I miss drinking. I really do.
I miss the freedom of not caring. The laissez faire attitude to life. The carefree fizz of a summer’s day. The promised warmth of a dram by the fire. All with a promise of a life without responsibilities.
Up to a point. That’s around the fourth drink. The turning point between the promised freedom from adulting, and the prison of the morning’s hangxiety. Lock the doors and throw away the key: you’re going down.
I miss the light-heartedness of a few drinks, the banter, the being part of a crowd. I’m often left now among drinkers feeling I’m skirting around the edges, never quite getting the joke.
Mostly though I miss sitting having a drink and a chat with the husband. Many a night we’d put the world to rights, sometimes late into the night.
I miss it. Up to a point. The after-work nights that bled into the evening, or the nights that just tipped over into not fun.
Because that’s what alcohol does. It gives you a fake mirror to the past. It’d kind of like childbirth. We forget the pain and come Friday night, we’re all ready again. Never again, we said on Saturday morning. Never again. Yet, here we are, part of the crowd, part of the gang. Ready for another round?
And then, later in life, part of The Motherhood. As Allen Carr so clearly explains in his book – ‘The Easy Way for Women to Stop Drinking’ – we’re sold a lie as women. GIFs and Memes, one glass is fine so long as it’ll hold a whole bottle, it’s the only way to cope with motherhood. And Antonia Hoyle echos: “lot of powerful organisations have a vested interest in us continuing to drink”.
It’s these thoughts, books, podcasts, and discussions that have made me think deeply about my relationship with alcohol in the past 365 days.
Did I drink too much? Do I have an off switch? Am I a ‘normal’ drinker? Why do I want to stop?
And reading others stories or listening to them bravely tell their tales in podcasts, I’ve come to realise I’m not the only women, the only person, asking these questions. There’s often not a defining moment, but a reckoning.
Years ago, we began to question the Big Tobacco industry, now it’s the turn of Big Alcohol. And rightly so. Marketing and advertising is led by super clever and manipulative people. Just look at social media, and gaming. Exit points – you must be kidding! They know how to crawl under our skin.
Why am I even considering alcohol means I’m part of the crowd? You only have to look at any alcohol advert to work it out. We’re convinced to drink.
The total value of the alcohol market overall in the UK was worth £45.61 billion in 2022. There’s definitely a vested interest in us continuing to drink. And what better way to do that – create a sense of belonging.
They don’t want to show the true pictures of alcohol use – the mental health cost, the family relationship cost, the lives lost. And you can’t put that on a bottle, like a tar-filled lung on a cigarette packet.
So, I do miss drinking.
Up to a point. That point was around the time I realised it I was just being sold a lie. Life isn’t better, I don’t have more friends, a better social life. I don’t want to hide from my parenting responsibilities in a large glass of wine. And most of all I don’t want to duck those difficult feelings by hiding from them in the promise of a carefree life that doesn’t exist.
Living with seven auto-immune conditions is hard enough. My energy is low on good days, never mind hungover days. After 365 days, I don’t have more energy, or feel 100% better. My skin isn’t glowing, and I’m not away to run a marathon. I’m just a bit of a broken human, trying to maximise my time on this tiny planet. And I’d rather not do that with a hangover, thank you Mr Big Alcohol. I’ll pass on this round.