Online dating wasn't part of the Super Glamorous, 20-Something Life I had once envisioned for myself.This was before the ubiquity of Tinder — before everyone knew someone who had met a soon-to-be significant other online.

Someone would ask me out by asking if I wanted to "get a beer" or "grab a drink" — questions for which I didn't have a simple yes or no answer. "Yes, I'd like to grab a drink but when I say drink, I mean something non-alcoholic because I don't drink.

But I don't care if you drink, as long as you don't feel weird drinking if I'm not drinking, in which case, maybe we both shouldn't drink?

Eventually, I found that I want to date — I just had no idea how to do it.

In college, my dating skills consisted of challenging someone to beer pong, finding someone who would take shots with me, or a combination of the two.

I could also figure out what I wanted to reveal about why I wasn't drinking, and how.

I still had more than a few awkward in-person moments (or entire dates, for that matter), but online dating allowed me to dip a toe into the dating world without putting my sobriety at risk.to be the most joyfully reckless years of her life.When I was a teenager, I hoped I would spend my twenties writing the next Great American Novel by day and drinking in impossibly hip bars by night.The thought of talking to other people — much less dating someone — was terrifying.Suddenly, I was thrilled to abide by the "no dating for a year" suggestion.Here are a few things my 20-something fantasy didn't include: Yelling incoherently at my friends (and strangers, for that matter), uncontrollable weeping, blacking out, pathological lying, rarely being sober enough to make it out the front door, and lots and lots of falling down. Thanks to the kindness of my loved ones and access to invaluable resources, I was able to go to inpatient treatment and I haven't had a drink since. When I left rehab, they suggested I didn't get involved with anyone romantically for at least a year.