Still Saying No: Why It Hurts When They Still Ask

It’s been over two years since I chose sobriety. Two years of clarity, growth, and learning how to truly show up in my life. But even now, there are moments that sting—more than I expect them to. One of those moments is when friends or family still ask me, “Would you like a drink?” Or they offer me a glass of wine or a cocktail like nothing ever changed.

And I get it. On the surface, it seems innocent. Maybe it’s just a habit. Maybe they forgot. Maybe they think I’m strong enough now that it doesn’t matter. But here’s the truth: every time I’m asked, it hits me in the chest like a quiet reminder—they don’t always understand what this journey has taken.

Choosing sobriety wasn’t a casual lifestyle shift. It was a life-saving decision. I didn’t quit drinking because I “just wanted to be healthier.” I quit because alcohol was breaking me down—physically, emotionally, spiritually. I was losing parts of myself I didn’t even know I had, and I had to make a choice between temporary numbness or long-term healing.

So when someone offers me a drink now—after all this time—it can feel like they don’t see the work I’ve done. Like my sobriety is invisible. And that hurts. Not because I need applause or validation, but because this version of me has been hard-fought. And sometimes, it feels like people forget that.

But here’s what I’m learning: not everyone will understand. Not everyone has seen what I’ve battled. And not everyone has stood in the dark the way I have. They might see the healed version of me and assume I was never broken. They might think I’m “fine now.” But just because I look whole doesn’t mean the cracks aren’t still healing.

So I take a breath. I say “No, thank you” again. And I remind myself that their misunderstanding doesn’t erase my strength.

I’m not here to be angry with them. I’m here to keep showing up for myself. To honor my boundaries. To keep choosing the life I’ve built over the life I left behind.

And maybe—just maybe—every “no” is another quiet act of teaching. Of healing. Of loving myself louder than their questions.

Because this journey? It’s still sacred. Even when they don’t get it.