Just One.

I’m pretty sure anyone who’s quit alcohol in the history of the world EVER has been subjected to someone asking “…but can’t you just have one?”.

There are some alcoholics who point blank could not have one drink. It would set off a reaction in them that would only end up in blackout, or passed out, within a matter of hours. Before they knew it they’d be starting their day with the cracking open of a can of Strongbow again and wondering how on earth they got back to this place where alcohol was the be all and end all of their existence.

However, when someone asks me if I could have just one drink, the answer is a little less clear. I have to play the tape forward, not just to the end of the night, but to the months and weeks after that one drink. This is what I think it would look like:

I’d order one drink, and in trying so hard to keep it at just the one, I’d spend the entire evening concentrating on the drink. I’d barely be paying attention to those around me and wouldn’t be able to relax for even a second for fear of getting carried away and ordering a round of jaeger bombs (are they even still a thing? They were 2 years ago). I’d go home early and I’d be relieved and pleased with myself for sticking to the one drink. I’d probably feel a bit more tired than usual but would wake up in the night and struggle to fall back to sleep, even just from the one G&T. So in answer to the question, yes, I think I probably could have just one.

But what happens after that?

The next time I’d go out, I’d be a little more relaxed. The little voice in my head would be saying “I managed it last time, didn’t I? And anyway, what’s the point in one drink? I’d better make it worth my while and have two. Two’s a nice number, enough to get a warm buzz but still not be a complete nutcase.” And so I’d have the first drink, and then I’d have the second, and by the end of the second drink, my inhibitions will have been warped enough to think “Fuck it! I’ve broken my sobriety now anyway. May as well have the whole night off.” And before I know it, I’d be in blackout and drunk texting the entire contents of my phonebook.

From there I’d be back on the merry-go-round. The compulsion to drink would be back. The shame and embarrassment would be back. The horrendous Sundays spent solely in bed feeling dreadful would be back.

So yes, I think I could have one drink. But I think I’ll pass, thanks. Anyway, to this day I have never seen the point.

"But why don't you drink...?"

It’s no secret that being a non-drinker makes me part of a minority in today’s society. When I’m out at a party, or at post-work drinks (which I usually show my face at for an hour before disappearing when everyone’s too drunk to notice my absence) I often get asked why I don’t drink. I think often when people ask me, they’re expecting some kind of horror story involving rehab or prison, or that I was some kind of round the clock drinker with vodka in my gluten free Muesli (this is 2020, cornflakes aren’t much of a thing anymore).

When I first got sober, I felt I had to justify my sobriety. I would tell everyone that asked me why I wasn’t drinking about all the terrible things I ever did when I was drunk and wait for them to say “oh right, sounds like a good idea you don’t drink then”. What I actually found was that my tales of blackouts and waking up on random sofas and spending every Sunday hating myself were often met instead with “but everyone does that sometimes!”

I’ve started to notice that with alcohol being so normalised in British (and most Western) culture, the general consensus is that if you’re going to live a life without drinking, then you really must have had a horrific problem – who else would give up something so fantastic that pretty much everyone else is indulging in every week?

Well, me actually. I never went to rehab. I never went to prison, or the hospital, or was arrested. I was very much a binge drinker. There could be days and often weeks between my binges. Then, usually on a Friday or Saturday night, I’d go on a night out and probably around 50% of the time I would take it too far and wake up with a huge amount of shame and embarrassment and sometimes a string of embarrassing texts sent to exes on my phone.

I started drinking when I was 13 and immediately loved it. In an instant I felt all my problems melt into nothing and a new found confidence empowered me. From then on, I wanted to drink as often as I could – which luckily wasn’t very often due to school and, you know, being a child. By the age of 17 there were definitely some red flags with my drinking, and there had already been some nights that could have gone horrifically wrong. By 18 I was often waiting for buses in dodgy areas of London on my own at 3am. By 20 I knew that my behaviour around men was problematic when I drank. But altogether, nothing was hugely “wrong”. I was still just another “social” drinker, really. I drank frequently, probably around 3 or 4 nights a week – always in binges.

It wasn’t until around the age of 23 or 24, when I started to try and control my drinking after a particularly horrendous blackout that I decided I needed to drink less. At this point, blackouts were pretty rare for me and happened maybe twice a year, but what I found over the subsequent few years was that the more I tried to control my drinking, the worse the blackouts became. By the time I was 25 I was fed up and wanted to stop drinking. The blackouts had become more frequent – they were probably around once every 6 weeks by now. And the behaviour was getting stranger. When I went on nights out with my friends, I often ditched them and ran off into the night, wanting to be somewhere else, with new people, in other places. Or I’d get taxis across London to see guys that I knew were a bad idea. I was searching for something. Nothing ever felt quite good enough.

