From “Sunday Funday” to Sobriety: How I Took My Sundays Back

 

There was a time when Sunday Funday meant one thing and one thing only — drinking. Not brunch, not family, not football (even though that’s what I told myself). Just alcohol.

I used to love Sundays for all the wrong reasons. The first NFL game kicked off at 10 a.m., and that’s when I’d pop open my first beer — cold, refreshing, and full of that fake sense of freedom that alcohol tricks you into feeling. I’d tell myself, “It’s the weekend, I deserve this.” And before I knew it, that one beer turned into an all-day thing.

Looking back now, it’s wild how normal it felt. How routine it became.

Everyone thought I was just a heavy drinker — and honestly, that’s what I wanted them to think. They didn’t know that in between beers, I was sneaking swigs of whiskey. It was my little secret. That secret buzz that I thought I could control.

But you can’t hide from yourself forever.

The Illusion of “Fun”

It’s crazy how something that once felt like fun can actually be a slow form of destruction. Back then, Sunday wasn’t about the game anymore. It was about getting numb before Monday rolled around.

I didn’t eat all day — just drank. I’d tell myself I didn’t need food because “drinking on an empty stomach hits faster.” And that was exactly what I was chasing: that instant hit, that fake comfort.

By the time the afternoon game came on, I was usually already on my way to being gone. And by the time the primetime game started at 5 p.m., I was either passed out or blackout drunk — missing the very game I claimed to love.

The sad part? That was my normal.

That was my idea of fun.

And I didn’t even realize how far gone I was until I started seeing the pattern — the lies, the guilt, the denial, and the pain I caused to myself and others.

The Denial Stage

Denial was my best friend.

I used to swear up and down that I didn’t have a problem. “Everybody drinks on Sundays,” I’d say. “It’s football — chill out.”

But the truth was, I wasn’t drinking for fun anymore. I was drinking to escape myself.

If someone called me out for getting too messy, I’d get defensive. “Nah, I’m just tired.” Or “It’s the beer, not the whiskey.” Always an excuse. Always a cover-up.

Deep down, I knew they saw through it — but as long as they didn’t say it out loud, I felt like I was safe in my lie.

But denial only lasts so long before reality hits.

The Moment I Realized It Wasn’t Fun Anymore

There’s always that moment. That one day when you wake up and can’t even remember what you were celebrating. You just remember the headache, the guilt, and the shame.

I remember waking up one Monday morning, my TV still blaring from the Sunday night game I never watched. Empty cans on the table. A half-empty whiskey bottle by the couch. And me — sitting there, hungover and hollow.

It wasn’t “Sunday Funday” anymore. It was “Monday misery.”

That’s when it hit me — I was wasting my life chasing a feeling that never lasted. I was missing out on everything that mattered because I couldn’t stop pouring poison into my own cup.

The Battle to Take My Sundays Back

Quitting wasn’t easy. Sundays were the hardest.

That first sober Sunday? I didn’t know what to do with myself. I was so used to cracking open a drink the second I woke up that sitting with my own thoughts felt like torture.

I had to relearn what “fun” even meant.

At first, I filled my Sundays with distractions — cleaning, walking, journaling, anything to keep my hands and mind busy. But eventually, I started to enjoy the peace.

The quiet didn’t feel so heavy anymore.

The guilt started to fade.

And the best part? I started remembering things again — like the actual football game, like the conversations I used to forget, like who I really was underneath all that alcohol.

Redefining My “Funday”

Now, Sunday still means football — but it means clarity too. It means tea instead of beer. Breakfast instead of empty calories. It means actually enjoying the day instead of trying to escape it.

I still cheer for my team. I still get hyped for big plays. But now, I can remember every moment of it.

There’s something powerful about taking back the very thing that once had control over you. Sundays used to be my downfall. Now they’re my reminder of how far I’ve come.

I don’t sit in shame anymore. I sit in gratitude.

The Truth About Sobriety and “Fun”

Here’s something I’ve learned — sobriety doesn’t take your fun away. It gives it back to you.

For the longest time, I thought being sober meant missing out. I thought it meant living a boring, dull life where everyone else was laughing and I was the odd one out.

But what I didn’t realize was that I was never really laughing back then. I was just louder.

Now, my laughs are real. My smiles are real. My memories are real.

Sobriety didn’t steal my Sundays — alcohol did. Sobriety gave them back.

If You’re Struggling With “Just One More”

If you’re reading this and you still find yourself saying “just one drink,” or “it’s just for fun,” I get it. I’ve been there.

But ask yourself — is it still fun? Or is it just familiar?

Because there’s a difference.

You don’t have to hit rock bottom to make a change. You just have to be honest with yourself — brutally honest. That’s where healing starts.

And once you start healing, Sundays start feeling different. You wake up with energy, not regret. You remember the night before, and more importantly, you remember who you are.

Final Thoughts: My Sundays, My Rules

I’m not that same person who used to pass out before the final game. I’ve made plenty of mistakes, and I carry regrets that I can’t erase — but they don’t define me anymore.

What defines me now is how I got back up.

I used to waste my Sundays drowning in denial. Now, I spend them living with purpose.

If you’re trying to take your Sundays back, just know it’s possible. It’s not easy, but it’s worth every uncomfortable moment. Because eventually, the peace hits deeper than any drink ever could.

And that, right there, is real freedom. 🌹⛓💥