April 22, 2025 By Sam Foster

So, I’ve been thinking about this one party for a while now. It happened when I was 19, fresh out of basic training, and headed to my first Army posting. I wasn’t exactly a social butterfly—still not, honestly—but at that point, I was eager to fit in and make friends, even if I barely knew anyone.

It all started on a Saturday. My barracks-mates, guys I’d just started talking to, invited me to a 21st birthday party in a city about an hour away. I wasn’t super close with any of them, but they seemed cool, and I figured this might be my chance to socialize, even if it was with strangers. I mean, we were all in the same boat, right? Army life is a bit isolating at first, and I was trying to get past that initial awkwardness.

By the time we got there, I realized that I didn’t really know anyone at the party. And I mean, really didn’t know anyone. It was a room full of strangers, and I’m naturally the type to get shy in those situations. So, like any brilliant 19-year-old with a little bit of social anxiety, I decided the best way to deal with it was to drink. A lot. I thought I’d let loose, find some common ground, and maybe just forget about being the “new guy” who didn’t know anyone.

I started with a couple of beers. Then a few more. Soon enough, I was a bit tipsy, and I remember people offering me shots. I had no idea how much I’d had at that point, but I didn’t care. I was already past that barrier of shyness, right? No longer the quiet, awkward guy standing in the corner. Or so I thought.

By around 2 AM, I was on the lounge floor, trying to hold it together, surrounded by guys who were also just as drunk. I didn’t really know anyone, so I just sort of laid there, staring at the ceiling, wishing I could disappear into it. There’s a point when you realize that maybe you’ve gone too far with the drinking, but you’re too far gone to stop and just enjoy the moment. I wasn’t blackout drunk, but I was definitely not in control of myself.

I woke up the next morning with the worst hangover I’d had in a long time. The room was spinning, and I couldn’t really remember how I’d gotten to the floor in the first place. I guess that’s what happens when you drink just to escape the discomfort of being in a room full of strangers.

I’d learned a lot about myself that night—about how I handle social situations, about my tendency to overdo things when I’m nervous. But most of all, I learned that drinking to overcome social anxiety isn’t the answer. In fact, it just makes everything worse.

I wasn’t exactly proud of myself, but it was a moment of growth. I eventually made a conscious decision not to use alcohol to mask my shyness, realizing it didn’t help me connect with people. In fact, it made me more disconnected from who I actually was.

It’s funny how a night of trying to fit in can actually teach you so much about what not to do. I can laugh about it now, but at the time, it was a humbling experience. And it definitely taught me to pace myself—both with my drinking and with trying to force connections that weren’t really there.