That's not Ricky Martin, fool

Staying sane and sober during the holidays Part 1

Before I got off social media a few months ago, I naturally ended up on the TikTok algo that discussed the glorious club days of the early 2000s. Yes, we dressed in business casual. Yes, we wore insanely high heels (which made me 6’6” in the club so none of our friends were ever separated because a giraffe was in their midst).

Yes, we dropped it like it was hot and no, I will not tell you how many booty contests I competed in and WON, and no, you will never find out because there was no YouTube and Pink Razors had not been invented yet. Plus, we were too busy dancing to Dr. Dre’s Chronic album until three in the morning to bring or press record on anybody’s VHS camcorder.

When I moved to Los Angeles, I dialed into a small crew of ladies who paid no covers and waited in no lines. Spaceland, Cinespace, Chateau Marmont, the Ace Hotel (the West Hollywood one, before it closed, had giant aquariums with live female “mermaids”… which is why you shouldn’t aspire to be an actor, kids). My all time favorite club was A.D., with bars on three floors littered with celebrities — from Heath Ledger to Leonardo Dicaprio to RuPaul.

At this point, I’d stopped rolling on E, but I was famous for smoking collective blunts on the sidewalk and using vodka gimlets as dance fuel.

Naturally, I found myself on the dungeon floor, probably in wide-leg, plaid, trouser pants and a crop top, dancing a little too close to a tall man with rhythm. Tall men are rare (except Heath and Leo were/are giants and Leo’s head is indeed large, as is reported in the news, constantly) so, Party on Wayne. Party on Garth. Next thing I know, the girl squad snatched me by my neck and dragged me out of the club in the wee hours of morning.

In the back of the car, I said, “Wow, can you believe I spent the night dancing with Ricky Martin?!”

“Wait, what?” My friend Annie said, utterly baffled. That’s a strange response, I thought. Annie was super fine, so fine Mark Wahlberg and many other celebrities had tried to take her home. “Girl, that was no Ricky Martin.” And the whole car died laughing.

I’m not saying this is why I got sober, but it’s at the top of the list.

I made plenty of questionable choices in my addiction brain; I cussed like a sailor (I am a saint now, despite what you might think). New friends helped me move from downtown LA to Hollywood. They grew up Christian Youth Group All-Stars (no drinking, no cussing, no sex, drugs, or rock and roll). I was new to the whole thing, barely sober, and just trying to survive. One of the girls said to my friend, “I have never met anyone who cusses like that in my entire life.”

I grew up on the yard at the Y. What do you guys want from me?

My God, getting sober that first six months was like watching paint dry with skin that won’t stop itching but you can’t scratch it while listening to death metal at 110 decibels. Absolute torture. To cope, I smoked God only knows how many menthols and swisher sweets and threw myself into work and building small groups for women in recovery through a local church. (And let me tell you, the oughts in the Christian sector were WILD. Not me titling messages Anointed by God, Used by Satan.)

Sobriety is… intense. Suddenly feeling everything you’ve tried to numb, attending therapy and support groups for the first time, and learning the truth about your life with none of your critical coping mechanisms? Only a person who is in serious trouble would choose that path. As they¹ say, “Change happens when the pain of staying the same is greater than the pain of change.”

I’m writing to you because I know the difficulty of the holidays, how the emotions sneak up on you, and the body begins to tense and squeal with memories. And this year, many of you will travel home to people who voted for a serial sexual abuser who has already appointed to his cabinet, four sexual predators, a border czar who was the architect for the family separation executive order, a conspiracy theorist, too many Heritage Foundation people who wrote Project 2025, and a billionaire who will no doubt attempt to dismantle what’s left of public education brick by brick.

We are rounding the corner on a decade of Trump. This is hard. And many evangelicals are obsessed with a person who looks nothing like Jesus so they can win a made-up culture war with the collateral damage of a devastated public witness; it’s heartbreaking. But they have their king. I’m sorry if you’re deeply impacted and grieved — many of you have written to me. I’m thinking of you.

Moving on, when it comes to the holidays, your family is your family; they are who they are and if recovery has taught me any critical lessons, it is that you can’t change, fix, or save anybody. It’s not your job; it’s not worth your energy.

A few more lessons for staying sane and sober:

You are an adult. Choose your holidays. If you can’t handle being home, don’t go. Or go for an hour and leave. Does everyone drink three glasses of wine while you’re feening while drinking mocktails? If it’s too much for you, avoid the temptation. Find a Friendsgiving. Invite some folks over for good food and a poker night. Don’t like turkey (it’s a nasty white bird)? Grill steaks or eat curry. You are grown enough to choose your life. I know expectations are heavy and hard. But you’re in charge. No one will keep you sober but you.

Make a plan. You know what else “they” say? You fail to plan and you plan to fail. What is keeping you sober? Is it walks throughout the day? Hot tea before bedtime? Taking your meds and vitamins? Sharing meals with friends? Meditating on positive phrases or scriptures? Attending meetings? Telling the truth about how hard life is for you right now? GREAT. WE LOVE IT. Build it in. When are you doing that? How are you doing it? Who will help you? Hard weeks are when our rituals and rhythms WORK, so don’t stop them, no matter how hard it feels.

Process the pain. Whatever you do, get the pain out of your body. Don’t ignore it. Suppression leads to shame. Shame leads to guilt. Guilt and shame cycles fuel addiction. A few things to consider:

• Somatic: body movement, stretching, rocking, dancing, walking, loving and accepting your body.

• Voice: Therapy if you can afford it, support groups if you can’t, friendships where you are free to be yourself, singing, talking to yourself.

• Media Diet: Consider limiting your news intake or assign it a time during the day; binge series that make you feel good — could be hallmark movies or Handmaids Tale — we’re all different here; choose social media algorithms that work for you or get off the ones that don’t for a while.

• Renewal: What does rest look like for you? How do you recharge? What combo of solitude and connection is right for you?

And remember how wonderful, top-notch, spectacular, gorgeous, and legit you are. Do not let any other narrative from the past, present, or culture define who you are or how you feel about yourself.

I love you and I’m proud of you. You can do this: One day at a time.

Ashley

P.S. Things bringing me joy right now: Kendrick Lamar’s new album (especially Luther); Taylor Sheridan shows (Lioness, Landman, Yellowstone); my Fuller Seminary cohort (and graduation on the horizon); Christmas decor (it went up on election day lol); friends and family (thank god for you)

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