It struck me that I have been making the same list since I started making resolutions

I’m one of those weird people who actually likes early January. we got married on New Year’s Eve so the day holds good memories for us but I also love the idea of a brand spanking new year ahead, a clean slate full of hope and possibility. I know a lot of people loathe new year’s resolutions, but I love them. There is nothing better than basking in the naïve optimism that this will be the year I’ll get my life together.

On New Year’s Eve just past I had a look through the long list of resolutions I had made the previous year. It struck me that I have been making the very same list every year since I first started making resolutions. They are always the same:

n Eat more fruit and vegetables.

n Go for a daily walk.

n Write 1,000 words per day.

n Be more patient with the kids. And on and on they go… So to challenge myself some more this year, I decided to try ‘Dry January’ too. Dry January is a social trend where, after the Christmas excess, people give up alcohol for the first month of the year.

It began as an initiative by the charity Alcohol Change UK in 2013 with 4,000 people taking part but has become increasingly popular in recent years with many people like me jumping on the wagon.

I’m not a big drinker but I do like a glass or two of wine at the weekend. I had great intentions of doing it last year but homeschooling four primary school-aged children in the midst of a level five lockdown, and a book deadline thrown into the mix, swiftly put an end to that.

I know my limits. So this year I decided that I was going to give it a go.

I proudly announced to my husband that I was doing Dry January, hoping he would join me for moral support. He laughed and told me I was on my own with that one, leaving me to embark on my teetotal train alone.

The first few days were easy; after the Christmas indulgence I was sick of the sight of alcohol anyway. Then the weekend came, which was the real test. As my husband pulled the cork on a bottle of red and I heard the soothing plink, plink, plink sound of the wine hitting the glass, I’ll admit I was tempted. But I managed to abstain and was proud when I made it past the weekend without touching a drop. For the first time in my life I was a my-body-is-my-temple kind of a girl.

Now I’m two weeks into it and I’ll be honest I’m not feeling quite so enamoured with it all – Dry January… well, it’s dry.

How I miss that Friday feeling as you pour yourself a glass to welcome the start of the weekend. January is bleak. A long month of misery where four weeks feel like 400. The Christmas tree has been taken down and you’ll be finding pine needles for months after it. The softly twinkling fairy lights have been wound up and you’d even miss the kids’ dancing snowman that plays Jingle Bells on a loop. The house looks barren; the walls are bare and dust seems to cover every surface. There isn’t even a measly Terry’s Chocolate Orange left; all the Christmas treats have been devoured.

How I envy those people that will find an unopened tin of Quality Street in June. We know the full inventory of Christmas treats in our house and there’s not a hope of a single Ferrero Rocher surviving past the new year.

It’s dark when we get up in the morning and the evenings close in so early. Add to that the fact that we’re all broke and it’s freezing cold too, and this year we’re all exhausted from playing a neverending game of Covid dodgeball. Have I depressed you enough?

It definitely seems cruel to add Dry January into the mix too when the cheer is gone from our lives. Even the health experts that always pop up on the radio at this time of year are advising that this isn’t the year for strict resolutions and cutting things out, we need to be kind to ourselves, they say. I look wistfully at my husband sitting across the room from me, being kind to himself, as he relaxes with his glass of full-bodied red, the aroma of berries scenting the room.

‘Do you want a glass?’ he offers, noticing my longing face.

‘No, thank you,’ I abstain once more, feeling utterly deprived. Think of the health benefits, I remind myself, except that I’ve started buying the discounted tubs of Roses in the supermarket so that I have something to look forward to on a Friday night, which completely defeats the purpose.

If, like me, you’re struggling with Dry January, the good news is that we’re halfway there now. I’m determined to stick with it, if only for the reason that himself would get too much satisfaction if I quit now and I’d never hear the end of it. I think having a little reset is good and, who knows, I might even be a total Dry January convert by the end of the month. But I’ve a feeling that next year I’ll aim for Dry January’s more fun younger sister, ‘Damp January’.

A Mother’s Secret by Caroline Finnerty is published by Boldwood and available for pre-order now

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