When you think about staying stone-cold sober on a typically boozy day/night out with your party-loving pals, how does that make you feel? Apprehensive? Nervous? Worried that they’ll accuse you of being boring, before cajoling you into yet another long night of heavy drinking; all aspirations of a healthy new lifestyle tossed aside quicker than you can say ‘justa-lime-and-soda-please?’
If so, I hear ya. These were my thoughts entirely when I met up with a group of friends in the summer - you know, in that teeny little slither of time we had between lockdowns when socially-distanced garden gatherings were a luxury we were still being afforded, before our worlds imploded once again.
It was early August and I was one week into my sobriety - a shaky newborn deer of a sober thing, tentatively testing out my wobbly little legs; feeling my way with every step. It was the first time I’d seen my besties in months, so I knew it would be a spirited occasion. I was excited and nervous in equal measure, pondering how to reveal my sober status. I decided to preempt any attempts to persuade me to drink by announcing it in the group chat beforehand. I could just picture eyebrows of all shapes and sizes shooting up into the various hairlines of my mates as they read the words, eyeballs rolling like marbles in their sockets, incredulous at such an outlandish claim.
“There’s a time and a place for giving up alcohol, and this is not it,” said one friend, prior to my arrival. “Are you sure I can’t tempt you with a glass of wine?” enquired another. “Are you ill?!” asked a third, concern etched across her pretty face as she took a subtle step backwards to widen the gap between us. The gap felt both physical and metaphorical: like I’d already driven a wedge between us by refusing to partake in our usual favourite pastime.
But once they got over the initial shock that Sam, the Dyson of the drinking world, who would ordinarily be inhaling drinks diligently throughout the party, was actually serious, they turned their attentions to more interesting conversational topics and we had a lovely old day in the sunshine. The weather stayed dry, my partner Dave and I stayed dry, and a fun time was had by all.
Of course, that was the first and last time I saw my mates that year, so I’ve hardly had many opportunities to flex my mocktail-making muscles and really put my sobriety to the test.
Yes, we’ve had Christmas, but that was a non-event really, spent with Dave and I sipping herbal tea whilst sporting flimsy tissue-paper cracker crowns; eating our festive feast for two a tad forlornly at the kitchen counter.
And as for New Year’s Eve - well, we were just chuffed to have stayed awake long enough to see the fireworks fizz and bang over the Thames, our eyelids drooping as we watched another few million quid of taxpayers’ hard-earned cash disappear into the ether - quite literally going up in smoke - before drifting off to the land of nod at approximately ten past midnight.
Am I painting a dismal picture of drink deprivation, as we drag ourselves agonisingly through the long, dry days? That’s not how it is. On the contrary! In return for suspending our social life, which, let’s face it, has been unceremoniously ripped out from under us all like the famous tablecloth-under-tea-set trick by Covid, we have been rewarded with so much more:
- early, clear-headed mornings
- healthy complexion to replace sallow squid-skin
- equally healthy bank balance
- thousands of empty calories saved which can now be better spent chowing down on cake and delicious treats instead of bitter alcohol that nobody REALLY enjoys the taste of anyway
- banishing the bloated boozy moon-face
- better sleep
- interest in other hobbies
- more energy and general joie de vivre: Suicide Tuesdays are a thing of the past
- weight loss/control: slender hips instead of muffin-tops from booze-induced midnight munchies
- increased productivity
- better fitness levels and overall health
- balanced hormones
- less mood swings
- better memory
- a sense of achievement and pride
- absence of self-loathing after another night of drinking and subsequent 2-day hangover
I could go on, but you get the picture. The changes brought about by binning the booze happened so quickly and so noticeably that any notion of picking up a drink after the first 30-day experimental phase were soon forgotten. Why would we have wanted to go back to being those slovenly slugs who were caught in a vicious cycle of ‘low mood > drink to cheer up > hangover hell’ to which we’d both become accustomed over the preceding decades? We even had a fabulous alcohol-free holiday in Portugal in September (my first booze-free trip abroad in 30 years!).
It was like the blinkers were finally off: we were reborn. Like Sleeping Beauty finally rousing from her slumber, it was as if I’d been awoken by a handsome sober prince - one whose kiss conjured up images of a lifetime of health and happiness rather than last night’s stale booze and fags. I’d had my eyes opened at last and a lifetime of conditioning to drink alcohol had finally been lifted.
I was free.
Alcohol free.
And here I am, six months on. Sober. Will I ever drink again? Well, never say never. There are too many people who I’m sure would secretly love to see me fail for me to fall into that trap. And anyway, why place myself under that kind of pressure? For now, all I know is that I won’t be drinking today...or tomorrow...or next week - and that is good enough for me. Am I worried about strutting into the Covid coming-out party sober? Nah.
I’m just worried about strutting. Full stop.
I mean, when was the last time any of us wore heels?
I don’t fancy attempting that drunk*.
*( I broke my wrist last time I went clubbing, remember? Heels and wet floors covered in booze do NOT mix. See, alcohol was my downfall in more ways than one...😬🥴🤕)
Day 182 - 6 months 🥳
Sam x
Fancy reading my back-story before you go any further? You can find my other blogs at:
www.worldwidewalsh.blogspot.com
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