Here’s the thing about early sobriety: you can be surrounded by people who love you, have a job you’re good at, a dog that thinks you’re a rockstar, and a stocked fridge… and still swear you have nothing.
You’re not crazy. You’re just bad at object constancy.
Wait, Object What?
Babies have to learn object permanence first — the understanding that things still exist even when you can’t see them. That’s why peek-a-boo blows their little minds. You cover your face? You’re gone forever. You reappear? Miraculous resurrection. The baby laughs like you just pulled a rabbit out of a hat. Eventually, Mommy can leave the room and baby knows she’s still in the house.
Object constancy is the emotional cousin of that skill. It’s the ability to remember that your connections, worth, support, and joy still exist even when you can’t feel them in the moment. Adults aren’t supposed to lose this… but in addiction, we do. Sobriety is learning to play peek-a-boo with your sanity.
The Addict’s Peek-a-Boo Problem
When you’re used to numbing, the second something feels uncomfortable, you can’t remember that comfort exists. You feel alone and forget you have friends. You get stressed and forget you’ve handled worse. You feel unworthy and forget you’ve been loved.
It’s like your brain’s a toddler who sees the blanket over the toy and assumes the toy’s gone forever. “Oh no… my confidence is gone. My hope is gone. My ability to cope is gone.” Nope. They’re right where you left them. You just can’t see them right now.
Why Sobriety Messes with It
When you quit drinking, your brain’s like a newborn again — raw, wide-eyed, and terrible at self-soothing. The dopamine highs from alcohol are gone, so little things feel flat. Even if life is good, it’s hard to hold onto that goodness when you’re tired, triggered, or lonely.
In science-speak, this is partly due to downregulated dopamine receptors and stress systems that are used to chemical relief, not natural resilience. In human-speak: your brain’s used to a magic button that made things feel better instantly, and now that button is gone, it thinks nothing good exists unless it’s in arm’s reach.
Why It’s Not All on “Mommy” (or Your Recovery Community)
Here’s the thing — in baby world, object permanence isn’t just Mom’s job. Sure, she plays peek-a-boo and coos, “I’m still here,” but the baby’s own brain has to grow enough to remember she exists when she’s out of sight. If it were all on Mom, she’d be exhausted, and the baby would be a wreck every time she went to the bathroom. As the baby’s memory and trust muscles develop, they start meeting Mom halfway: holding a mental snapshot of her and assuming (most of the time) she’ll come back. The baby’s own capacity for self-soothing plays a huge role.
From a developmental psychology standpoint, this is part of what John Bowlby’s attachment theory describes: the child moves from needing continuous contact to using “internal working models” of attachment figures. Neuroscience calls this a representation — a stored sensory-emotional memory of the caregiver that can be recalled to reduce distress.
Sobriety’s the same — in the beginning, you may need constant reassurance from friends, meetings, or daily check-ins. But if you don’t grow your own “trust muscles,” you’ll stay frantic every time life feels quiet. Eventually, you have to carry the comfort with you, even when it’s not in the room.
Without that skill, we end up in something psychologists call preoccupied attachment — always scanning for proof we’re loved, always bracing for abandonment. We’re so used to checking the “supply line” to feel okay — whether that’s alcohol, a person, or constant external validation — that we forget we can carry the reassurance inside us. If you’ve ever found yourself checking your phone every 14 seconds waiting on someone to reply to a text, then you know what I’m talking about. It’s miserable.
Cute Examples (But True)
Think about it:
Support: You text your sober friend and they don’t answer for two hours. Your brain: They’ve abandoned me forever. Reality: they’re in the shower or, you know, living their life.
Joy: It’s raining on your day off and you had planned a full day at the park. Brain: I’m an idiot for not checking the weather. Oh, and happiness is dead. Reality: You’re not an idiot. And Netflix exists. Soup exists. Cozy socks exist.
Self-Worth: You mess up at work. Brain: I’m garbage. Reality: you’ve done fifty things right this week and your boss still likes you.
Your brain is the baby in the high chair screaming because the spoon is on the table instead of in their hand. The spoon still exists. You still exist.
Re-Training Your Inner Baby
You can re-teach yourself object constancy. It’s not a quick fix, but it works:
Name What’s Missing (But Not Gone)
Say it out loud: “My motivation feels gone, but it’s not gone. It’s cyclical.” It sounds silly, but hearing yourself declare it gives your brain something to grab. Besides, that’s a safety mechanism from your brain. If you were constantly motivated, you’d be constantly exhausted.Make a Peek-a-Boo List
Write down people, truths, and comforts that are always there even when you can’t see them. Keep it in your phone. Mine looks like:My kids still love me
God still loves me
Coffee is waiting tomorrow morning
My worst day sober still beats my best day drunk
Practice Micro-Reminders
Set a daily alarm with a reminder: “You still have friends. You’re still loved.”
Keep a picture of someone who’s in your corner on your fridge.
Physical Anchors
When you feel the panic that “it’s gone” — hug yourself, squeeze a pillow, hold something warm. That physical act can stand in for the connection your brain is failing to recall.
A Few Newcomer “Peek-a-Boo” Moments
I’ve had them all:
Sitting in my car outside the gym thinking, No one cares if I go in or not. (Spoiler: future me cared a lot.)
Cancelling plans because I was sure I’d be awkward and ruin the night. (Reality: I missed one of the funniest evenings my friends still talk about.)
Ignoring calls because I was sure it’d be bad news. (It was my sister asking if I wanted pie.)
Each time, my brain was covering its face and screaming like the toy was gone. And each time, reality was still sitting there smiling at me, waiting for me to look up.
The Compassionate Truth
If you’re new, this is normal. You’re not broken — you’re re-learning to hold things in your mind and heart when they’re out of sight. You’re building a tether to the good that won’t snap every time the wind blows.
One day, you’ll be in the middle of a bad day, and instead of spiraling, you’ll think: This sucks… but I know joy exists. I’ve felt it. It’ll be back.
And that’s object constancy. That’s peek-a-boo for the soul. One day, you’ll stop fearing the blanket and start trusting the peek-a-boo — because you’ll know that even when the good disappears for a moment, it’s always coming back for you.
When you can’t see joy, or worth, or love, — look to your higher power. God’s saying, “Still here.”
Sobriety won’t keep the hard days from covering your eyes — it just teaches you to smile when they do, because you know the good stuff is still sitting right there, waiting to be found again.