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When I was 22, I stopped drinking for good. This is my story.

One man's very personal story of alcoholism, defeat, and triumph.

When I was 22, I decided to stop drinking.

Considering my history, the decision happened after a rather insignificant night.

It did not happen the morning I woke up in the hospital with hypothermia and alcohol poisoning.


It did not happen when I spent 30 days in rehab after getting into a drunken fight with my parents and chugging a bottle of mouthwash and a handful of prescription pills.

It did not happen after a 50-something bartender told me I needed to kiss him to get my ID back, which somehow led to me bringing him back to my dorm.

It did not happen after I had to run away from a homeless man who led me to a park and exposed himself to me after I asked for directions.

It did not even happen after I almost left a New Delhi Men’s Fashion week party with a man who said he was a model but was actually a pimp and later tried to sell me an hour in a limo with a boy or girl for $400.

All photos provided by the author.

Instead, it happened after I had gone out drinking with my friends, blacked out, and had to be brought home. When I woke up in the morning, I felt like I was reaching the surface just as I was about to use my last breath of oxygen underwater. I had been so consumed by self-created chaos that I had not had clarity of mind for years.

“What if my friends hadn’t been there?” I asked myself. “What if they hadn’t brought me home?”

Of course, I already knew the answer. But for the first time, I allowed myself to let it sink in: If I didn’t stop drinking I was going to wind up killing myself, either intentionally or accidentally. And it was going to happen soon.

I had been drinking regularly since I was 15.

My issue with high school and college drinking was the blurry line between typical — if dangerous — experimentation and blatant drinking problems. It wasn’t bizarre that I hid a bottle of vodka beneath the floorboards in my parent’s attic, but I crossed beyond standard teenage rebellion when I poured vodka into my mug full of Sprite while doing homework.

As a gay teenager in an inner city high school, alcohol took on extra significance for me. Drinking is an equalizer: Anyone can do it. Though I loved my close friends, I always felt different, apart. I used alcohol as a means of bonding with classmates I otherwise had nothing in common with.

In retrospect, the truth was glaring and obvious, even then. By the time I graduated from high school as my class's valedictorian, I had been hospitalized three times for alcohol poisoning, had completed a month-long stint in rehab, and had spent a night in a psychiatric center after a drug-induced breakdown.

I left for college with high hopes, but things only got worse.

I wanted to study international relations and become a human rights lawyer. But without the structure of high school, I quickly fell apart. I drank almost every night.

Where I had been admired for my work ethic in high school, in college, I schemed to do the bare minimum. I ignored the changes happening to me. I no longer took any joy out of learning or any joy out of much of anything at all besides partying.

I hid my past from my friends at Brown too, but as time went on, my troubling relationship with substances came to the surface again and again. By the time I graduated, I had been hospitalized again, I suffered from a Xanax addiction, and I had trouble sleeping at all. I was aggressive and reckless.

After college, I moved to New York without a job.

My lowest point came soon after when I drunkenly broke up with an ex-boyfriend at a party and tried to run into heavy New York traffic while two friends walked me home. They pulled me back. I was in a complete blackout. They told me I sobbed for an hour, then passed out.

That month, I convinced myself — and my therapist — that I would give drinking one last chance. We put rules in place limiting my alcohol consumption to three drinks on weekend nights. But over the next two weeks, I broke all the rules again.

The day I finally broke down was a Sunday, two weeks after the meeting with my therapist. I woke up in tears. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt well, and I was exhausted by the cycle of destruction and damage control I was putting myself through. In that moment, I knew the only way I might ever be happy was if I never drank again.

I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt well, and I was exhausted by the cycle of destruction and damage control I was putting myself through.

On that New York morning two-and-a-half years ago, I finally allowed myself to be honest.

The thought of living the rest of my life in this state of dull despair finally felt much more impossible than saying goodbye to drinking.

If you’re a heavy drinker, the decision to stop drinking can seem impossible.

I’d always run with a hard-partying crowd. Plus, the thought of losing access to social situations can be terrifying. Whenever I would try to sober up — which happened at least 10 times before it actually worked — a voice inside my head would incessantly shout: “What if I’m less funny when I’m sober? What am I even going to talk to this person about if I’m not drunk? I can’t dance until I’ve taken a few shots! Sleeping with someone without alcohol?!”

