Sober Curious

And other buzzwords

“Are you doing Dry January?” the waitress asked me innocently. I was out for dinner with a friend and had said I wouldn’t be partaking in the wine. “No,” I smiled up at her. “I just don’t drink.”

This is the part of the story where you might expect me to say she gasped in shock, leaning across the table to grab me by my lapels (not sure why I’m wearing a business suit in this scenario but go with me) and demanded to know the reason why I was refusing the Pinot Grigio. Pregnant? Antibiotics? ALCHOLIC? But of course, she did none of that. She nodded, her focus already moved on to the next table, and that was the end of the conversation.

It’s been almost seven years since I was in my drinking era and I can see a huge shift in culture during that time. A lot of people don’t drink now, or drink less than they did before, for a variety of different reasons. #SoberCurious is one of the most searched for hashtags on social media, increasing from 240M to 608.2M in 2023, and #SoberTok had 1.4B views on TikTok. In January of last year, the World Heath Organisation announced that there’s no amount of alcohol consumption that’s good for the body, and in that same month, the New York Times published a damning article titled “Even a Little Alcohol Can Harm Your Health.”

IN for 2024 – Sobriety.

OUT for 2024 – Cocktails, wine, beer, champagne… you get the picture.

                                                            ***

Let me take you back to April 2016. I’ve gone out with three friends I haven’t seen in a while. We’re having dinner. We’re also having wine; many, many glasses of wine. We go to a bar nearby and we order cocktails. Later, I order a bottle of Prosecco. Another one. One of the friends decides to go home. I look at the remaining two – will we order another bottle?  That’s the last part of the night I remember. I woke up the next morning in the bed of a man I was absolutely weak for but who was very bad for me, and I had no recollection of how I had gotten there. I looked at my phone to find dozens of messages from my friends, wondering where I had gone. I snuck out and called a taxi to get back into town – I had plans to meet a woman I was friendly with for brunch and when I arrived at the restaurant, I saw her husband and baby were with her. I sat and attempted to make conversation but when the food arrived, a sudden wave of nausea hit me and I had to excuse myself. After throwing up, I stood and looked at myself in the mirror. And I thought – ah here, Louise.

That was the last time I was properly drunk.

                                                ***

To be honest, the anecdote above paints an overly dramatic picture. I wasn’t a problematic drinker, friends and family weren’t staging concerned interventions or begging me to stop drinking. (Some have since begged me to start drinking again which doesn’t say much for my personality, does it?!) The way in which I used food was addictive, but my relationship to alcohol was very different. That night was rare, a once-off, and it wasn’t so much what happened while I was drinking that was the issue but the aftermath. That day, following the ill-fated brunch with my friend and her family, I was devoured by The Fear. I felt such intense, corrosive shame, I could barely stand to be in my body. And the only antidote I had at that time for shame was to use my eating disorder to numb out. I restricted my food for the rest of day before going to a friend’s 30^th birthday in Cork city. Smiling, smiling, friendly, everything-is-fine, everything-is-great, don’t think about last night, don’t think about last, don’t think about, don’t think— Afterwards, holed up in my hotel room, I binged and purged until I forgot, until my mind went quiet, until I had some semblance of peace. I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror again but this time, I said nothing.

I had started seeing a specialised therapist in March of that year (at the Eating Disorder Centre Cork) and in our next session, I floated the idea that I might take a break from drinking. There’s an acronym for the four stressors you’re supposed to beware of, the emotions and experiences that can put your recovery under strain. It’s called HALT – hungry, angry, lonely, and tired – and when I was hungover, I felt all four of these at once and I found it next to impossible to make good decisions. I would give up alcohol for a little while, I said to my therapist, just until I had my eating disorder under control, and then I would return to it. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that by June of that year, I was in full recovery.

And yet I never returned to drinking, not really. I’ve had a couple of glasses here and there, usually to celebrate a work achievement – the premiere of the Asking For It play, or when I signed a new book deal – and yet, there’s little pleasure left in it. I have a couple of sips and I don’t feel relaxed, I feel dizzy, light-headed, like I might fall off my chair. It’s borderline unpleasant, which has made it easier for me to stay sober. It’s like any habit; it takes effort in the beginning and then it becomes so integrated into your life, it becomes automatic. You don’t think about it anymore. You’re just someone who doesn’t drink.

