It’s been almost two months since I gave up alcohol, and I wasn’t sure I’d make it this far. When I first decided to cut booze out of my life, I didn’t think it would be a permanent thing. I initially told myself that I’d just do it for a week and see how I felt. But as time went on and I racked up week upon week, I realised a shift had taken place.

I went from wondering how long I’d last to realising that I could easily live without alcohol. I prefer myself without it.

Re-wine (I mean…re-wind)

To understand my relationship with alcohol, we have to rewind to my 20s. Ironically, I didn’t drink the most when I was a student. I started binge drinking after I graduated and found myself back in my hometown of Lincoln. When I look back I do believe I was depressed; university had been three of the best years of my life at that point, and I was feeling a bit lost post-graduation. I didn’t know what I wanted to do, so I took a council job while I tried to figure things out.

The job was boring, but there were a lot of young people – many of them in a similar situation – on the team, which meant there was endless socialising. Invariably, we’d go out pretty much every weekend and do what Brits do – get hammered.

Questionable behaviour began  – blackouts, crying because I was emotional, getting into arguments, but I justified it by saying we were all young and letting off steam.

Because that’s what we’re taught, right? That alcohol takes off the edge. That it’s there to soothe us. That we need it to feel better.

Debauchery and the City

I moved to Dubai in 2007, and that’s when the real partying began. As a journalist, I invariably got invited to loads of media launches and parties. There was booze everywhere and every social function revolved around it (oh how I’d laugh when people would ask me if we were ‘allowed’ to drink in Dubai).

I partied hard for about five years, often three to four times a week. It was a non-stop party.

Again, I justified it by saying that I was young and enjoying my life. Because alcohol equals fun. Alcohol equals good times with mates. Alcohol makes life feel even better.

A twist of fate then saw me land a job in Abu Dhabi, which entailed a three-hour commute daily. Soon enough, the partying fell away. There’s no way I’d be able to drink and get up at 7 am to drive the next morning, so mid-week drinking was off the table, and by the weekend I was so drained by the commute that I just wanted to stay home or do low-key things.

My drinking dramatically reduced. Soon after, I met my then-boyfriend, and I drank even less (he wasn’t a big drinker).

Reflecting on the ‘Why’

I look back on those years in my 20s now, and I realise I was using alcohol for a number of reasons – and none of them were good. First, I had a lot of unprocessed stuff to work through, and drinking helped me numb. I also always told myself I wasn’t very interesting without it because I was ‘too quiet.’ Sober Andrea takes time to open up when in a group of new people, drunk Andrea is open and more willing to take up space and laugh with random strangers.

Subconsciously, I believed I needed it. I became the life and soul of any gathering and made friends easily (if the drinking went too far, I’d be at home sobbing myself to sleep, but I didn’t dwell on that). As someone who had always felt like my more introverted nature was something to push away and be ashamed of, drinking helped me to feel more extroverted and ‘fun.’

After my ex and I broke up in a very traumatic way in 2015, I consciously decided not to get drunk for six months. I’d allow myself a drink to watch the sunset every evening, but that was my limit. I knew that it would have made things worse had allowed myself to drown my sorrows. Sure enough, I stuck to it, and I do think it was the best thing I did at that time. I needed to process what had happened, and drinking wouldn’t have allowed me to do that.

Between 2015 and 2020, my drinking was no longer a cause for concern. I’d rarely get drunk and I’d only have a couple once every week or two.

And then the Pandemic Hit…

Then the pandemic arrived. Like many people, lockdowns led to me drink more. A study in the US, for example, found that excessive drinking increased by 21 per cent during the pandemic.

I went from having a couple of drinks every other weekend to drinking every night. Initially, it started as a cocktail in the evening, a ritual that I’d started to have something to look forward to during the harsh Kathmandu lockdown that went on for months. Slowly but surely, I was drinking a whole bottle of wine out of boredom.

Then lockdown ended and the drinking continued. Happy to be reunited with my friends, there were understandably many drunken reunions. I also started seeing a guy who loved to drink, so I drank more with him.

The fun was short-lived because later that same year another lockdown was imposed. My anxiety, which had started during the first lockdown and while seeing this guy (it was my first serious foray into dating after the aforementioned traumatic breakup so I was working through a lot) had peaked. I then realised I was drinking to manage my anxiety.

That’s when I knew there was a problem.

Since then, I’ve gone through periods of drinking a lot to not drinking at all. Most recently, I arrived back in Kathmandu after being home for nine months and I started socialising – i.e. drinking – more again. It certainly wasn’t out of control drinking, but I noticed something.

Alcohol was making me feel crappy from the first drink.

In my 20s, I didn’t get hangovers. In my early 30s, I got hangovers, but I felt fine while I was drinking. Now as I approach 40 my body is rejecting alcohol.

By the next morning, even if I’ve only had one or two drinks, I get heart palpitations and a bit of anxiety.

Why I Quit

And this brings me to a month and a half ago and my decision to quit. I didn’t like the way it made me feel. Also, I’d been going through a rough patch, and I didn’t want to start drinking to feel good or to numb myself. I wanted to work through it sober and process things properly.

I feel great without booze. This time away from it has made me reflect on all of the times I drank my way through awkward social interactions and dates, just to feel better, numb anxiety or to come across as ‘fun.’ Without alcohol, I’m more authentically me. Sure, I might not be as open, sociable or charming around new people without it, but the reality is that’s not the real version of me. I want the people in my life to know and love me for who I am without alcohol.

And I feel good knowing that my body is probably thanking me for not drinking. The weird heart palpitations have gone, and I don’t remember the last time I had a lot of anxiety.

I don’t want to have to drink to feel better. I don’t want to feel like I have to drink to be someone I’m not. I don’t want to drink to feel more confident or feel less anxious.

I want to be present for life and my loved ones. I want to feel things that come up and not numb my very human emotions.

Does this mean this change is permanent? Well, I can’t say for sure. In all honesty, I’d like to get to the point where I can have a glass of Champagne on Christmas Day (a ritual of mine) and to toast things on very special occasions. I’d lie if I say I don’t miss well-mixed cocktails or a glass of wine with a meal. But I can be very black and white/all or nothing, so I’m worried that if I started drinking with the intention of it being an occasional treat that it would spiral again.

Alcohol is an addictive substance, after all. And it’s a vice of mine.

Joyfully Sober

So, for now, I’m happy not to be drinking. I’m happy for the peace it brings me, and seeing as the older I get the more I value peace and health, the more I believe this change is more in alignment with who I am today.

And if this is any consolation for those of you out there who are also on this journey and are struggling, or if you’re thinking of quitting but think you can’t, trust me when I say it gets easier. Over time, you stop associating going out in the evening with alcohol, for example, and it becomes second nature not to order a cocktail and to have a lemon soda instead. The difficult part is breaking the connections you have between certain things and alcohol and the ritual of it. I do think it gets easier over time.

It’s also important to be super kind to yourself if you do happen to slip up. It’s entirely normal and human to do so. Don’t berate yourself. Meet yourself with kindness, forgive yourself, and think of what you can do next time around to avoid it. It’s in this way that we keep improving the greatest relationship we’ll ever have – the one we have with ourselves.

You’re doing great. Don’t let booze make you think otherwise.

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