Alcohol felt like my lifeline, and it was only on rare occasions — during common morning panic attacks — that I even briefly acknowledged it was actually destroying my life.

I can recognize now that deflection was my weapon of choice as an alcoholic. If I woke up frightened after a night of drinking, I would tell the story for a laugh. Though people would occasionally confront me, most acted as if I was entertaining. Besides, I quickly realized if my “partying” pushed a friend away, there were always five more people who wouldn’t notice, or care, how many drinks I had or how drunk I got, just so long as they didn’t have to physically carry me home.

For me, learning to live a sober life has been like trying to walk when you’re used to crawling.

It's been two-and-a-half years, but I still remember how easy it was to drink, and it’s taken a lot of effort for me to reach an emotional place where I’m strong enough to choose another option.

The hardest part of sobriety has been learning to be comfortable with myself all the time. Every day, it gets a little easier. But I’ve had to teach myself how to communicate thoughtfully without poisoning my speech with the fury of alcohol. I’ve had to learn how to flirt and pursue romance without being a histrionic drunk, lacking both grace and inhibitions.

I understand I have a long way to travel before I achieve self-acceptance or real serenity.

But what I do have, finally, is the peace of mind of knowing that I can wake up every morning remembering what I did the night before — for better or worse — and knowing, in the end, that I will be OK.

shhh, quiet, zip it, mouth closed, say nothing, be quiet

A woman zipping up her lips.

There are times to speak up, moments when it’s best to say nothing, and opportunities be very considerate in your response. But when you’re on the receiving end of a back-handed compliment, a foolish remark, or a coworker takes you down a peg, and your emotions are up, it can be hard to have a thoughtful response. Often, we say something we shouldn’t.

How is it that some folks fly off the handle and say things they’ll later regret, while others can stay calm and remove themselves from the situation or take the high ground? One way to be less impulsive with your words is to use the “name it to tame it” neuroscience hack, originally coined by author and psychiatrist Dr. Dan Siegel. When used properly, it allows you to step back from the moment and choose the best response in a challenging situation.


shhh, quiet, zip it, mouth closed, say nothing, be quiet A man saying "be quiet."via Canva/Photos

How to use the ‘name it to tame it’ hack

When someone upsets you, the first thing to do is to go inside yourself and describe the emotion that you feel in your body. Are you angry? Are you sad? Are you afraid? Do you feel rejected? Are you disappointed? The moment you name the emotion, it will begin to subside and give you the emotional and mental room to respond to the person who caused the negative emotion, rather than impulsively reacting.

How to respond to a reactive emotion so you don’t fly off the handle:

Event happens:

1. Your body stiffens up

2. You feel an intense emotion

3. You examine the emotion and give it a name: “My body is telling me I am angry.”

4. You should feel the emotion beginning to subside

5. Choose your response instead of being impulsive

shhh, quiet, zip it, mouth closed, say nothing, be quiet A woman zipping up her mouth.via Canva/Photos

Why does ‘name it to tame it’ work?

“Name it to tame it” works because, when we have a strong emotional reaction, our lizard brain kicks in, and we go into fight, flight, or freeze mode. The lizard brain is not known for giving thoughtful and strategic responses to challenging situations. When we name the emotion, our prefrontal cortex, or the thinking brain, kicks in. The thinking brain looks at the situation and says, “Alright, we don’t need to run or fight here. It's best to give a strategic response.”

When we tune into the negative emotions by naming them, they relax because they feel heard, like when a child has hurt their knee or a loved one has real concern and you gives them undivided attention. Once the emotions are named, they are tamed. Then, you are more likely to respond to the negative person with grace and speak from the best part of yourself.

Dr. Dan Siegel, who coined the phrase “Name it to tame it,” explains the brain science behind the technique in the video below. He does a great job of explaining how it allows us to transfer our thoughts from the downstairs brain (the lizard brain) to the upstairs brain (the thinking brain), so we can calm down and respond appropriately to the situation.

- YouTube www.youtube.com

hospice, hospice volunteer, impact theory, impact theory podcast, tom bilyeu, apple podcast, james sexton, death

Left: An older women side by side with a younger woman. Right: A young male hospital worker and a male patient.

In a recent, thought-provoking episode of the Impact Theory podcast with Tom Bilyeu, renowned divorce attorney and author James Sexton shared how being a hospice volunteer drastically changed his perspective on life.

