• In 2019, after relapsing multiple times, I stopped drinking.
• I was discharged and decided to treat Christmas Day as any other day, not to be pressured.
• I didn't have the urge to drink, and it was exactly what I needed.

November 10th, 2019, could have been my gravestone date, but it became my sobriety date instead.

It was my fourth and final detox from alcohol addiction; I had been caught in a cycle of repeated relapse for several years — this time, I had to make it work.

During my hospital admission, I naturally thought about the future and the next steps in my recovery. At that moment, the thought of Christmas filled me with dread.

The reality is that alcoholism makes you more and more insular, and I was desperately clinging on to the few people I had left. Knowing I was going to be spending Christmas alone for the first time felt like a punishment. It was the opposite.

The previous year, I blacked out

The previous Christmas Eve, I had been in the same hospital for a mental health crisis. While there's no question my drinking significantly exacerbated my mental state, at the time, I wasn't thinking about sobriety.

When I had been discharged earlier on Christmas Day, I went home and slept through the day. It had become routine: I would be kept overnight and discharged the following day after being seen by a psychiatric nurse. I woke up at about 7 p.m. to drink just enough to prevent having withdrawals and went back to bed. Truth be told, I don't remember anything between Christmas and New Year's Day, and it was the longest I'd ever blacked out.

This time around, I was discharged after an eight-day admission for detox, and my first priority was getting through my coming holiday without any alcohol.

I treated the day like a normal one

Two days before Christmas Day, I decided to treat it like any other day but make it extra special. I bought a chicken to roast, vegetables, and an extra nice dessert.

Because I was no longer drinking alcohol, my biggest dilemma was what I should drink. So I bought fizzy grape juice — like wine but without the alcohol. Every time I felt my anxieties rise about the big day, I told myself: "It's only a day, and it will be over before you know it."

What surprised me was that no one really asked me what I was doing for Christmas, which actually made it easier. In previous years, before my epic relapse, I was invited to my friend's house. His mother would come over from Paris; he'd cook pheasant and all the trimmings. However, this year, he and his mother were going to Switzerland for a skiing trip, leaving me out in the cold.

In my teens and 20s, I would go to my dad's place, which often involved him being drunk and passing out in the afternoon. This was not something I wanted to do, and it only served as a reminder of why I needed to stay sober.

Christmas can be anything you want

I realized that there was no "right way" to do Christmas. That was where a lot of the pressure came from — the traditions, the presents, the goodwill, and the expectations that come with it.

On the big day itself, I decided to do exactly what I wanted to do. I'd earned it after all the work I'd put into my sobriety the previous few weeks. I cooked my roast chicken with unconventional herbs and spices and had my gluten-free dessert and sparkling grape juice. I allowed myself to watch trash TV, which reminded me why I never habitually watched anything.

Unlike Christmases gone by, I didn't have to get up to go anywhere or even get dressed. Knowing there were no people involved eased my anxieties. There were no awkward conversations around the dinner table with relatives I only see at Christmas, big birthdays, or funerals. Nor did I have to down a bottle of wine to ensure there was enough alcohol in my system to get me through the day. This was my Christmas, and I did it my way. It turned out to be bliss.

Many people think the idea of spending Christmas on their own sounds lonely and unappealing. For me, spending Christmas alone is about taking responsibility. The alternative is that I would re-expose myself to triggers that contributed to my complex PTSD, which underpinned my alcohol addiction.

Now approaching my sixth sober solo Christmas, I'm looking forward to it.

• I met my partner when I was seven years sober.
• Although I was far into my sobriety journey, some of his drinking habits triggered me.
• I told him my concerns, and we built a relationship on open communication.

I met my husband a few days after my seventh sobriety anniversary. I don't even remember when I first told him that I no longer drank because it simply wasn't a big deal for me by that point.

I'd lost any lingering embarrassment over being someone in recovery. My now-husband must've taken the news in stride; otherwise, I'm sure I would recall that first sobriety conversation better.

But as we got more serious, I realized we needed to have harder discussions. Some of those are more memorable because I had to be more vulnerable, and his response, if negative, could have ended our relationship.

My then-boyfriend started to trigger my addiction

Because of my history with addiction, I am aware of my boundaries to avoid relapse. For example, in the first year of sobriety, I couldn't live in a home with alcohol. It was too early for me and too scary to have temptation that close.

With time, things got easier. A year into sobriety, I was less easily triggered and moved in with a friend who kept bottles of wine in the house. I didn't ask her to remove them; I had enough discipline and trust in myself at that point.

When I met my husband, I could handle most bars and parties without being tempted. Having a partner who drank wasn't a dealbreaker for me, but I still needed boundaries within the relationship to protect my sobriety.

I realized some situations were triggering me as our relationship developed. It wasn't easy to share that a situation tempted me after all that time without drinking. But my sobriety had been too hard-won to risk skating over the issue.

I shared how going out to dinner was difficult because he ordered cocktails every time, and the frequency was too much for me. I also let him know I was uncomfortable seeing him tipsy and that it made me feel unsafe even though I knew he was safe. And later, when we bought our home, we went shopping for a liquor cabinet for him. It's not hard to have alcohol in the house, but bottles visible on the counter for long periods are more difficult for me.

In some cases, we struggled through these conversations. I couldn't even tell him why some things were more triggering than others. It took some back-and-forth to get to a place of understanding. He asked questions and did his best to listen and take action. This new territory was uncomfortable for both of us. But with every hard talk, we got a little better at it. And we always reached an agreement that felt like a step forward.

We now have a relationship built on open communication

Looking back, I can honestly see how helpful my sobriety has been in fostering our communication, forcing us to have some serious conversations early on. I had to be shamelessly vulnerable. My partner had to respond with empathy and action. I'm grateful he took me seriously.

We were also forced to dig deep and state our feelings clearly, including why some things rubbed me the wrong way. It was one of the best things that happened in building our relationship.

Here we are, four years later, married, and my 11th year of sobriety just celebrated.

No one should risk their sobriety for a relationship

I don't share my boundaries for anyone to compare their own. Everyone in sobriety has their personal level of need when it comes to distance or safety from substances. I've had weaker and stronger seasons, and my boundaries are mine. There's no shame in requiring an alcohol-free home.

If you've worked hard to get sober, don't risk something so precious to meet anyone else's standard. Ask for what you need to be healthy in your relationships.

My husband and I have discussed that if I go through a season of feeling more triggered, we would remove any alcohol from our home, and he would abstain completely. The level of support is there, no matter if the needle on the gauge changes. Some hard things can surprise you and turn into an advantage. It worked that way for us.