How to Drink Tea

I wasn't excited to write this blog, but it needed to be done. I wrestled with how to begin, questioned how the words would land. I’m still getting used to the person I’m becoming. But they say once you name something, it loses its grip. So here it is: I drink tea now.

Well, to clarify, I always liked tea. And coffee. And when I was in middle school, I went through a serious Diet Pepsi phase.

But what I’m really saying is: I’ve stopped drinking alcohol entirely. I order green tea instead of tequila reposado, hot lavender instead of wine. I’d rather meet a friend for matcha than go to happy hour after work.

I understand this is not revolutionary; I’m not breaking the glass ceiling here. But it’s big for me. As a former bartender, I’ve done a complete 180. While it’s one of the best decisions I’ve ever made, it hasn’t been without grief.

Because for me, alcohol was a reliable escape route.

We all have our preferred vices—sugar, marijuana, excessive workouts—and alcohol was always mine. So for me, the choice to abstain has also been a choice to confront the things I’ve been running from, long before I first snuck a bottle of Jack Daniels into the game room with my sister on New Year’s Eve.

I could go into how I was set up to fail. How Western society glamorizes alcohol, tells you drinking is synonymous with connection, implies if you're not drinking, you must be missing out. But you know that already.

We design the ads and ignore the warning labels. We film beautiful characters in beautiful bars and look the other way when headlines read no amount of alcohol is safe. We feed the fantasy and suffer the consequences when reality kicks down the door. Sooner or later, it always does.

So let’s not go there. Instead, let’s take it back to 2016. I am 23, and New York is still new. I have recently quit my corporate job to take acting more seriously, and I’ve started working as a barista at a coffee shop-slash-bar on the Upper East Side. My dad tells me this is a bad idea. I do not listen. To celebrate my first shift, my coworker pours me a shot of Jameson.

I slowly become friends with the bartenders—the vampires who start their day when I end mine at 3pm. Then I become one. Slow nights at first. Mondays, Tuesdays. I make a cheat sheet and hide it next to the stack of clean Guinness glasses.

I learn how to craft a cocktail. How to stir and shake and mix. I work my way to the weekends; the money is better on the deep end. I learn to go faster, to trade out ingredients, to improvise on the spot. But mostly, I learn how to persevere.

For a while, I convince myself this is fun. “What’s not to love?” I tell myself, hungover for the millionth time. “I’m getting paid to float around with my friends!” We’d work high-stress nights together, and then go out after to blow off steam. Our own form of trauma bonding.

I’d get home at 5am, wake up at 1pm, work until 2am, then do it all over again.

The circles under my eyes darken. Stomach issues pop up. The writing, when it happens, is half-realized. This makes me sad. I drink some wine to ease the discontent.

Fast forward to 2019. I’m 26, working at a low-lit hotel bar in Midtown, with long stretches between customers and even longer stretches between auditions. My acting teacher tells me I don’t look so good. I do not listen.

The hotel partners with a luxury water brand, and my custom cocktails are featured in their marketing. On paper, I’m celebrated. Inside, the discontent grows.

That same year, I sit on the floor of my apartment with J, writing letters to ourselves in five years. I begin mine with: “Oh my god, I am so hungover.” I close the letter with a promise: when I open this again, I’ll be alcohol-free.

A seed is planted.

I start meeting people who model a different life is possible. I stop drinking for a year. Then, COVID hits. I lose my job. I escape New York. I end a relationship. I bop around. Mexico. Mississippi. Colorado. Back to New York. I start drinking again. 

But the dance has begun. The seed has taken hold—resilient and drawn towards the promise of the light. What once felt like survival now feels like sabotage. I start choosing differently. Water. Coffee. Tea. “No, thanks, I’m good.” My perseverance starts working in a new direction.

Months go by. Years. The more inner work I do, the better I feel. The decision to order a drink becomes less and less frequent, until one day, the desire is just... gone. 

It's now 2025. I’ve just turned 32. I am sitting cross-legged on a cushion at a tea shop on the Upper West Side, giggling with J & C. The Sunday afternoon reflects off our warm porcelain cups.

J hands me the letter from five years before. I read it and smile. I saw the promise through.

I drink tea now, but it took me a decade to get here.

Looking back, I always had the choice. I'm just aware of it now. With that awareness, I choose to meet life in its clearest form. To witness beauty without trying to heighten it. To allow pain to pass through without rushing to dull it.

Through this daily practice of choosing, I have built self-trust. Each time I don’t drink, I commit to staying inside my body instead of escaping it, which has been a hard rewire. The way I learned to survive was to find solace in the elusive clouds.

Put simply, I drink tea because I choose to. Because I love feeling good in my body. Because tea is marvelous. So many types! And because I don’t need anything more. This moment is enough. I am enough. Every day I choose tea, I affirm it. 🌱✨

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A tea for you to try:

The Trinity Blend 🌼🍃🌾

This custom blend is inspired by the concept of Trinity—three distinct elements coming together as one. A harmony of mind, body, and soul. Trinity is important to me in many ways, but that’s another blog.

Sip slowly, enjoy the balance, and remember to take it easy. There is nowhere to go.

Ingredients

• 🌾 Lemongrass (Mind): Originating from Southeast Asia, lemongrass has long been used in Ayurvedic and traditional Chinese medicine for its cleansing and purifying properties. Known to reduce stress & improve mental clarity. In both practices, lemongrass is valued for its ability to clear mental fog.

  Keyword: Clarity — Brings sharpened focus, clearing out the old to make space for the new.

  
  

• 🍃 Peppermint (Body): Native to the Mediterranean, peppermint has been used for thousands of years. It was popular in Ancient Greece and Rome for its ability to aid digestion and ease stomach discomfort. In traditional Chinese medicine, peppermint is known for its cooling and invigorating qualities, helping to clear blockages and promote the free flow of energy (Qi) in the body.

  Keyword: Movement — Associated with flow, energy, and the ability to shift through stagnation.

  
  

• 🌼 Chamomile (Soul): Chamomile has been used for centuries, dating back to ancient Egypt, where it was considered a sacred offering to the sun god, Ra. Known for its calming properties, chamomile helps you go within. It's a key herb in both Western and Ayurvedic practices for its soothing effects, promoting deep rest.

  Keyword: Patience — Chamomile has long symbolized patience in adversity through its ability to survive in harsh soils.

  
  

Instructions

1. In a small bowl, combine 1 tablespoon dried chamomile, 1 tablespoon dried peppermint, and 1 tablespoon dried lemongrass.

2. Place the blend into a tea infuser or pack into an unbleached tea bag for easy brewing.

3. Boil water at 212°F (100°C).

4. Steep for 5-7 minutes.

   
   

Optional: Add a slice of fresh lemon for some zing.

Perfect for moments when you need to reconnect. 🩵

Leah Gardner Art / leahgardner.art