"I think when you turn 18, you should have to do a year or two of mandatory hospice volunteering," Sexton said. "It changed my entire way of viewing the world."


Sexton recalled that while death itself wasn't necessarily the prime source of conversation—most of his volunteer work involved doing little odds and ends for folks—its presence was still palpable. Because of that, he walked out of each visit feeling like a "samurai," as all the things he thought were "so important five minutes ago" fell to the wayside.

"Spend time with people that are dying," he said. "All their stuff is a great big pile of nothing. Like, all that they can talk about is the people that they love, the connections that they made, the experiences that they had that were beautiful or painful."

That realization became even more apparent when he learned that his own mother was terminally ill with cancer and past the point that any doctor could help her.

"In that moment, all of the other things that I was stressed about and worried about, the volume was turned so far down on all those things because my mom was gonna die," Sexton said. "All that became important was how could I spend a little more time with her. How can I make sure she knows that I love her? How can I savor this?"

Developing an awareness of death during early adulthood, Sexton argued, would help people not get "distracted" by a society that constantly tries to make you forget that death is inevitable. Therefore, they wouldn't pay attention to the "meaningless sh*t that keeps the machine moving," and instead focus on what really matters.

And what really matters? Important things like kissing a spouse, for example, which Sexton reminded Bilyeu (and, conversely, all of us) happen a finite number of times. You won't know what that finite number is "until you've passed it," he warned.

hospice, hospice volunteer, impact theory, impact theory podcast, tom bilyeu, apple podcast, james sexton, death A couple kissing.Photo credit: Canva

"If you don't keep that in your line of sight, you're a fool," Sexton said. "You're gonna think you're gonna get to do that forever. You're gonna think you can do that all time and you don't. You will not do that forever. ... And that's the most beautiful thing in the world. It's what makes that so special."

For Sexton, being a hospice volunteer cemented this perspective, and since then, "nothing has been the same." It didn't mean suddenly "living life like a monk," but it did mean sharing his love a little more freely and appreciating that "things have to end."

Between hospice volunteering and working as a divorce lawyer, Sexton has become an expert of sorts with "endings." He argues that we must look at life through this lens because the one constant is that "everything is ending all the time," and ignoring that fact "does a tremendous disservice."

American culture generally treats death with avoidance, viewing it as a taboo topic or a medical failure rather than a natural stage of life. It is highly clinical and sanitized, with many people dying in hospitals away from family and loved ones. While shifting toward more home-based hospice care, U.S. society remains heavily influenced by "death-denying" attitudes that emphasize quick, efficient mourning. Compare that to other cultures with consistent mourning rituals, like Mexico's Día de los Muertos and Japan's Obon.

Perhaps Sexton's hospice volunteering concept could act as something similar to these traditions—a rite of passage that doesn't have us avoiding death, but walking alongside it.

You can watch the full Impact Theory episode below:

- YouTube www.youtube.com

Health

Psychologists say there are 4 types of introverts. These are the personality traits of each one.

The four types of introverts: Social, Thinking, Anxious, and Restrained.

introvert, introvers, types of introverts, introverted, introvert types, 4 introvert types

A woman sits in a chair reading a book.

Introverts can have many personality stereotypes. Many people assume they are quiet homebodies who prefer alone time, but not all introverts are the same.

Psychologist Jonathan M. Cheek, along with his colleagues Jennifer Grimes and Julie Norem at Wellesley College, presented findings in a 2011 study identifying four types of introverts: Social, Thinking, Anxious, and Restrained (STAR).


"Many people assume introversion is fixed, but introversion is on a spectrum," Chloë Bean, a somatic trauma therapist in Los Angeles, told Upworthy.

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Essentially, there is no one-size-fits-all type of introvert.

"It can shift depending on life phase, your stress level, burnout, support system, and trauma history," Bean said. "What looks like 'being introverted' is sometimes the nervous system doing it's job, protecting you especially when you're feeling overwhelmed or need to connect with yourself more."

Four types of introverts

In an interview with The Cut, Cheek explained that these introvert "types" are more like "shades," and that introverts are often a mix of each one. Here's what you need to know about each type of introvert:

introvert, introverts, being introverted, social introvert, introverts hanging out Three women sit on a blanket in the park. Photo credit: Canva

Social introverts

Bean noted that social introverts may be selective about who they connect with. They enjoy spending time with others but need downtime to recover.

