Sober Rooms on Clubhouse and Zoom vs. In-Person Connection: A Brief Analysis

In-person sober meetings are cropping up as we ease into a post-pandemic climate, offering opportunities for direct 3-D contact, yet…

Sober rooms on Clubhouse and Zoom remain a large part of the sobriety cocktail mix, having many sober people transfixed. 

The allure of online relating makes sense: 

Many alcoholics I know don’t want the emotional exposure — and dreaded vulnerability — that come with staying sober in front of other people, even if those other people are sober. Many would prefer to get sober (or stay sober) all alone in a safe cave somewhere, without having to deal with people in a live setting. But…

Humans (including alcoholics) are wired for social connection. And, research indicates the opposite of addiction is connection. 

Also, anecdotal research underscores that:

Alcoholics stay sober — and more comfortable — when in contact with other sober people.

So, alcoholics need connection with other sober people to stay sober, but many don’t want other humans as company!

This connection quandary puts alcoholics in quite the pickle. Especially during a pandemic. 

Enter Zoom and Clubhouse

Zoom (in case you’ve been living in that cave without internet connection) is an online video chat service.

Clubhouse (for those left out of the know) is an “audio-only social media app,” kind of like call-in radio but with both layman and professionals where anyone can enter into a courteous, personable (for the most part) conversation.

When the pandemic hit, the need for connection persisted with a vengeance. Zoom exploded with Alcoholics Anonymous Twelve Step meetings. (Other sobriety online meetings took advantage of the sober video space, too.)

Around the same time, Clubhouse opened its doors and recovery “rooms” of all kinds popped up on mobile devices as the app scaling allowed.

With these platforms, sobriety could be achieved and maintained, all while staying in the security of one’s own closet — a way to both connect in cyber headspace with others and hide-out amidst a collection of your sweatpants. So convenient and comfortable. Perfect for the alcoholic cave dweller.

Now, though, in-person meetings have arrived in limited supply on the sober scene, evoking a yikes! for the cave people, and a hooray! for others who crave that in-person contact. 

Should you be an alcoholic with any kind emotional wound, no matter what group you fall into (caver or hoorayer), you probably want to feel heard, known — and accepted — not just by your dog, but also by other human beings.

If you know the high value of true in-person emotional exposure with another safe human being — where you have looked into the eyes of another and felt agonizingly vulnerable and lived through it; and then after felt better and connected to the world and others in the best possible way—you know that face-to-face contact is something only experienced and felt (not explained in theory), and only happens, you guessed it — in-person.

And that unexplainable feeling feels good.

Yet, Clubhouse and Zoom feel good and offer an element of safety, too, each in their own way. 

But still, do these cyber formats inhibit the authentic connection essential to feeling heard, known and accepted? 

And, do they interfere with that ethereal quality and inexplicable thing that happens when we are in the presence of other people? 

This short analysis may help tease out some answers that work for you.

Two main features of Clubhouse and Zoom are the hideout factor and convenience:

The Hideout Factor

The hideout factor, just to be clear, means no in-person, face-to-face contact where tones, gestures, postures and facial expressions can spontaneously erupt in full glory for others to see. The non-verbal stuff just doesn’t transmit like in the flesh— online, we can fake a lot. And faking it — out of fear — is why so many people drink in the first place.

Basically, you can present a version of yourself on the screen or in audio. Without live feedback, it’s easy to fall into being a person impersonating a person, which means you’ve created (what you think is) an acceptable version of yourself. You can act. Not great for authentic connection if you don’t feel you can be YOU.

The hide out factor also provides complete freedom to turn video or volume on or off at any time, for any reason, no matter what is happening on screen or other end of the line, like, if someone is having a mental breakdown, for example.

Also, if you get bored and want to answer a text, or draft that word document while said person is having that breakdown, you can do it. No one will ever know, except you, and maybe your cat or partner or whoever you decide to converse with while using the chat feature on Zoom. Just know, though, that if you decide to share, people might be chatting it up or clicking you off in some way, completely ignoring you and what you have to say.

Could you imagine pouring your heart out to someone where in mid-sentence they suddenly turned away from you and began paying bills?

And speaking of listening…

While hiding out in your cozies at home, you don’t get any modeling of how to listen courteously and mindfully. Also cave dwelling sobriety does not provide the valuable social etiquette cues and demonstration of setting/maintaining boundaries that we get from in-person meetings.

Hiding out — and checking out — become so easy and comfortable, it renders the idea of authentic relating bothersome at best, but more likely, distressing and something to avoid. Who wants to engage in authentic connection, with its high potential for vulnerability (or any number of yucky emotions)?

Many will choose safety over risk, and comfort over vulnerability. And convenience over inconvenience.

Convenience

Clubhouse and Zoom’s hideout factor, coupled with the allure of convenience, tend to seduce in a most provocative way. 

No leaving the fox hole, which means no time spent dressing for or driving to a meeting. No jawing about that resentment or that date or your new job. No hugs or holding hands, and no little tears seen or Kleenex offered. 