                                                ***

I’m not going to sit here and tell you that giving up alcohol is the answer to all of your problems. Yes, the science is compelling – an alcohol-free lifestyle will benefit both your physical and emotional health. It helps ease anxiety, helps with better sleep, and boosts energy. It lowers bloody sugar and blood pressure, allows organs like the liver to function at an optimum level, and for the shallow gals down the back (*raises hand slowly*), it improves skin quality; New York nutritionist Jairo Rodriguez told Vogue that “alcohol is actually one of the worst, most aggressive compounds to destroy your skin”. I feel better in my own body. I enjoy having my weekends to actually do stuff – walk my dog, meet a friend for breakfast, go to the gym – rather than lying in bed, nursing a hangover. My thinking is clearer, my decisions easier to make. I feel more creative, energetic, and authentically myself. I always have a lift home/designated driver I can depend on. I save a LOT of money which I happily spend on skin treatments and handbags. And when I’m going through a difficult experience, there’s a comfort in knowing that my emotions are directly linked to the experience itself rather than being exacerbated by alcohol, a known depressant.

But that’s not to say that there aren’t aspects of my former life that I don’t miss. I don’t think I realised how sensitive I was to noise, particularly with large groups of people, because drink always functioned as a kind of barrier. The first time I went to a music festival sober, I felt overwhelmed to the point of paralysis. I cannot explain how interminably long something like a hen party or wedding seems now without a coupe of champagne to soften the day. Sometimes I miss the camaraderie of drinking with new acquaintances, that strangely quick intimacy it brings – I have made some of my best friends through drunkenly confessing our deepest, darkest secrets to each other in the club toilets at 2am. Relationships that have been forged since getting sober have taken longer to get to that same point, there’s a certain reticence that must be overcome first. And there are times where I would love the release of a wild night out, letting loose, getting, quite literally, out of my own mind.

Could I see myself drinking again? I try not to deal in absolutes as I believe it sets you up for inevitable failure; never say never, I suppose. I’ve had periods of sobriety before – I didn’t drink for almost a year as a teenager after an unfortunate incident with a bottle of absinthe, I abstained for eighteen months when writing my first novel – and I always went back to the bottle, for want of a better phrase. But it’s never been quite as long as this stretch, and I’ve never had this kind of physical reaction to alcohol before either, it’s as if I’ve developed an allergy. When I read articles like the ones listed above, outlining the impact alcohol has on the body, it seems nonsensical to even want to drink again. (I’m not puritanical by the way – sugar is also terrible for the body and I fucking mainline that. I guess I’m just trying to choose my poison 🤷‍♂️) But I see the benefits from drinking less, and I do think as a culture we could all benefit from that. So, if you’re one of the many doing Dry January or you’re thinking about cutting down/giving up alcohol completely, here are my best tips.

(Note: I am not a doctor. Surprise!! Always get advice from a professional)

·       Don’t make assumptions about the sort of person you’ll become in sobriety. Two of my closest friends are in AA and their lifestyles are very different. One likes to be home by 9pm, makeup off and in bed by 10, the other will happily wander around Electric Picnic surrounded by people off their heads on vodka and mushrooms.  While I very much fall in the former camp, don’t assume that your social life will be over just because you’re not drinking. It might take some adjustment but you can still do all the things you used to do, if you want. It just depends on your priorities.

·       This is your mocktail era. It feels incredibly boring holding a glass of Ballygowan while your friends are drinking dirty martinis. At least get a sparkling water with ice and lemon in a gin class!! Treat yourself! There are so many delicious non-alcoholic options available today. Go wild.

·        Get a pal on board. Ask in your Whatsapp groups if anyone else is interested in taking a break from alcohol. There’s power in numbers and having an accountability buddy can really help with staying the course. You’d be surprised by how many people are flirting with the idea of sobriety right now.

·       Shift your mindset. One of the most helpful things I did in recovery was trying to re-frame it in terms of what I was gaining, not what I was losing. What do you want to get out of being sober curious? More energy, better sleep, reclaiming your Sundays? Every time you’re tempted to drink, keep that goal front and foremost in your brain.

·       Track your progress. There’s lots of reasons why I keep a journal but one of them is so I remember my life. The smaller, quieter moments and wins can be forgotten and dismissed. When you track your journey, noting improvements like your skin looking more vibrant or feeling more rested, it makes it all seem worthwhile. It’s then easier to stay motivated.

·       It doesn’t have to be all or nothing. You could make the decision to stay sober 90% of the time, saving a couple of glasses of wine for a wedding, or a friend’s birthday party. As long as it doesn’t feel like a crutch – I would recommend going to a couple of these kinds of events sober, just to prove to yourself that you can – that might feel like a more realistic aim for you right now.

Sound off in the comments please! I’d love to know what your relationship with alcohol is like and if you’re doing Dry January. And if you have any other advice for people to cut down on drinking, let’s hear it xx