Giving up alcohol: it’s not why you think
The 4 December 2015 was an ordinary night out with my best friends Liam and Michael, except for one detail.
It was the last time I drank alcohol. I did not see this change coming. Up until this point alcohol had formed an important part of my identity. Being seen as someone who knew how to have a good time and was fun to be around was essential to me. It made me feel accepted and it helped to mask my hidden shyness and insecurities. It was much easier to try and drink a 2 litre bottle of Strongbow in one go as part of a £50 bet (yes, really) than it was to simply be myself.
Leading up to the night in question, I’d begun some soul searching. Cervical cancer was behind me and I was open to new things. I wanted to find out who I was and I wanted to figure out what a more meaningful life looked like for me. I had no answers but I had all the questions.
I’d been reading about minimalism a lot and I’d also gotten a taste for decluttering. I liked the flavour. The physical side of my life was taken care of, I’d sold, donated and disposed of around 80% of my stuff and was feeling so much better for it. But I wanted to take this further. Meaning and value weighed heavily on my mind and I started questioning the entire make up of my life. Why I did what I did, what purpose my actions had and what my behaviours were doing for me. Alcohol soon came under the spotlight.
As I drank my usual vodka lemonade mixers that night, I remember how something had changed. I couldn’t quieten the voice in my head that had so many questions. For the first time I heard myself say you don’t even like this, what are you doing? I kept drinking anyway.
Outside the kebab shop, whilst being given a piggy back by Michael, souls of my feet filthy and heels in hand, I remember the question resurfacing again. When I got into my taxi home, between the inhales of cheesy chips to soak up the damage, I whispered to myself; you don’t ever have to have another drink again unless you really want one.
Unlike giving up smoking (oh how I miss cigarettes), the act of not drinking was easy for me once I signed the permission slip I needed. Once I understood the why behind my decision I was at peace with it. This was not the problem. The real problem would be everyone else. I had no idea how opinionated people are about other’s drinking behaviour until I decided to stop. And I count myself in that group. I’m just as guilty of the what?! What’s wrong with you?, oh bore off and go on, just have one.
As comfortable as I was with my decision others didn’t and still don’t feel the same peace. I’ve spent a lot of time wondering why this is, why people care so much about something that has no effect on them personally. I think it’s because, just like I did, people hold alcohol high up on their identity scale and when you challenge this as a non-drinker, consciously or subconsciously they direct the frustration this causes at you. This is not a comfortable position to be in.
I found myself (and still do) having to explain my decision and justify my reasons behind it over and over again. I’ve always been straight to the point with everyone about my relationship with alcohol and I’ve found this to be the best policy. I don’t make a big deal about it. I don’t tell anyone unless they ask and when they I do I simply tell them, I don’t drink because I don’t enjoy alcohol. At first it was exhausting. It would have been easier to just necked a few shots to put these very unsettled people at ease. But I didn’t. Their problem with my not drinking wasn’t actually my problem. It was purely theirs.
Something had shifted in me and I was no longer willing to put other people’s comfort above my own when the result was sacrificing my own beliefs. I persisted to honour the promise I made to myself in that taxi. I reminded myself I didn’t have to drink unless I really wanted to. I had a choice. I wasn’t the people pleasing party girl anymore. I’d morphed into someone who was much more self-assured and stood by her beliefs. It felt uncomfotable, yes, but it felt right and that’s the feeling which kept me going. I didn’t feel judgemental towards other’s drinking behaviours, though you never realise just how much alcohol alters people until you abstain, and I wasn’t willing to go back. If I wanted a drink I would have had one, but I didn’t, I really didn’t.
Honouring the promise I made to myself has been a rollercoaster, but I’ll always be glad I got on board the intentional alcohol train. I’ve lost friends as a result of stopping drinking and I’ve found myself unable to forge new friendships because I’m unwilling to join in with that person’s idea of a good time and they’re unwilling to meet me in the middle. This makes me feel sad but I’ve come to the conclusion that’s ok.
The people in my life who are right for me understand. People like Liam and Michael. We don’t have wild nights out anymore but afternoons watching Ru Paul’s drag race with a chip butty and endless cups of tea make for a real good time. I can still enjoy socialising without the alcohol, who knew! At my best friend Emma’s hen weekend last summer I enjoyed our traditional ring of fire drinking game just as much (maybe even more than I used to) and not one person made me feel weird, odd or like an outsider for my drink of choice – diet coke, neat. Those who don’t judge you are to be treasured.
Who knows, maybe one day I’ll develop an authentic taste for alcohol and those wild nights out will recommence. I’m open to that, but I have to do what’s right for me in the moment. Right now, I’m yet to desire even a sip. I’m more likely to fantasise about the first drag of a cigarette than I am about a vodka lemonade mixer.
Being your true self has the magical effect of trimming down the fat. Only what’s right for you at that time in your life remains. With practice, and it’s taken a lot of practice, I’ve come to feel less like a burden, an inconvenience or a boring person for not drinking. It’s not something I give much thought to, until someone else brings it up. Like anything that’s worthy, practice makes it easier.
The money I’ve saved and the health benefits I’ve reaped have been great but the most enjoyable aspect of my decision has been the feeling of quiet joy which comes from doing what’s right for me and standing by it no matter what anyone else thinks. I’ve learned it’s ok to be different, it’s good to be curious and it’s ok to just be me, alcohol or no alcohol.
As always, I’m cheering you on to do what’s right for you – alcohol or no alcohol.