The last 2 years or so of my drinking were the worst. I became terrified of drinking because I knew that once I started, there was no guessing where I might end up. The blackouts were now probably every other week and nothing good ever came of them. Just before I turned 28, I reached out for help and kicked the booze for good.

There are some things I want to point out about my drinking:

·       I could sometimes have “just one”. It was a bit like Russian roulette – if I was in a controlled environment such as my home I could sometimes have a couple of glasses of wine and then call it quits and go to bed. Sometimes I could even do this at social occasions, if I tried really hard and kept my eye on the ball. But sometimes I couldn’t.

·       I didn’t drink every day. Far from it! I rarely drank during the week (because I knew that would mean I would probably be too hungover to go to work – my hangovers were monumental) and I would often go a couple of weeks without drinking at all, especially if I’d had a particularly embarrassing night out where I’d tried to snog someone from work or something.

·       I was usually quite good fun. Sometimes I’d piss people off with things I did (for example ditching them on nights out to go somewhere else, or blacking out and having to be carried out of a club) but these weren’t frequent events and usually people were happy to be around me. I was never a violent drunk (well, ok maybe once during my university years when a guy called me a slut and I responded by punching him, apparently) and most of my friends looked forward to hearing my stories the morning after my nights out because they knew I’d have probably done something that they would deem hilarious.

Now, despite the above, and despite knowing that it was going to be a huge life change, I knew in my heart that I didn’t want to be drinking anymore. I knew that once I started I didn’t have a huge amount of control of how the night would progress, and I knew that the next day would be a complete write off spent in bed lamenting the night before. For me, I knew that at some point during my relatively short drinking career, I had turned a corner and was only descending downwards. I didn’t like the look of where things might go, especially with my dad being a full blown alcoholic even to this day.

But this is the insanity of our society. You’d think that a 27 year old girl who could recognise that her relationship with alcohol wasn’t healthy and wanted to get off the train before it completely derailed and collided into a wall would be regarded as having done the right thing. And some people have definitely seen it that way… however a number haven’t. They tell me that my story doesn’t sound all that bad, and that I just need to learn to control it, or that maybe I wasn’t in a very happy place in my life at the time and if I started again now it’d probably be fine. And I just wanted to say to anyone out there who may come across this page and isn’t sure if they’re an alcoholic or if they’re “bad enough” to give up alcohol – you do not have to consider yourself an alcoholic to quit drinking! You do not have to get arrested to quit drinking! You do not have to drink every day to quit drinking! You do not have to drink in the morning to quit drinking! If you aren’t happy with your relationship with alcohol, you do not have to drink. Also, just because everyone else is doing it, that doesn’t mean it’s a good or healthy thing to do – something I only realised after I’d been sober for 6 months and started to find it a bit absurd that people choose to take a mind-altering substance at every social event they attend. To get sober in a society obsessed with alcohol takes strength – but there are sober people ready to support you and show you that life can be so much better this way. And to be honest, the vast majority of my drinker friends have been really supportive.

When people ask me now, over 2 years into my sobriety, why I don’t drink, I respond with “My life is better without it” which is not only the truth, but a perfectly valid reason to give up alcohol.

15 Things to do Instead of Drinking During Lockdown

As comfortable(ish) as I am in my sobriety now, being on lockdown has in some ways made me feel even more different than usual for being a non-drinker. My sober friends and I have all noticed an increase in the amount of time people are spending not only drinking, but also talking about drinking. It’s easy to get lost in the newsfeed full of craft beers and “quarantinis”, but when I actually think about it, I’m so pleased that I haven’t used this time to numb out my feelings or spend the mornings with a headache and hangover-anxiety. I’ve had a chat with my sober friends and for anyone who is struggling with how to spend their time during lockdown without venturing to the nearest off-license, these might be worth a try instead:


1. Read! This year my only new years resolution was to read more – and it’s probably the only new years resolution I’ve ever kept (so far). The beauty of reading is that you can literally be transported to another world and, once you get into it, it’s almost impossible to be bored. I’ll be compiling a list soon of some book recommendations, but if you’re struggling with sobriety at the moment then some “quit-lit” might be a good idea. Two of my favourites are “Blackout” by Sarah Hepola and “The Unexpected Joys of Being Sober” by Catherine Gray – two very different drinking stories and journeys but both definitely worth a read.


2. Draw. My partner and I both purchased sketch books and pencils and I’ve been trying to get into the habit of doing one sketch a day, usually of something random. There are art accounts on Instagram that set daily challenges of what to draw and you can send it to them for them to post on their story. I have most certainly NOT been sending mine to anyone, but it’s a nice idea.


3. Run a 5k. This one’s not for me but you guys should totes do it.


4. Bake. It’s pretty tricky getting hold of any flour at the moment as it seems like everyone’s had this idea, but if you do manage to find some then I highly recommend this. It’s an easy thing to start doing and the result is cake – what’s not to like?!


