Why I’m happy that January – and every day – is dry

MOST people will be delighted to see the back of January for two big reasons. Firstly – and most importantly – it’s been an age since the December payroll. The other big cause for celebration is that the most ‘sober’ of months is drawing to a close, at long last.

Many who committed to the Dry January challenge will be gritting their teeth for the next few days, counting down the hours until February 1.

Miraculously, at midnight, their self-imposed shackles will unlock. The Fun Police retreat for another year, and freedom resumes. Liver detoxed and annual chore completed, the green light is on to crack open the Sauvignon Blanc once more (and thank God – life was starting to be no fun).

I know this, as I was once that person. After weeks stuck in a festive partying and hair-of-the-dog recovery loop, I would pledge 31 days of abstinence. I’d do well for the first few days, eating my greens and cutting out sugar too (may as well go whole hog, eh?), my limited willpower spurring my virtuous behaviour.

It never lasted. Inevitably I’d get to day 16 (if I was lucky) before I’d ‘give in’. I was a little jealous of those who were able to keep their sober focus, even though plenty of them seemed miserable too. ‘Life’s too short!’ I’d concur, deep relief (joy?) as I poured a chilled white into a glass, and took that longawaited sip. What can I say? It felt like bliss. Imagine life without this? Inconceivable.

The first glass of wine was always fabulous. I could actively feel my shoulders relax, the tension I was carrying melt away, the merriment bubble up in my veins. I longed for this. This was freedom.

The second glass was less savoured, drank a little mindlessly, as my brain activity slowed (good – as monkey mind was in the house), and by glass three, it was party time.

The thought of not having wine filled me with horror. Even when I woke some mornings, head throbbing, mouth as dry as the Sahara, in a blind panic over where the hell my phone was.

Even when I blacked out in a taxi, or fell asleep in a bar, or lost my house keys, or said (or worse, did) something horribly inappropriate.

Even when my hangovers were that brutal that I couldn’t even hold down water. Even when my panic attacks were so terrifying I ended up in A&E twice – such was my belief I was going to die. Even then, I couldn’t ever imagine wine not being in my life.

The shame and self-loathing may have pressed pause on me reaching for a bottle (I’d try to get to a Thursday, but inevitably cave on a Wednesday) – but one always made its way into my greedy little hands.

I LOVED wine, and plenty of times I behaved myself – a glass (maybe two) with dinner, cork firmly back in bottle. But other times, it was in control. And increasingly, as my non-alcohol days became fewer and fewer, I was feeling suffocated.

Giving up wine felt so alien, especially as an Irish journalist, that it was almost inconceivable to someone like me, who had built much of my identity and social life around it.

That’s why an Instagram post by 60-year-old author Marian Keyes really resonated this week.

It said: ‘When I realised the game was up with alcohol, I was devastated. I didn’t think I was an alcoholic. I just thought life was hard, but facing a life without it, I thought I’d be better off dead.’

But she added: ‘If I’d kept drinking, I’d be dead by now.’

Instead, the hugely successful novelist affirms she’s very much full of beans: ‘I’m alive. I’m in the flow of life, I love a LOT of people and get joy from SO much.’

Keyes is 30 years sober, and while I only started my sober-curious journey four years ago, I understand that struggle to let go, and ultimately adore this new life.

I didn’t drink in the morning, nor did I need to go to rehab, but there are many shades of addiction. What doesn’t help is the general societal acceptance that most of it is normal.

AT a certain point, I realised that my love affair with wine was a toxic one, and was taking away from my one precious life, not enhancing it. But I remember not even knowing what to wear on one of my first sober Saturday nights out – because why dress up if you’re not drinking?

Booze signified special occasions, but now – sorry to sound like a cliché – really, there are so many other wonderful everyday things I appreciate all the more.

That’s why, as January draws to a close, I’m thrilled – yes because payday has finally arrived, and also, I just feel incredibly grateful for my life.

It’s still a taboo to ‘admit’ you don’t drink in Ireland – although being sober is becoming more of a lifestyle choice, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t still looked at like I’d committed some heinous crime when I pass on a glass of chilled champagne.

The truth is, though, saying no to booze truly makes me happy – and I, of all people, never thought I’d say that.

I feel blessed that – as February approaches – I’m looking forward to spring and brighter days ahead, and not just gleefully yanking the cork out of a bottle.

The reality is that many of us have an unhealthy relationship with booze, and there shouldn’t be shame in admitting that.

If you ask me, myself and Marian are truly the lucky ones.