Her third book "Soberly Considered, Being Drunk Wasn't That Intoxicating" is actually one big column and a logical consequence of her work. It deals with the topic of alcohol and the role it plays as an enhancer of emotions or a constant companion in our daily lives. What started as a self-experiment became a life adjustment or change. After reading the book, I was curious about what motivated Suse to take this rather radical step (...)
When I read your column, it's often the case that you express exactly what I am feeling right now. I'm certainly not the only one who feels that way. Are you actually aware that you move in such a mainstream emotional world?
Actually not – you always think you're a special case. But of course, after all the columns and also the book now, I get a lot of feedback from women who recognize themselves in my experiences and stories. That makes me happy and I believe that we all resemble each other much more than we assume.
A good starting point for a book. But why exactly this topic?
I am attentive when it comes to trends. In the New York and Californian yoga scene around Gaby Bernstein and Ruby Warrington (Club SÖDA NYC) there is a new sober trend. I have noticed that, also that not all of them are alcoholics, but that not drinking alcohol is a lifestyle choice. We all drink green juices, eat superfoods, go running, meditate, and do yoga. All seemingly very conscious, but alcohol takes a special position. That's a contradiction.
It is proven that alcohol is a neurotoxin and I am convinced - after 1.5 years of abstinence - that pouring ethanol into your body is not such a brilliant wellness idea. But everyone can and must decide that for themselves.
What has changed most drastically without alcohol?
The respect for myself. When you endure everything soberly, when all feelings are there 1000 percent, the good as well as the ugly, and you can no longer just push anything away, you really get to know yourself. You see everything super clearly and unfiltered, you look at the world, even your friends, with different eyes. That was very hard for me at first, because as a person you want to belong. But you automatically don't quite belong anymore when you toast with water. When everyone else has drunk wine, the frequency is very different from your own. I don't regret this decision. It's just different: I no longer dance to music I don't like, don't go to bed with men I don't really like, and don't say anything I regret the next morning.
Keyword belonging: Has your circle of friends changed? Are you maybe no longer invited by some, and if so - doesn't that hurt?
Yes, sure. But no one tells you that directly. Luckily, I don't have a big circle of friends and my closest friends remain closest friends.
Your book has already caused a bit of a stir; the topic of alcohol seems to really stir people up?!
Totally. Such a self-experiment is tolerated as long as it doesn't exceed a certain period. Similar to detox, fasting, or pregnancy. But when it becomes an attitude, you become suspicious. Why doesn't she drink anymore, she must have a problem! There are people who use me as a projection surface and start telling me unsolicited about themselves, why they drink, why it's no problem for them at all to have just one glass of wine daily at dinner... I don't judge or preach. Others want to accuse me of having an alcohol problem—even those who don't know me at all—and they do judge.
I now occasionally question myself whether I really feel like having a glass today. I handle it much more sensitively and have experienced myself how alcohol can amplify the day's mood and trigger other feelings.
But that's exactly good when you question yourself why you do something.
But why so extreme right away? How did it come about to stop or start so rigorously from one day to the next?
The moment of quitting was chosen impulsively, but the decision had been made long before. It had matured inside me.
Were there low points, moments when you wanted to give up?
No, but of course there were sad moments: New Year's Eve standing alone by the window, the fear of being excluded by friends, not being sexy anymore, not funny anymore, not this anymore, not that anymore. We survive all that, but on the other hand: When you say no to the automatic habit of alcohol (and it is automatic because a drink is offered at every corner and every event), you simultaneously say yes to many other things in life.
Your book is basically an extension of your column. You were still drinking then. Were you afraid your book might be boring if written sober?