"They prefer to stay home with a book or a computer, or to stick to small gatherings with close friends, as opposed to attending large parties with many strangers," Cheek explained.

How to tell if it's you:

"You may tend to lose a lot of energy when socializing in large groups even when they're fun and prefer one-on-one time," said Bean. "You may feel more regulated with one person at a time, as you can feel overstimulated with more than one person at a time."

Thinking introverts

Thinking introverts are internally rich, deep, and active but appear quiet on the outside, Bean noted. They spend a lot of time reflecting, imagining, creating, or analyzing.

"You're capable of getting lost in an internal fantasy world," Cheek said. "But it's not in a neurotic way, it's in an imaginative and creative way."

How to tell if it's you:

"You feel energized and excited by ideas but you feel exhausted when there is constant feedback and stimulation externally," Bean explained. "You need time to be with your thoughts to come to your conclusion so staying with your inner voice and process is supportive because you can get easily distracted by others' thoughts and opinions."

@onlyjayus

The 4 Types Of Introverts

Anxious introverts

Bean said that anxious introverts deal with anxiety and avoidance driven by fear, as the body anticipates rejection or not being accepted socially.

How to tell if it's you:

"You might replay conversations, dread upcoming plans and cancel them when the tension and anxiety gets too strong," Bean shared. "This is often less about your personality and more about your nervous system feeling dysregulated by thoughts about socializing."

Restrained introverts

Restrained introverts are highly observant, take time to warm up to others, and are cautious about who they spend their energy with, Bean explained.

How to tell if it's you:

"It might take you some time to feel like you can trust others and feel safe enough to speak up," Bean said. "You might also avoid being put on the spot or being the center of attention."

boomer, boomers, boomer clutter, clutter, hoarding, too much stuff

A Baby Boomer stands in his cluttered garage.

Millennials with Baby Boomer parents have not been shy about airing their complaints about the older generation. Millennials have previously noted that their parents tend to hoard food—and now they're are airing their grievances about Boomer "stuff avalanche."

On Reddit, Millennials discussed their frustrations about their Boomer parents and the insane amount of junk they have in their homes that (allegedly) will one day be passed down to them to deal with. Many Millennials shared that it is a source of contention for them, and that they wish their parents would just throw things out.


"3 car garage...cannot fit a single car in there," one commented. And another stated, "I am very concerned with the amount of junk my parents are holding onto."

- YouTube www.youtube.com

A fellow peeved Millennial added, "The worst part is that our parents think this is all worth lots and lots of money. Don’t worry kids, these three sets of china I’m saving for you will be worth millions!"

Another had laid down the law: "My mom kept joking about all the 'stuff' being my inheritance. After a few times I was tired of it, I looked her dead in the face and said in the most monotone I could get. 'I will get the biggest dumpster I can, and it will all go in the trash.' She stopped making that joke, and my parents have been slowly throwing out their junk ever since."

clutter, baby boomer stuff avalance, stuff, too much stuff, decluttering A Baby Boomer garage filled with stuff.Photo credit: Canva

Why Boomers struggle to throw things away

"The Boomer generation grew up in the post-war era shaped by rationing and economic rebuilding," Daniel Glazer, clinical psychologist and co-founder of US Therapy Rooms, tells Upworthy.

He adds that the Boomer inability to let stuff go is often criticized, but when you look at the psychology of their attachment to objects, their behavior makes much more sense.

"Not so long ago, saving things was an adaptive habit. 'That might come in handy' was a common refrain in households in which replacing something was not so easy, or affordable," says Glazer. "There is also an element of emotional security that comes from the things that have surrounded us through decades of life events, or even across a lifetime."

And for many Boomers, getting rid of stuff can signify an even bigger mental battle.

"As people age, there can also be an increased awareness of mortality," says Esin Pinarli, founder and holistic psychotherapist at Eternal Wellness Counseling. "Letting go of objects can feel symbolic, almost like letting go of chapters of their life. If no one is asking about those chapters anymore, those objects become the tangible proof that those experiences mattered. So it’s not stubbornness. It’s often about attachment, meaning-making, and a fear of losing relevance or erasing parts of their story."

How to help Boomers declutter

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Starting the conversation with Boomer parents in an empathetic and understanding way may help the process go more smoothly and deepen the relationship between them and their children. Here are a few examples of conversation starters Millennials can use when talking to their Boomer parents about decluttering:

Conversation Starter #1: "I know these things mean something to you. I’d love to hear the story behind a few of them."

