Sober Through Another Opening Day
Where do I even begin? This weekend was hell—definitely not what I was expecting. But I made it through, and honestly, I don’t think I would have if I were still drinking. Let’s be real: Opening Day weekend is the biggest event in Downtown Detroit. And on top of that, both the Tigers and Red Wings won on Friday! The energy was unreal.
But aside from being three years sober (and counting), the FOMO doesn't really get to me anymore. For the most part, I’ve let that go. When I really think about it, I’ve always just wanted to do what everyone else was doing. I think that stems back to when I transferred from a private Catholic elementary school to a public school in sixth grade.
I went from being a kid that everyone liked, surrounded by like-minded peers—people who shared my values, my attitude toward schoolwork, my morals, and my work ethic—to suddenly being “the weird kid” because of those exact same things. That’s a lot for a ten-year-old to deal with, especially when I didn’t know a single person. I didn’t even have one friend making that transition with me—no one else who understood what I was feeling. I had to start all over.
Letting go of the need to fit in has been the best thing that’s ever happened to me. It’s freed me in so many ways. That said, I’m still extremely self-conscious when it comes to my appearance and my body. But there’s been a lot of progress over the past 12 years—progress that began the moment I finally admitted I needed help.
When I was 15, my boyfriend at the time played Varsity Hockey. Some of the guys on his team were cruel. They'd call me fat, mock my nose, and even gave me the nickname 'Mr. Ed,' like the horse. They’d literally neigh at me as they passed me in the hallway. Of course, they always made sure to say these things just loud enough for me to hear. My boyfriend would tell me what they were saying, thinking he was helping, but it only made things worse. That’s when my self-esteem really started to crumble, and the self-doubt began to take root.
From there, it spiraled—bulimia, anorexia, and body dysmorphia. The trifecta. And while those things can get better if you work at them, they never truly go away. They're always there, lingering in the background, waiting for the perfect opportunity to reemerge. It takes constant awareness and constant effort. Some days are easier than others, but the voice never fully disappears—it just gets quieter with time, healing, and support.
The first person I ever opened up to about it was another boyfriend, years later. Not long after I told him, he cheated on me. And not only did he cheat—he told me it was because of how self-conscious I was. He said I was always looking for attention from anyone who would give it to me. But that couldn’t be further from the truth. Anyone who truly knows me knows that the last thing I want is to draw attention to myself.
The first person I ever opened up to about it was another boyfriend, years later. I was 21 at the time. Not long after I told him, he cheated on me. And not only did he cheat—he told me it was because of how self-conscious I was. He said I was always looking for attention from anyone who would give it to me. But that couldn’t be further from the truth. Anyone who truly knows me knows that the last thing I want is to draw attention to myself.
He took something I had shared with him in confidence—something he claimed he was “trying” to help me through—and used it as a weapon of control. I didn’t hesitate to break up with him once I found out. I was 100% solid in that decision. But he didn’t like that it was so easy for me to walk away. And that’s when it started.
The emotional rollercoaster that followed—the brief but brutal period where someone who had already betrayed me kept throwing my biggest insecurities in my face—was a complete mind fuck. It lasted maybe a week or two, but it was enough to leave me feeling wrecked.
That’s when I went to my grandma. I told her everything and asked if she would take me to the U of M Eating Disorder Clinic. I had made an appointment for an intake and didn’t want to go alone. That appointment marked a turning point. From there, I started opening up to the people close to me. I found a therapist and finally started working through the thoughts and feelings I had been burying for so long—so that no one could ever use them against me again.
I know I got sidetracked, but I felt like I had to explain where and how these feelings about myself came from for you to truly understand what a huge victory it is for me to let go of the need to fit in. That need ruled my life for so long, and honestly, it wasn’t until the beginning of my sobriety that I started to let go of it. I didn’t want to be the “weird” one or the topic of gossip just because I wasn’t drinking.
So this Opening Day? It’s one I’m not sure I would’ve made it through if I still were.
Let’s back up to the Wednesday before—it started with what I thought was a sinus headache, and by Thursday it had evolved into a full-blown sinus infection. I have my ENT’s personal number in case I ever need to reach him for antibiotics or steroids, but of course, no answer. I texted him twice, called three times, and even tried the office. Still nothing.
Thankfully, my boyfriend is a gem. After asking what I usually get from my doctor, he showed up with a little care package—Tylenol, nasal spray, and Zofran to help with the side effects of the antibiotics. Thoughtful as hell.
Friday morning, I somehow turned my alarm off in my sleep and woke up just five or six minutes before I had to be at work. Probably thanks to the two nights of awful sleep. I was late, but luckily we didn’t have anything going on for a few hours. People didn’t start showing up until around 9:30 or 10:00 am, and the place slowly started filling in.
Sidenote—some customers came in who work in the industry I’d love to get into. I asked if they were hiring for a production assistant, and one of the women said yes! She wasn’t a manager, but she pointed me to someone who was, and I ended up with a business card and an invitation to email. That cancels out the late wake-up, right?
After my bar shift ended, I stuck around to help where needed. A coworker who was starting his shift at the beer tub asked if I wanted to take over, and I said sure. It started slow, but I was doing well regardless and even had to restock after selling out of what little I began with.
I even ran into some girls from Pure Barre—they were sitting at a table behind the bar where I was working. There were too many people to walk around, so I climbed up and over the ledge, then stepped down onto a chair at their table just to chat with them for a bit. Everything was going smoothly... until I went to cash someone out and realized the bank and profit from my sales was gone.
I searched everywhere—walked up and down the bar, checked the floor, looked behind everything, and asked everyone around me if they’d seen it. Nothing. I could maybe understand losing the money if I had been drinking, but I was 100% sober. There’s no way I wouldn’t notice if over $100 in cash just fell out of my fanny pack sling. Still, it vanished.
Thankfully, I hadn’t lost all of my tips. I had just enough to pay back the bank and cover what the profit would’ve been from what I’d sold. But it still hit me hard. I went home for a quick break to let Lena out, cried because I genuinely had no clue how it even happened, fixed my makeup, and headed off to job number two.
And that? That was chaos.
There were five bartenders behind the bar—including me—and not enough room for all of us. By around 7:30 or 8:00 pm, we were down to two, and we stayed steady until about 10:00 when the fire marshal showed up and told us we were at capacity. After that, it was dead. I ran to the liquor store around the corner for an energy drink because, by this point, I was 15 hours into being awake and 14 into working.
When I got back, security wouldn’t let me in. Said they weren’t letting anyone else in anymore. I told him I worked there, and he hit me with, “I don’t know you.” I ran next door to the other club we own—they let me in, but the connecting door was locked. So I went back to my job and he still wouldn’t let me in, until I went over to the other security guard who did know me and just let me into the club, to tell him to let me in.
I told my manager, and he had no idea any of that was even happening. He sorted it out and told security that he could start letting people in again.
At this point, the other bartender wanted to leave—it was dead—but I asked her to at least put the credit card slips in before she left since I wouldn’t be able to finish before the computers reset at 4:00 am. That’s when we realized... no one had put any of them in. She stayed to help, but meanwhile, customers were getting increasingly rude as the alcohol really started kicking in.
And to top it all off, my sensory overload had kicked in full-force around 6:30 pm. So, yeah—lucky me.
But I made it through. Somehow. Even with the money disappearing, even with all the chaos, and working 21 of 24 hours, I made it. And I did well. That version of me from a few years ago would have made it, but wouldn’t have stayed as put together. But present-day Cierra? She did.
This ended up being longer than I expected. I wanted to talk about Saturday and today, but it looks like that'll have to wait until tomorrow.
To be continued…