5. Do some colouring in. There are “grown up” colouring books online and in WH Smiths. It’s weirdly calming and satisfying.


6. Take a bath while listening to podcasts. I never really got into podcasts until I got sober (and subsequently had a lot more free time on my hands) but now I love them! One of my favourites is “Under the Skin” with Russell Brand. It’s not exclusively about sobriety but Russell has been sober for years and often discusses his own experiences with recovery on the podcast.


7. Play on a playstation or Xbox. I don’t have my own but I sometimes hijack my boyfriend’s.


8. Do something nice for an elderly neighbour. This can range from getting groceries for them or making them a surprise hamper, or anything else you think they might like! Doing something nice for others makes us feel good as well as the person we're helping.


9. Do an online dance class. Moving our bodies is so important at the moment, and such a good way to shake off any anxiety.


10. Go for a scenic walk and connect with nature. If you’re lucky enough to live in the countryside I’m sure you’ll be surrounded by picturesque walking spots. If you’re in the city, it might be a bit trickier but there’s usually somewhere local where you can get your nature fix.


11. Journal. I find writing about my feelings incredibly helpful.


12. Have a Harry Potter marathon day. Because who doesn’t love HP?!


13. Meditate. For years I rolled my eyes whenever someone told me to try meditation, but I find that if I do mindfulness meditations regularly, it helps keep my anxiety at a manageable level.


14. Cook something new. When we come out of lockdown we can all wow our families with our incredible new chef skills.


15. Volunteer. This one is only for people who are low risk – if you are high risk of catching Coronavirus please keep yourself safe at home! But for anyone who wants to keep busy and help out in the community, there are a range of volunteer programmes set up to help vulnerable people.

Sobriety in the time of Coronavirus

I’ve always insisted I’d never start a blog. My long-suffering boyfriend has tried to talk me into it a number of times, and I’ve always wrinkled my nose and come up with an excuse, or claimed “but everyone starts a blog!” – doing what everyone else is doing has never come easily to me. I’ve grown comfortable being the outsider, on the edge of everyone else and looking in.

Anyway, I’ve come to a point in my sobriety where there’s a voice in me that just needs to come out. It’s been exacerbated by the current situation (Coronavirus, what else?!). I’ve had more time on my hands to think. And too much time thinking isn’t good for me. I haven’t wanted to pick up a drink, but my internet shopping habit has run away with itself (in its latest pairs of shoes from ASOS) and my online Facebook stalking has once again got me staring at the profile of that-girl-I-went-to-Uni-with’s-second-cousin-in-Sweden. I think if I don’t start writing now, I’ll either have a hand shaped like a claw from clutching mindlessly at my phone all day, or Hermes are going to have to hire a new fleet of personal drivers for me. Or both.

Another reason I wanted to start this blog was because of the HUGE surge of alcohol related images that are bombarding my screen during this pandemic. I can’t open my Instagram without seeing a bubbling flute of Prosecco or a pint of beer glimmering in the sun, or a meme that says “Can we all agree to raise the bar for what we consider as an alcoholic?” or something else which is laughing off drinking in the morning and drinking every day. There’s a new craze of “Zoom” parties which essentially just seem to be everybody sitting on their own in their house getting drunk, whilst on the laptop.

I can’t slate them too much. When I was a drinker, I revelled in this kind of social media content – tagging friends in posts about getting blackout and writing tweets about how horrendous my hangover was. I thought it was hilarious. Or at least, I thought it made me “normal”. I thought that if everyone else was doing it, and posting things like that, then alcohol abuse was just a part of society and that it was all ok. And it is a part of society, but I’ve come to decide that it isn’t ok for me.

So I wanted to write about my feelings, and I wanted to show that despite the numerous photos of pink gin and attractive looking cocktails, us sober folk can still be sparkly. We can still go to parties (if we want to - and when are actually allowed to leave the house again!) and we can drive ourselves home when we’ve had enough of pretending to like everyone, still looking much like we did when we arrived. We can still drink pretty drinks, only we don’t have to have any ethanol lurking in the glass, waiting to give us a raging headache the next day. Life can still be fun!

And sometimes it isn’t. We’re living in the real world, here. Sometimes we’d rather ditch the boring party and spend time with the people we can truly be ourselves with, or just spend an evening watching Netflix alone and eating Doritos. Our feelings are with us all the time and we must learn to befriend them. I’ll talk about that stuff, too. Sobriety is a fascinating journey and early sobriety (it’s been over 2 years, but I still feel like I’m new to it), for me, has been full of ups and downs. The downs, though, are never as low as that panicky feeling of waking up after a night out and having hours of my memory missing. For that, I am forever grateful!