When it is convenient, we can cry all by ourselves.

Convenience allows for the much desired alone time. All alone, we can fantasize about a lot of feel-good things. Things that aren’t real can make for entrancing scenarios in one’s own head. Like imagined relationships.

Although a great, masturbatory seduction may feel shivery good, it does not always fulfill the authentic connection bill. 

I must say, I am especially enticed by convenience. But, like grab and go fast food, a steady diet of fries and pizza could squash the last thump out of my beating heart.

Soooo…

It may be inconvenient for me to make that trip to the grocery and pick up some veggies and protein, but I’ve always been glad when I’ve made the effort, especially after a good broccoli and chicken stir-fry. 

I don’t know the exact reason my body feels good with a healthy meal, just like I don’t know why my spirit lifts after spending time with other sober hearts  and minds— in person.

In Person and Close up

Intimate contact in close up is almost guaranteed in a live meeting, unless you are the darter who pops in late and slinks out early.

Sitting next to someone, we are bound to have a conversation, which means the subconscious non-verbal stuff — yours and theirs—will eventually bubble up into the light of day. An opportunity for authentic relating, in other words. But only if we embrace the chance (and resist that knee-jerk urge to fake).

So often newly sober people in live settings can be overwhelmed — in a good way — to the point of tears and ensuing relief after having been approached by another sober person giving them heart-to-heart contact and maybe a huge hug. 

The open arms in meeting can backfire too, though, as some people bristle and hotfoot it away from any contact; even a “hello” can strike as too intimate or invading for some.

Even with the ease of convenience and hideout factor’s charms, sober people may find themselves hungering for three-dimensional sober contact — that necessary social connection embedded in our DNA. With this, they can dig into the social media’s ecosystem to explore ways of inching toward live connection.

Digging In 

With embedded ways of being able to connect online, phone numbers or direct messages can be exchanged, and possibly, calls made.

The idea of direct messaging or calling someone you don’t know might induce a shudder, especially if you are new to sobriety. That said, those with decades sober aren’t always at the quick to chat people up, unless you are someone in my camp, who knows the value of connection in sobriety.

I, for example, contacted someone I didn’t know (but had heard in a sober Clubhouse room, and liked what I heard) and found myself nervous a few days before calling her. I wanted to interview this woman (who was new to sobriety) about her Clubhouse connection experience. Will she want to hear from me? Will I be rejected? Is this topic valid? 

The result of me contacting this person? An easy conversation forged a nice connection — and my mind cracked open a bit.

Her words about Clubhouse and connection? “I listen better, I’m not distracted like on Zoom, it’s like family now.” And the most remarkable comment of all, “I don’t think I could have gotten sober without Clubhouse.”

I‘ve heard similar sentiments echoed in other sober rooms, as well, like, “I feel closer here than in person,” and, “I feel like I can express myself here more,” and, “I’m so grateful I’ve met all of you (in the room).”

The point of my experience with this woman and others I’ve heard?

Clubhouse and Zoom — because of the hideout factor and convenience — make it easier for many already vulnerable alcoholics to authentically connect, all from the safety of their own little den. They get the best of both worlds in other words. Connection in a cave.

But still, when we feel excruciatingly vulnerable with all defenses down—square in front of another sober person , in person— that mysterious, indescribable thing enter can into the deepest part of our heart and soul. With this, we feel deeply heard, known, and best of all, accepted, “as-is.” 

But again, some might say, Clubhouse and Zoom offer that same feeling. 

So, who am I to say which is better, or what feelings you have as you sit in the the glow of logging on? I only know how I feel, and what is better for me.

Final Thoughts

I like Clubhouse and Zoom, for both the hideout factor and convenience. But, I went to my first in-person sober meeting yesterday, and wow, what a different feeling it was! Indescribable. Like trying to explain how oxygen feels. So my final thoughts are:

Hiding out is playing it safe and running the risk of feeling isolated and alone (which can lead back to drinking). And, slinking in the dark, we miss out on valuable social skills we need for existing in the world and being present in relationships. 

If we want to grow in sobriety, and feel more deeply connected and authentic with others (and everything) in the most positive way, stretching is necessary. That’s whether in person or online. 

To my surprise, even on Clubhouse and Zoom, we can learn to stretch in a new way — by reaching out and connecting with other sober people from our own safe room. We can inch toward the sunlight of the spirit — toward the connection we crave (and are wired for), and come to know people as sources of love and safety. 

At some point, we will want to be our sober selves around others in the world. This requires being seen by people — in person. Eyeball to eyeball. Heart to heart.

With some digging and stretching, Clubhouse and Zoom serve as a bridge to the shores of live meetings where sober people await, reaching out their hands.

Alone, and in the folds of others, too, we get to discover a deeper connection to ourselves, others, and maybe a Higher Power.

In time, both online and face-to-face, we can learn to drop the pretense, get vulnerable and just be — unabashedly free. Then we can experience an oh-so heavenly sobriety.