Alcohol, being the socially accepted drug that it is, felt like a reasonable vice, with its calories my only major gripe for decades. As my 30s arrived and actual hangovers periodically crept in, the automatic nature of my drinking became questionable. Why am I doing this? But I kept doing it. And doing it. Years went by. And while I tolerated my life, I didn’t love it. Yet my tolerance for alcohol deepened. I was drinking more and more often. Curiously, I wasn’t always getting drunk from alcohol, and wrestled with the point of it - why was I having it at all? This can’t be all there is, can it?
I’d stop drinking entirely a few days here and there, even a few weeks. But I could never put substantial distance between my favourite numbing agent – alcohol – and the events I wanted to numb – which were many. Moreover, there were certain people I could not conceive of hanging out with without alcohol. I find it embarrassing to admit that connection to some family members is almost impossible without it. Drinking feels fundamental to maintaining our relationship, so how could I possibly stop? And yet, I knew I wanted to try something different.
I'm uncomfortable with labels. They often feel polarizing, and I prefer to have leeway to change my position. With alcohol, it seemed like my options were limited: admit I have a problem and pursue sobriety, or... not. Keep carrying on. Binary options, and neither felt right for me. Could I just drink... less? It felt like a bit of a grey area. Fortunately for me, Sober Spring coinciding with lockdown offered a chance to shake life up a little. What’s more, COVID-19’s devastation has taught me that a few months of Sober Spring is a relatively short window of time in a long - if you’re lucky - life.
So I signed up, and the season commenced. The benefits of not drinking arrived immediately. It’s well documented how your skin, sleep, and anxiety improve. But what I didn’t know was the internal shifts that slowly occur… Alcohol’s role fades away. What was once a loud presence, becomes fainter and fainter until one day it occurs to you that alcohol even still exists. I could drink, couldn’t I? But do I want to drink? No, I don’t.
However, alcohol’s minimal presence is easier for me in a lockdown than ‘normal’ life. Some safe social interactions were possible last year and the automatic nature of alcohol in our culture became blatantly obvious. I had some uncomfortable conversations, explaining and almost justifying why I wasn’t drinking to certain people. I even apologized to one friend who appeared crestfallen when I said I wouldn’t be having any wine, but that she should feel free to. She said: “If you’re not drinking then I’m not comfortable drinking.” That struck me. I haven’t seen that friend since, sadly, but while a few friends focus on my glass rather than their own, I was heartened by those that were unfazed by my alcohol-free approach.
Sober Spring, and any period of being alcohol-free, illustrates how drinking alcohol frequently feels like an easier choice – because sometimes it is! But easier isn’t always better. Our culture has made drinking the norm and it can feel a bit like you’re a salmon swimming against the current when you openly declare that you won’t be drinking tonight. But being able to make an informed choice whether to have a glass or not is a huge positive result from Sober Spring.
It also afforded me a window of time to confront feelings I had previously glossed over. Discomfort is not resolved with alcohol – just momentarily delayed. Alcohol is not a salve, and it’s certainly not a solution. Sitting with the discomfort, coming to grips with hard truths; that’s a valuable lesson to learn.
My most notable and happy benefit is freedom – the freedom to pick and choose the days I want to consciously partake in drinking. Before Sober Spring, I saw only two binary options to drinking: drink, or don’t. But that’s now changed. I have agency to take it or leave it, and that’s a great feeling.
Certain family situations are sadly still easier when I’m drinking. But to have the choice, instead of an automatic assumption that I would be drinking, shifted the lens ever so slightly that I now feel empowered. I wouldn’t say I’m a sober person – the label doesn’t suit me, and it also isn’t true. I do drink occasionally, and I’m fine with that for now. However, taking part in Sober Spring changed my approach to drinking entirely.
