I started looking. Dove into books, studies, podcasts- everything I could find about the nervous system, traumas, anxieties and substance use.
Trying to piece together what was happening in my body, my mind, my life.

I even stopped drinking for a while.
I didn’t need a study to tell me it made everything worse—I could feel it.

After some time in a clinic, things calmed down. That was the first time I really thought about leaving the wine industry. I’d been in it for over a decade. And walking away from that? Wouldn’t just mean quitting a job—it would mean quitting a version of myself.

Eventually, the drinking came back—moderated here and there. But still there.

Then 2024 hit. A year of high-speed changes. Breakdowns. Shifts.
And the panic attacks? They returned like they owned the place.

With a lot of help—coaching, energy work, therapy—I was doing everything I could to get better.
To find steadiness. To understand myself. To keep the panic from swallowing me whole.

And it helped.
But the longer I stayed in that work, the clearer it became:
Alcohol was still in the way.

It wasn’t just a habit.
It had shaped how I worked, how I connected, how I coped.
And eventually, how I disappeared from myself.

Alcohol was still doing its thing—pretending to be a soft, familiar blanket.
But honestly? It’s a toxic friend. The kind that leaves you buzzing with anxiety by morning.

And don’t get me wrong—I enjoyed alcohol to the max. And beyond.
But I had to call it what it was: a beautifully packaged bomb.

I tried to manage it.
Moderate it.
Outsmart it.

But the truth is—it controlled me.

One quiet question kept surfacing:
Is this still supporting the life I’m trying to create?

Spoiler: it wasn’t.

So in February 2025, I chose to go sober.
Not as a challenge. Not to make a point.
As a way to stop betraying myself.

This clarity?
Kind of rude.
But also miraculous.

Sobriety, for me, isn’t about restriction.
It’s about finally making space for who I actually am.
It’s about letting the light in.

I don’t have a ten-step plan.
Or a new identity.
Just space. And a quiet kind of freedom.

I’m not sure where this goes yet.
But I’ll write from inside it, not after it.

If you’re somewhere in your own undoing, I hope you feel a little less alone.

I’m calling this Beyond the Glass—because that’s where I am now.
And maybe, where you are too.