"This shifts the focus from getting rid of objects to honoring the meaning behind them," says Pinarli. "When a parent feels seen and understood, they’re often more open to eventually letting go. It validates that the attachment is about memory and identity, not just stuff."

Conversation Starter #2: "What would feel good for you to keep, and what feels like it’s just taking up space now?"

"This gives them agency," Pinarli explains. "Instead of telling them what to throw away, it invites them to reflect on what still feels meaningful versus what might no longer serve them. That sense of control reduces defensiveness."

Conversation Starter #3: "Would it help to go through this together so we can make sure the important things are preserved?"

"This frames decluttering as a collaborative and supportive process, not a demand," Pinarli shares. "It reassures them that their memories and legacy won’t be dismissed or erased, which can lower the emotional intensity around letting go."

tipping culture debate, server tip note receipt, Lionell Carr Threads viral, restaurant tipping 2026, tipping etiquette US, Pew Research tipping survey, server minimum wage tips, cash tip restaurant, tipping fatigue America, viral restaurant receipt
Canva

A restaurant customer looks at his bill

Lionell Carr (@lionellsaidit2) stopped for breakfast while traveling over the holidays. His bill came to $33.06. He paid on the card, leaving the tip line blank because he planned to leave cash on the table. Before he could, the bill came back.

Written on the receipt in bold red letters: "Learn to TIP. It's not my job to serve you FOR FREE!"


Carr posted a photo of it to Threads last December, with a caption that summed up his reaction: "On my holiday travels, I stopped and had breakfast. this occurred afterwards. I was gonna leave a cash tip......" He added, "These servers are out of control, a lot of times they blocked their blessings for greed!"

The post has since pulled in 4.5 million views, according to Newsweek, and the comment section became exactly what you'd expect: a full-scale argument about one of the most reliably combustible topics in American public life.

On one side, people who felt the server crossed a line. "If you're not getting paid by your EMPLOYER, that's your fault. Tipping is OPTIONAL," wrote @gaga.looie. @trice_the_bea added, "U.S.A. should start learning how to pay its workers. Tips should be a reward for kind service, not their paycheck."

On the other, people who felt the server's frustration was completely understandable given the economic reality behind it. "greed? in U.S. servers get a base salary of $2.13/hour on average," wrote @lucy.vard. "The majority of the money they make is tips. We can argue that the system is broken, and restaurant owners should pay their employees, and, while valid, it's a different point. This is how system works, and we shouldn't punish people for the system's imperfection."

tipping culture debate, server tip note receipt, Lionell Carr Threads viral, restaurant tipping 2026, tipping etiquette US, Pew Research tipping survey, server minimum wage tips, cash tip restaurant, tipping fatigue America, viral restaurant receipt YouTube

Both responses capture something true, which is probably why this post keeps spreading.

The structural reality is that the American tipping system puts servers and customers in an uncomfortable position that neither of them created. According to a 2023 Pew Research Center survey, 72% of U.S. adults say they are being asked to tip in more places than five years ago. More Americans oppose businesses suggesting tip amounts (40%) than support it (24%). And 77% of diners say the quality of service is their primary factor in deciding how much to tip, which means a server's income is perpetually attached to variables outside their control.

That pressure is real. So is the frustration of a customer who genuinely intended to leave cash and got a lecture in red ink before he had the chance.

What makes this story harder to resolve than it looks is that the server's note wasn't wrong about the economics. It was just aimed at the wrong person. The broken part of the system isn't the customer who leaves cash instead of a card tip. It's the system that pays servers $2.13 an hour and asks both parties to sort out the rest between themselves.

@azjohnsons put it plainly in the comments: "Tips are their salary. Not a blessing. They worked and should be paid. Sorry for the frustrated note but I get it."

That might be the most honest sentence in the whole thread.

tipping culture debate, server tip note receipt, Lionell Carr Threads viral, restaurant tipping 2026, tipping etiquette US, Pew Research tipping survey, server minimum wage tips, cash tip restaurant, tipping fatigue America, viral restaurant receipt YouTube

You can follow Lionell Carr (@lionellsaidit2) on Instagram Threads for more content on lifestyle.

This article originally appeared earlier this year.