Ask a Sober Oldster #1: Martha Frankel

"Not all my friends are sober, and that’s fine with me."

This new monthly interview series is a collaboration between Oldster Magazine and The Small Bow, A.J. Daulerio’s newsletter about recovery and mental health, and will appear in both newsletters. Learn more about this collaboration in this Oldster podcast/videocast episode.

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Los Angeles, winter 2023. “I feel this photo epitomizes me sober.” Illustration by Edith Zimmerman.

Martha Frankel has been a writer her whole life. “It’s the only job I ever had, besides waitress and gas station clown. And that clown thing didn’t stick. I am the director of Woodstock Bookfest, a yearly gathering of writers and readers. A few times a year I put on a Story Slam. Sobriety is the central tenet of my life now.”

How old are you, and how long have you been in recovery?

I’ll be 73 next month, and I just celebrated 10 years clean and sober! I’m a slow starter.

How did you get there? 

Kicking and screaming. I have been addicted to something—drugs, sex, gambling, you name it—from the day my father died in 1965. I was 15. The night he died I went to his room, found the Dilaudid they were giving him, stuck a pin in it and drank half of it. I didn’t start getting high daily after that, but I bookmarked that feeling of oblivion, and I searched for it everywhere.

I thought that story was one that only I could tell, that of course no one else had that experience. The first week in 2013 that I was sober, I was in a Twelve-Step meeting and a woman told that same story exactly. The father dying, the pin in the Dilaudid, the whole thing. I thought someone had put her up to it, until I realized I had never told a soul about it. That happened over and over again—I wasn’t so fucking special after all. 

What’s the best thing about being in recovery?

Waking up without shame. Not having to lie about a million different things. Remembering the good times. Not being horrified by the bad ones. Knowing that wherever I go I can find like minded people. The absence of fear most days. 

I have been addicted to something—drugs, sex, gambling, you name it—from the day my father died in 1965. I was 15.

What’s hard about being in recovery?

Not being able to blot out my feelings.

What’s the best recovery memoir you’ve ever read? Tell us what you liked about it.

There are a few. Caroline Knapp's Drinking: A Love Story really hit me in the gut, long before I ever thought about quitting drinking. I think because she told what she loved about being drunk in a sensual way. Augusten Burroughs’ Dry: A Memoir scared me into considering sobriety. I read it over and over again. And Sarah Hepola’s Blackout: Remembering The Things I Drank To Forget, which I read when I had a few years sober, is the one I give out the most. Because she doesn’t sugarcoat the most embarrassing details of her drunken binges, and I think women need to hear that, to know there’s a place to go after that kind of humiliation. I have two whole shelves of addiction memoirs, and the one I wrote about my own gambling addiction, Hats And Eyeglasses, sits proudly on that shelf, too.

Order Martha Frankel’s memoir, Hats & Eyeglasses.

What are some memorable sober moments? 

Oh my, so many. The hundreds of breakfasts with sober friends after a meeting. Laughing ‘til it hurt. My first wedding sober and dancing up a storm and waking up the next day in such a good mood. My first Woodstock Bookfest Story Slam sober, and hearing the laughter and not wanting to hide. Being present for friends when they need help, without showing up half in the bag. I don't know exactly what that expression means, but it describes me a lot of the time before I quit drinking!

Are you in therapy? On meds? Tell us about that.

No. Although I’m sure there are many who think I should be.

What sort of activities or groups do you participate in to help your recovery? (i.e. swimming, 12-step, meditation, et cetera)

I am involved in a Twelve Step program. Walked in an atheist, still an atheist. But I do believe in the power of the group itself. I have a huge network of sober friends and I rely on them in many ways. Not all my friends are sober, and that’s fine with me. There’s booze in my house and if you come for dinner and you want to drink, I open the bar. I don’t spend time pouring drinks or discussing wine, but I’m okay being around people who drink. Like everyone else, though, I hate being around drunks. So I’ve learned to leave most parties earlier than I used to. Sometimes way, way earlier.