“Sobriety was the greatest souvenir I overly gave myself.” ~Rob Lowe

I tried and failed to have a mythological relationship with swig for many years.

When my children were tiny I drank far increasingly than was good for me, thinking I was relaxing, unwinding, socializing, and having fun. I’d seen my life shrink lanugo from a world with lots of self-rule and vibrancy to a socially restricted void, and I wanted to finger normal. I wanted to join in with everyone else.

All my birthday cards had bottles of gin or glasses of sibilation on them, all the Friday afternoon memes on social media were well-nigh “wine o’clock,” and I wanted to be part of that world.

The opening of a snifter in the evening had me thinking I was waffly gear, moving from stressed to relaxed and treating myself to some self-care. Nothing could have been remoter from the truth; the swig made me wake during the night and gave me low-level uneasiness and an scrutinizingly permanent smart-ass fog.

I’m not proud of the drinking I did when the kids were small. I now finger a deep sense of shame well-nigh that time. I’d created such a happy life for myself—lovely husband and kids, nice house in a unconfined town, wonderful friends. What was I drinking to escape from?

On the outside I looked like I had it all, but I didn’t—I had overwhelm.

I was a wife and family member, a mum to two small children, an employee and a freelancer … I had all the roles I’d longed for, and yet it was all too much.

I didn’t know how to let go of some of my responsibilities, and I didn’t know how to cope with everything that was going on in my life. Swig felt like the treat I deserved. It took me a while to icon out that swig was the worldwide theme in my rubbish decision-making, tiredness, and grumpiness.

I’d spent a long time feeling trapped and stuck. I knew I wanted to stop drinking, but I was worried well-nigh what others would think of me, how I would finger at parties without a drink in my hand, and whether I’d be worldly-wise to relax properly at the weekends.

I kept going when and along deciding I’d stop then deciding I wouldn’t or couldn’t. It was a hellish merry-go-round. When I was forty-one, I finally made the visualization to quit swig for a year as a little life experiment. I wanted to see how I would finger without it for an extended period of time.

I decided to take a unvigilant whoopee in Autumn 2019. I told a group of online friends that I was not going to drink swig for the whole of 2020, and once I had said it out loud I knew I would have to do it.

This step toward peccancy really helped me to move forward with my sober mission. I started to count lanugo to 2020 (still rampage drinking), wondering how this experiment was going to go!

Toward the end of 2019, my mindset began to shift. Instead of dreading the start of 2020, I started to squint forward to it. I made plans that I knew would lead to a successful sober year. I read books well-nigh quitting, listened to inspiring podcasts, and watched films or documentaries that didn’t show swig consumption in a glamourous light. I followed people who were a few steps superiority of me on their sober journey. I asked questions and I followed advice.

I had my last drink on 8th Dec 2019—nothing monumental, out with a few friends and no hangover the next day. It was a total non-event!

I wanted to have a year without swig to know if life would be stressful, lonely, or wearisome like I’d led myself to believe, or if it was possible to relax, connect with others, and have fun without a drink. The hangovers and smart-ass fog were getting worse. In my late thirties/early forties I just couldn’t get yonder with it like I had washed-up in my twenties

I wanted to be a increasingly patient parent—no increasingly selfishly rushing the kids through bedtime considering I wanted to get when downstairs to my drink.

I wanted hangover-free weekends to enjoy my time yonder from work.

I wanted to maximize my nutritional choices—no increasingly rubbish supplies choices dictated by low-level hangovers, or high-level for that matter.

I wanted to sleep tightly and wake up feeling rested and ready for the day ahead.

I wanted to know I was giving myself the weightier endangerment at not getting upper thoroughbred pressure; heart disease; liver disease; breast, mouth, throat, liver, or colon cancer; dementia; or a compromised immune system.

I went through the whole of 2020 without a drink. There were some tough days to navigate, some challenging events to negotiate, and worrisome conversations to have with friends, but I did it all and I did it all sober.

When 2021 rolled round I knew I wasn’t going to go when to how I’d drank before. I had reverted my relationship with swig for the better. I was physically, emotionally, and spiritually a variegated person, and I didn’t want to go when to numbing my feelings.

It’s easy to name all the benefits to our persons and minds when we cut swig out—deeper sleep, clearer skin, largest mood, increasingly energy, and less anxiety, to name a few—but for me, the real shift has come a couple of years lanugo the line. I finger increasingly spiritually unshut than I’ve overly felt before, and I cannot wait to see what unfolds next for all of those of us on this sober-curious journey.

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