“𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐆𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐖𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐖𝐚𝐬𝐧’𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐦”

What if the wine, the weed, or the white line… wasn’t the issue?

I’ve met so many women over the years who told me they weren’t addicted to substances.

They didn’t “have a problem.” They weren’t drinking a bottle a night, and they didn’t smoke to numb out their entire day.

But they always had that glass of wine before sex.
That edible before touch.
That bump before going to bed with someone they loved.

And at some point, they stopped asking why.

Take Nikki.

She had what most would call a beautiful life — the marriage, the job, the friendships, the laugh you’d recognize in a crowded room.

But Nikki couldn’t be touched sober. Not comfortably. Not fully.

She had been molested as a child. Assaulted in college. And she’d spent years believing that sex was power. Something you used to gain approval or control.

By the time she married her best friend (the one man she trusted) her body was so disconnected from her soul that intimacy felt like war.

And the only way she could cross that battlefield?

Was to numb herself first.
Cocaine. Alcohol. Even pills at one point.
Not to party. Not to get high.

To survive.

“I don’t think I’ve had sex sober since I was 18,” she whispered in our first session.
“I don’t know what I like. I’m not even sure I ever did.”

That line haunted me.

Because she wasn’t alone.

I wrote Sober Sex for women like Nikki.
And for the women who’ve never said it out loud — but still feel it in their chest, in their gut, in their silence when someone touches them too gently.

I wrote it because I was her, too.

Let’s name something gently but truthfully:

Most of us weren’t taught how to be intimate without performing.
Most of us weren’t taught how to say no without feeling like we’d ruin everything.
Most of us weren’t taught that our nervous systems matter more than the mood.

And none of us were taught that healing could start with just one “pause.”

I don’t demonize wine. Or weed. Or even the white line on the back of a toilet seat, if that’s what it took to cope once.

This book isn’t about shame.

It’s about getting honest about what the buffer is blocking.

It’s about asking:

“What if the glass of wine wasn’t the problem?
What if the real problem… was the part of me that never learned how to feel safe in my own body?”

That’s what Nikki discovered.

She didn’t quit cold turkey. She didn’t become some sex-positive Instagram goddess.
She just started feeling.
And it wrecked her.

In the best way.

She sobbed during eye contact.
She shook during touch.
She didn’t know how to be naked with the lights on.
But she stayed.
With her breath. With her body. With her husband.
With herself.

And eventually, she didn’t need the drink.
Because her body began to trust that it wouldn’t be abandoned again.

That’s what this book is about.

Not “sober sex” like a trend.
But presence.
Reclamation.
Returning.

It’s about taking the mic back from the lie that says you need something to be sexy.

It’s about letting the bedroom be sacred again — not in some rigid, religious way — but in the way that presence becomes the most erotic thing in the room.

If you’ve ever:

Poured a drink to feel ready

Smoked to be open

Disappeared during sex

Felt a pang of shame the morning after

Stayed silent when your body whispered “no”

Or numbed the part of you that once wanted more but got hurt trying…

Then this book is for you.

And you don’t have to be ready.
You just have to be willing.

The book launches July 1.
But the return begins now.

Read.
Reflect.
Share this musing with someone who might need it.

Want more?
Watch today’s reel on IG/FB —
It’s a tender truth drop.
I’ll meet you there.

As always loving you from here,
Rene Schooler