At some point in our alcohol-free journey, things start to feel different. Last week, I hit 150 days without a drink. It felt like quite the milestone, slowly rocking up to the half year. On the one hand, I am pretty darn pleased with myself and how far I have come. But on the other, a part of me is thinking: what now? Because once you stop numbing yourself with alcohol, new feelings start to appear. Or perhaps they are not new at all, it’s just that they were temporarily blanketed under a fog of ethanol.
There’s a vicious circle operating here. One of the most common reasons we drink too much is to ease stress, or to hide our unhappiness. Yet while we do that, we are generally incapable of making any decisions or taking actions that change the situations that make us stressed and unhappy in the first place. As Homer Simpson so perfectly put it: ‘Beer: the cause of and solution to life’s problems.’ How many nights were spent lying on the sofa watching crap TV and doomscrolling, instead of doing something more fulfilling, or even just soothing? I know I wasted far too many and have regrets about some of the opportunities lost.
Once the alcohol is stripped away, we must face ourselves and whatever issues have been hanging over us. For a while it can feel unpleasant, possibly even painful. We might remain stuck for a while, because it takes time to develop our sober muscles. But learning to live without alcohol in a booze obsessed world is building our resilience and determination to live life our own way. A strong foundation for making any changes we need to make.
For a while my focus was getting through some of the big milestones without a drink. I’ve now had three weekends away and Christmas and New Year without a drop. It’s obvious but true: the more you do it, the more the muscle develops. A few weeks ago, I had a birthday; out for dinner with friends and I was the only one not drinking. So far, so good. Which makes me circle back to my original question: what now?
Everyone is different of course, but what has appeared through the fog for me is a kind of yearning. Nothing in my life is perfect, but I am lucky enough to have a decent job, a roof over my head, my health (as far as I know and despite the usual aches of ageing), good family and friends, and things to do – time to myself and time with people. Any complaints above and beyond those are really first world problems.
Early in the year, I decided that 2026 would be a year of travel. I want to see more places, as economically as possible. During the long, depressing days of January, I stalked the Ryanair sale in search of bargains to new places. I also took an impromptu trip to Amsterdam in the middle of the month, just for two days. In a way, it feels shameful to admit the truth: that this travel fund comes from the money I used to spend on alcohol. For example, I have booked a long weekend to Vienna in March with flight and accommodation for a bargainous £250 – an amount I could easily have spent on booze in a month. But the truth will set you free, so I’m ditching the shame. Instead I am glad that I will be wandering the streets of Europe and eating cake, instead of lying at home in a vat of wine.
What else? It sounds glib and generic to say adventures but it’s true. Some may come from travel, but the others will come from an open state of mind and curiosity. Remember when you didn’t really want to do anything unless it involved wine, and then half the time, you just wanted to drink at home by yourself anyway, because then you could drink without potential judgement by others? I’m still discovering what happens when you stop doing that. Even though I’ve reached the age where I don’t like driving at night, I’m doing it anyway. Going out by myself at night in the car, to gigs, dancing, or visiting friends is a surprisingly liberating experience. I don’t know what the possibilities are but I’m enjoying finding out. Some of the adventures will come from decisions made while sitting still and taking a clear look at my life, something that’s not going to happen if I’m drunk.
Perhaps the biggest new sensation of all is nothing I yearn for, or particularly enjoy, but which brings the most wisdom and learning. It’s living in your grown-up life with all its everyday pain and sadness alongside the joy and happiness, without a glass in your hand to ease your way. To exist without instant gratification. To have itches that we learn not to scratch. To know how to be ourselves without artifice or disguise.
I’ll leave you with a favourite poem which says it all.
The Journey by Mary Oliver
One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice –
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
“Mend my life!”
each voice cried.
But you didn’t stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do –
determined to save
the only life you could save.
Jude is a proud participant of the Just The Tonic Coaching program who is learning to live an alcohol‑free lifestyle. She shares her personal journey and insights to inspire others to regain control over their relationship with alcohol.
