Write Yourself Sober: The Test
How Journaling Morning Pages One Day at a Time Became My Lifeline
By Kelly Morgan
I swore I'd never grow up to be an alcoholic like my dad.
A decision to not be an alcoholic is like driving a dirt bike through the mountains. If you focus on not hitting the stone, your motorcycle hits the stone, and you fly over the handlebars. He drank martinis, so I never so much as sipped on one. Instead, I drank white wine.
White wine isn't drinking, is it?
I wrote about it in my journal: "Stick to drinking wine. You’re not an alcoholic because Dad drank martinis, and haven’t even tasted one." I’ve always loved negotiating with the truth. Rationalization is like riding a bike. You never forget how to do it.
"I've been drinking too much lately," I finally confessed to my father. "It's because I entertain clients. And I'm single. I have to go to parties."
I'd rehearsed all my excuses in my head — but that didn't help me. Writing in my journal got the rationalizations and negotiations out of my head and onto paper where I could see them. On paper, they took on weight. The truth began to feel more honest.
One of my teachers often said, "Simple awareness is often curative." Looking back, writing made the truth three-dimensional.
Even if I didn’t drink martinis, maybe I was becoming an alcoholic? The truth emerged like an iceberg in the not-too-distant future.
I remembered my vow to never become an alcoholic like my father. Writing gave birth to awareness; in this case, the awareness started like a canary singing. It would grow louder and louder — more like a bullhorn blasting out my eardrums. Turn around. Steer your life in another direction.
I called my father after waking up with another hangover.
"Not everyone who drinks is an alcoholic," Dad said. By then, he'd been sober for 12 years. "But if you're worried that you're an alcoholic, there's a test. For the next month, drink only one or two drinks every day. Alcoholics have to drink nothing or all."
"One drink a day," I promised. An overachiever, as usual.
The first week of the test, my glasses grew bigger. A six-ounce glass became eight, ten, then sixteen, twenty-eight ounces, and finally, I nursed a wine glass big enough to double as a birdbath.
That should've been a clue.
But in my mind, I'd aced Dad’s test — or so I told myself while writing it down.
Denial takes up even more space than the largest tumbler.
The following week, I went on vacation to Puerto Vallarta and — miraculously — stuck to one glass of wine a night.
Until the flight home.
A cute guy sat down in the seat next to mine. How often does that happen?
Clearly, it was fate. We celebrated by buying each other cocktails.
When we landed at O'Hare Airport, I offered to buy him margaritas at my favorite Mexican restaurant, El Jardin's — if he paid for the cab.
We drank two pitchers at the restaurant — you'd think we'd been walking through the desert for days instead of lounging poolside in the tropics.
"I failed the test, but it was a stupid test," I told my girlfriend Jeannie the next night over cocktails on Rush Street.
In the morning, I pulled out my journal and wrote morning pages.
"I wonder if I'm becoming an alcoholic," I wrote again.
NO. So you drank too much. Everybody does it once in a while.
I couldn't quite admit that to myself in writing. Not yet. But I began to see how alcohol made me feel, and I wrote, "I feel ANGRY at myself. Scared for my future if I don't quit drinking."
The relief of writing the truth opened a window — if not yet the door.
Self-awareness, like a breath of fresh air, gave me hope.
Writing the details of my life day after day made me feel a slight shift.
The clink of truth toasted my excuses. It promised that one day, I would begin to see what I couldn’t yet see.
But quitting drinking (eating, smoking, television watching, or any other addiction) is a decision.
Awareness can only take you to the door — you need to cross the threshold.
I wasn’t ready to make a decision to quit drinking. Not yet.
But over time, as I continued journaling — writing became one of my most powerful tools. It helped cut through the layers of denial and excuses that allowed me to keep drinking.
I wasn’t cured. But I was becoming aware.
Have you ever written something down and realized it scared you — because it was true?
That’s where I started.
Are you wondering whether writing might help you see your life more clearly?
I encourage you to pull out your journal and write about whatever is bothering you. Self-reflection is a tool that can lead you toward a deeper understanding of your relationship with alcohol — or anything else you’re avoiding.
One journaling method that really works: write morning pages.
I've written morning pages for over 25 years, following Julia Cameron's method as outlined in her best-selling book The Artist's Way: A Spiritual Path to Higher Creativity.
Since I996, thousands completed my Artist’s Way Workshop in Los Angeles and now I’ve witnessed so many transform their lives by writing morning pages. About me, Julia Cameron said: Kelly Morgan is an inspiring and sure-footed guide.”
People in the workshops told me
:
"Writing morning pages is the best thing I’ve ever done for myself."
✨ SPECIAL INVITATION
Join me for a 5-Day “Morning Page Magic Challenge.”
Each day, you'll receive a short video about morning pages. You’ll learn what they are and be encouraged to write them as a way to connect with your inner voice, your creativity, and your truth.
Whether you're exploring sobriety, healing, or simply trying to see more clearly — this is a place to start.
As Anne Lamott wrote in her inspiring book, Bird by Bird:
“The important thing is how alive you are. Writing of every kind is a way to wake oneself up and keep as alive as when one has just fallen in love.”