I'm not Charles Bukowski, but of course I had doubts that what I'm experiencing isn't extreme enough or interesting enough to report on. Not sarcastic, ironic, or biting enough anymore. Of course, everyone likes stories about crashes (e.g., with a hotel director). Who wants to read stories about exercising and drinking water all the time? But luckily, there's a lot in between, and you don't always have to experience drama to be able to write well. But above all, it's an inner process; you get to know yourself all over again. It reminds me of how I was as a teenager before I had my first buzz. That has something very raw and vulnerable about it, and it's sometimes uncomfortable when you go to parties where everyone is tipsy and seems so light as a feather.
What other function does alcohol have?
You especially notice what function it has when you no longer have it. Not the “Dry January” or just a somewhat socially acceptable detox – but when you decide to banish it from your life.
What was the most positive experience?
Physically: the great sleep, more energy, being fit, and I love coming home sober and always being able to take excellent care of myself. That touches so many facets. It determines who and what we engage with. Especially which men. I notice that I no longer respond to the types I might have liked before.
Is there something you miss? The taste of red wine?
Of course, I sometimes briefly miss the dampening, warm feeling that a heavy red wine promises you. But I don't miss the effect at all. Feeling foggy is scary to me anyway. What I do miss is the concept of alcohol. That will probably always remain.
What do you mean by that?
Well, when I see some cool women on Instagram with champagne glasses or something, I do think: oh, damn! But I know it's something learned. It's like watching a Romy Schneider film and longing for intoxication and self-destruction, even though we all know Romy had a serious alcohol problem. We romanticize it and think we're cooler if we have a glass of red wine in our hand. In truth, that's a load of crap.
You only planned for one year, now you've extended it. Why?
Yes, it was intended to last only as long as I was writing the book. At the end of the book, I try it briefly, take a few sips of wine or beer. But after a very short time, I knew that I neither want nor need alcohol in my life.
Do you never want to drink alcohol again? Or is it like when you stopped, that you'll start again at some point?
Of course I can have a glass anytime and keep that option open. But so far, the desire was never strong enough to make it worth it for me.
Isn't it annoying when people always ask you why you don't drink anything anymore?
Yes, sometimes I also drink water from wine glasses so no one asks. But by now the questions are fewer. It's important to me that I don't want to convert anyone.
Writing is self-therapy for you. Is this step of not drinking the most extreme—or rather—the final stage of therapy, are you now done with therapy?
I let people share in my failures but also in my successes. I wouldn't call it therapy, but yes, it also helps me sort things out, put them into perspective, and maybe understand a bit better in the end. But I do think about my next book and will always have something to tell as long as I live.
You have processed your breakup, among many other experiences, in your columns. Would you say today that one can only truly grow through pain?
I believe when a crack runs through your life, and there are far more brutal ones than a breakup, you get to know yourself. Unless you have means (and we all do) that help you escape the pain. Be it excessive shopping, sex, or eating. Everyone has different outlets.
Compensation is like a band-aid—no one can stand themselves 24/7. What is your outlet—your distraction?
Of course, there is still something. Vintage fashion, for example: searching for things that not everyone has. That's also a kind of addiction. Luckily, I then wake up and ask myself, what are you actually doing here, sitting three hours at the computer in front of eBay Classifieds looking for some Yves Saint Laurent belt from the Russian Collection of 1976, how crazy is that?
Not drinking alcohol, living healthily, being a good person—doesn't all that fall under the compulsion for self-optimization?
Maybe it's the other way around: if I'm actually shy and use alcohol to cover that up, I optimize myself for society. Or I'm sad and drink something so I'm not sad anymore, because sad people aren't liked at parties. That's more a form of optimization to be socially acceptable at all. I don't optimize myself anymore. What you see is what you get. Inside and out. And if I'm down, I don't drink a glass of Prosecco or wine to hide it, but stay home with my butt, make some tea, and watch Netflix. It’s a choice.
What physical changes have you noticed in yourself?
Even though it's proven that alcohol breaks down collagen, I don't look younger in my eyes since I stopped drinking. I am 49 years old and look exactly the same. I also haven't lost weight; I've always been like this. Instead of crow's feet, forehead wrinkles, and counting calories, I recommend: Count your blessings.
