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The beginning of this year marked two years since I last drank alcohol, and I’m happy about it.
Like a toxic relationship that I should have walked away from a long time ago, finally quitting my link with drink has brought nothing but benefits into my life.
I remember with absolute clarity the moment I made the decision to quit. It was around Christmas time, so a more than average amount of drinking had taken place. My girlfriend at the time and I were having an argument about something, and she was criticising me in a way that felt relentless. Looking back, I can see that she probably felt that I was riding on my high horse of self-righteousness, and understandably wanted to pull me off—and to open my ears to hear, not just what she was saying, but much more importantly, what she was feeling.
But at the time, my ears were closed. I felt the pressure of her voice building up inside my head until I suddenly couldn’t stop myself and I let loose an angry punch. I’m forever grateful that it was aimed at the kitchen counter, and the only pain it caused was to my hand. But I realised with a shock that it could possibly have gone in her direction, and with that I would have destroyed everything I believed in and valued in a two-second action—one that was only possible because of the drink that until then I’d thought of as a friend, but now realised was my worst enemy.
I knew then with absolute certainty that it was time for booze and me to part company. Sadly, my girlfriend followed shortly after, but the fear I felt at having so nearly tipped over the edge into an action that would have gone against everything I stood for meant that that although she and I became friends (in the rather distant way that’s usually the only possible option with ex-partners), I knew I was never going to trust that wily false friend of alcohol ever again.
That’s not to say being sober has made everything easier. Some buried pain that drinking was helping me hide has been coming to the surface, and it’s been painful connecting with that and accepting it as part of myself. But I’m convinced that it’s the only way those old wounds can be healed. Hurtful feelings that are kept out of the light tend to fester. But once they’re out in the open, it’s much easier to get them into perspective. I am getting some professional help with this, paid for with some of the money I’ve saved by not buying alcohol, and it feels really good to be investing in my own well-being.
Like climbing a mountain or doing anything worthwhile that requires effort and commitment, it’s not easy being on the wagon, but it gives me a good feeling of self-confidence and self-respect. I have a much clearer head and heart—which means I can see things in a new and more connected way. I recently started a new relationship, which is built on a level of openness and trust that I’ve never felt before, and which I don’t think would have been possible in my drinking days.
It’s also been wonderful to discover that I can step out of my inhibitions without drinking. I never thought I’d be able to dance (badly) without having knocked back at least a couple of glasses, but I’ve found out that I can choose to behave in a silly or fun way without any kind of artificial encouragement. Maybe being older also has something to do with that—I care a lot less what people think of me, happy in the knowledge that they’ve probably got much more interesting things on their minds.
Many of my friends also seem to be drinking a lot less these days, and we have much better conversations without emptying a couple of bottles in the process. It also feels good to know that none of us will say or do anything that we might regret in the morning, or wake up reaching for the aspirin.
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