It’s a Saturday night in August and I’m crying tears of unexpected joy while scrubbing dirty glasses in a betting shop kitchen that reeks of curdled milk and stale carpet. Applause bursts impatiently through the kitchen door from the shop floor as a friend - who only months beforehand was taking drugs in a squat - strums the final chords of “All you need is Love” by The Beatles. It’s the best night of my life.
It’s August 2020 and the nation has just come out of a second lockdown. Like many, I’m craving human connection, all the more so since I’d stopped drinking six months ago. But I’m in a quandary. How do you socialise without alcohol?
But I’m in a quandary. How do you socialise without alcohol?
Socialising and alcohol go together like fish and chips. They’re a quintessentially English pairing. So, when I decided to stop drinking, I had no idea what to do. I scoured my hometown of Southend-on-Sea, Essex, for evening social activities that didn’t involve alcohol: a substance I no longer feel safe around. I looked for cafes open beyond 6pm, night classes, social groups that aren’t in pubs. But I drew only blanks.
So, I took matters into my own hands. I found a closed-down betting shop that had been gutted and was now being rented out as a pop-up for community events. I begged, borrowed, and stole - and invested some of my own money - to source fridges, alcohol-free drinks, glasses. Now all I needed was some friends. I reached out in a local Southend Facebook group to see if anyone else would attend alcohol-free events and, to my shock, I was connected with 200 local people within a week.
I reached out in a local Southend Facebook group to see if anyone else would attend alcohol-free events and, to my shock, I was connected with 200 local people within a week.
My relationship with booze started out fairly normally for a Brit. I drank with friends at the weekend, binged, vomited, then repeated the next week. It was my way of unwinding, I deserved it and I was having a great time. Until I wasn’t.
At 28, I was in a toxic relationship that I’d covertly planned to escape by moving in with my best friend, Juliet. But before our secret plan could be mobilised, she was rushed to hospital with cellulitis. A week later, she died from undiagnosed stomach cancer. I lost my closest friend, confidante and escape plan all in one fell swoop.
I’d experienced loss before but this one hit me differently. I started drinking to cope, buying gin or vodka on the way home from work and drinking in secret at night. And although I eventually left the relationship with my partner of ten years, my relationship with alcohol stayed on the same footing for a further ten years. I drank to celebrate, commiserate, amplify life’s laughter and mop up its tears.
So intertwined was my personal identity with drinking and socialising, that I couldn’t imagine who I’d be without alcohol.”
Fear of the unknown held me back from ditching the booze sooner. So intertwined was my personal identity with drinking and socialising, that I couldn’t imagine who I’d be without alcohol. It was terrifying! Would I ever have fun again? Would anyone like me? Would I spend the rest of my life alone?
I took a leap of faith into the unknown, nonetheless.
It is often said that the opposite to addiction is connection. This only partly rings true for me.
When I was drinking, my cup was overbrimming with connection: a horde of similarly afflicted drinkers who were super nice and forgiving of drunken behaviour when I was buying the rounds. I knew they had no part in Sober Michael’s life.
My shift from drinker to non-drinker can be likened to a gear-change. First, I had to “disengage”. I removed myself from the people, places and situations that anchored me to my drinking.
The early months of not drinking felt like coasting - rolling terrified down a hill with an uncertain destination or outcome.
The early months of not drinking felt like coasting - rolling terrified down a hill with an uncertain destination or outcome. Until I found a new gear. That new gear was discovering like-minded people - some of them in that ramshackle betting shop - who were on the same path.
I’d found a tribe that I didn’t know existed and it felt like my tribe. A tribe that allowed me to be my authentic self, to love others and to be loved.
That kitchen that smelled of curdled milk and damp carpet was where I settled into my new gear. I’d found a tribe that I didn’t know existed and it felt like my tribe. A tribe that allowed me to be my authentic self, to love others and to be loved. In the process, I learned to love myself too for the first time.
Connection is vital to staying sober and being happy. But it also has to be the right sort of connection. Connection with people who lift you up, try to understand you and help you achieve your goals. And this sort of connection is what we call “love”.
So maybe The Beatles were right all along: love is all you need.
About the author
Michael Sargood is the Founder of the Sober Socials website, an online space that helps people find news from the sober-curious movement, alcohol-free events and make connections.
