Around twice a year, like clockwork, I’d search the written accounts of people who have gone sober in an attempt to find something that would help convince me to quit alcohol for good.
This would usually happen at the end of August, when I felt wine-soaked and bedraggled from all the summer hangouts, and then again after Christmas, when I felt utterly broken by seasonal drinking which seemed to start earlier and earlier every year. And every time I would feel frustrated because what I was searching for wasn’t there – a good enough reason to stop drinking.
I knew I wasn’t an alcoholic, so the recovery from addiction accounts didn’t resonate with me, but I also found the sober curious accounts lacking. What do you mean you decided to stop drinking because “it didn’t agree with you anymore?” I felt they were likening it to a food intolerance, versus something that to me as a social drinker, felt impossible to stop.
One of the reasons it took me so long to get to the point of sobriety is because of the binary way we view alcohol consumption in the UK. You are either an alcoholic or you’re not, and if you’re not, what are you complaining about? Stop being a fun sponge and have a drink. But one realisation – of which there have been many since going sober – is that alcohol consumption sits on a spectrum. It doesn’t matter how much someone else drinks, only how you feel about your own drinking.
A friend of mine is able to go for a night out and just have one drink. I’ve always been jealous of her ability to be restrained. “I don’t understand,” she said when I told her I was going sober, “why don’t you just keep it loose and open-ended? You might fancy a glass of Champagne in the future and that way you’ll still be able to have it.”
Our understanding of alcohol use is so black and white that it’s hard to talk about why someone might need sobriety outside of the scope of addiction. I didn’t drink every day, and some weeks I may not drink at all. During certain periods I might drink several times a week, and while some days I might not have more than a drink or two, there are days when I was having so much fun, I kept going and going until everything becomes hazy.
For a long time, this was how I drank, and it was mostly fun. But if I am being truthful, the aftermath of the heavier days grew intolerable. Although I would tell myself I had fun and it was worth it, the anxiety I felt afterwards would reach such epic proportions – as did the sense that I was a terrible person. It never felt like an equal exchange.
When my friend asked me that question, I answered truthfully: “Because on my best day drinking, I have fun in the anticipation of it, and the first 30 minutes. And on my worst day, I wish I wasn’t alive.” I realised it wasn’t hyperbole – that on the days I drank to excess, I genuinely felt like I was the worst person on the planet. This is something I was doing to myself on purpose repeatedly. It was a wake-up call.
Everyone has a specific turning point. For me, it was drinking to excess after an evening out in spring that just was meant to be dinner with friends. Not only did I stay out late, but the end of the night was blurry, and when I woke up the next morning, I felt so awful, I couldn’t get out of bed.
I’m not sure whether it was the scale of the hangover (which in my forties has extended now to two to three days), “the fear” – that drinking-related anxiety – or the jolt of recognition that anything could have happened to me on my journey home late at night inebriated. I’ve experienced all three before in the past and brushed it off as the tax you pay for a night out. I couldn’t bear another moment of it. Why are you doing this to yourself? I said, looking at my bloated, sweaty face in the mirror.
As someone who has struggled with anxiety for most of my life despite having had therapy, and experienced a bad, almost paralysing spell late last year, I’d give anything to not have it. But feeling bad because of alcohol use? That was something I did have control over. It could be as simple as making the decision to not drink. I had always envied sober people – from natural teetotallers to recovering addicts – because they seemed to possess a sense of peacefulness.
Besides, I’d tried spells of “open-ended” sobriety, and it hadn’t worked for me – primarily because I hadn’t wished to be sober. But this felt different. This was something saying to me: “Alcohol is not working for you, and it’s time to be honest about how it makes you feel.”
Everyone has a different method, but I needed to have training wheels, especially because the day I decided to go sober, I was on a work trip away with people I didn’t know well who were all drinking. I Googled the best sober apps, and the one that resonated the most was Reframe, mainly because it took an approach of neuroscience to explain the effects of alcohol on the brain.
It wasn’t preachy and it helped to know how alcohol affected certain parts of the brain, and crucially, how sobriety had a positive impact on it. It also provided a daily structure of different lessons and notes to help deconstruct how I drink and why I drink, and this turned out to be a vital part of deciding whether to stay sober.
I learned that I’m a social drinker, and that was formed when I was a child, watching adults drink and celebrate together. Like a lot of people, I also drank to overcome social awkwardness, and it prompted me to confront what that feeling was trying to tell me. It had never occurred to me to just leave a social event early or not go at all, rather than forcing myself to “drink through it”.
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Aside from Reframe, connecting with other people who are sober was important too. My sister who had gone sober two years prior was an invaluable support, and I met a new group of friends around this time who happened to be sober. The best advice they gave me was to not over-explain why I decided to go sober, after I told them how much people over-share about their own drinking habits when I’d explain my sobriety to them.
Rather than reading sober accounts, I actually found watching sober accounts on TikTok was the biggest help. One piece of advice helped enormously in the first month: “If you are in a situation where you feel tempted to drink or someone is trying to make you drink, do not feel guilty and just remove yourself immediately from there.” It gave me the permission to prioritise staying sober above the need to be liked.
One of the biggest initial worries was that I’d feel bored or would never have fun again. What I’ve discovered is something completely unexpected. For the first time in my life, I don’t have a fear of missing out. When the weather is warm, I’m not thinking about how I can maximise every ounce of sun while drinking rose.
On a Saturday night, I don’t miss meeting friends and getting drunk because I’m out doing other things like getting dinner and going to the cinema. Taking it off the table means that I am no longer wondering if I could be having a better time if I was drinking more – that endless search for the Best Time Ever.
And conversely, because I know I won’t be hungover, being able to plan things is more enjoyable. Mornings are beautiful because I know I will be sober. It’s hard to explain how precious this feels, and how much I want to protect feeling in control of my own brain.
A friend asked me if I miss it. What I miss is the memory of it. I don’t miss the endless rules of when to drink and how much, the self-flagellation if I drank too much, the worry of what I said and who I said it to. I do not miss the hangovers and nausea.
Will I do sobriety forever? I don’t think it’s helpful to think in such absolutes but as with smoking, I’d like to think that my body will naturally reject me putting anything in it that feels harmful. For now, I’ve reached 120 days sober, and once upon a time, that felt impossible. It has shown me that life can change for the better if I am willing to face what doesn’t work for me anymore.
Hence then, the article about the night that pushed me to stop drinking was published today ( ) and is available on inews ( Middle East ) The editorial team at PressBee has edited and verified it, and it may have been modified, fully republished, or quoted. You can read and follow the updates of this news or article from its original source.
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