After years of binge drinking, I haven't touched a drop for 11 years. I lost a stone and a half, got rid of my 'booze face'... but it was the side-effects that were the most incredible: HANNAH BETTS
Once upon a time, booze was my great joy. From the ages of 13 to 43, it was the thing I prioritised above all else: friends, family (damn it, it was how I dealt with family), the lot. Drinking was how I defined myself.
Alcohol was cool, fun, feminist; a blast. I loved red wine, Dirty Martinis, Negronis... and liquor appeared to love me. I was smitten by the people and the paraphernalia, the venues and the venery; the look, scent, sound, touch and taste of the thing. I relished the nihilism with which it knocked the world off its axis so that only the next glass mattered; the way it suppressed emotion and released it; and the giddy oblivion it brought.
I loved others on drink, too, but, mostly, I loved myself: bolder, brighter, and thus actively happier – or that was the theory. Not later that night, when 4am paranoia kicked in. Not the morning after, brain blown, horrified at what I’d said and done. Not overall, what with my existence trapped in one small, staggering circle in which nothing was ever confronted, or changed.
But, then, after three riotous decades, I did – finally – change. This autumn, I’m 11 years sober aged 54. When I tell people this, they immediately demand the easy answer: an overnight transformation, some ecstatically happy ending, as promised by so many drink-free influencers.
‘You must feel fantastic!’ they shriek. I don’t. I’m still me, after all, only without the preferred prop – turned hamperer – of my adult existence. But, that’s fine. I sleep better, while my mood tends to be at some happy-ish medium rather than veering between euphoric highs and desolate lows.
Rather than being a functional alcoholic, I have enjoyed a functional 11-year relationship – the timing no coincidence.
I finally acquired a mortgage, a home, a beloved hound to get up for. There’s been no ‘pink cloud’ (the Alcoholics Anonymous term for a phase of early abstinence characterised by elation), no sudden rush of energy in which I Marie Kondo my entire existence into better order. However, I’m no longer inflicting misery on myself and others, and that is everything.
Those contemplating prolonging Sober October may not want to hear that I’ve never stopped missing booze. (Sorry about that.) One simply learns to appreciate having a healthier, more fulfilling, altogether better life more.
After three riotous decades, I did – finally – change. This autumn, I’m 11 years sober aged 54
Being an alcoholic doesn’t necessarily mean drinking at breakfast, or at lunch, or before 6pm. You qualify as having an alcohol problem if it’s a destructive force in your life
My own epiphany came after I found myself on a bender that started at 11am and ended with me asleep at 11pm in a friend’s bath. When I add that the bender in question was a christening, the issue will begin to be clear. I was heartbroken, blackly unhappy, the heftiest I had ever been, unable to be around others without being a bottle in, and entirely unable to sleep.
And so, on September 15, 2014, I dragged myself onto the wagon. People tried to persuade me that I wasn’t an alcoholic because I was functional, outwardly flourishing even. Still, I know that addiction was destroying my any hope of happiness.
I’ve learnt that being an alcoholic doesn’t necessarily mean drinking at breakfast, or at lunch, or before 6pm. It may not mean a bottle of vodka a night, or not being able to take a couple of days, even weeks, off. It’s less about what you drink than how you do it.
You qualify as having an alcohol problem if it’s a destructive force in your life.
And from my UDIs (A&E-speak for ‘unidentified drinking injuries’), such as bruises, toppling into roadworks and bloodying both knees – or sliding down the steps to my basement and having to have my arm X-rayed – to the armour I wore in my love life, this was the status it held.
Christmas morning that year marked 100 days off the mother’s ruin. Everyone encouraged me to celebrate with a glass of fizz. Everyone apart from another drunk, who cautioned: ‘Do you want a glass? Two glasses even?’ He was right – I wanted a bottle, more – so none has carried on being the better option.
More than a decade on, not drinking is simply my real – occasionally dragging, but, finally, stable – life.
Sobriety may be less taboo than it was back then. But, that doesn’t mean it’s better understood. So here are 11 things I’ve learned during 11 years teetotal...
1. Sobriety’s not as hard as you think
The hard thing was what I had been doing: drinking myself wretched, or striving to moderate and failing. Some of us are all or nothing types, meaning nothing is going to be the better solution; better and genuinely easier.
Easier than standing – sprawling – in our own way. Easier than being a bad parent, useless adult, or absent, destructive partner. Easier than wasting energy endeavouring to escape from things, only to return to the same, stuck place.
True, there may be withdrawal symptoms, such as nightmares, insomnia, moodiness and a flu-like feeling. And fair-weather friends may try to undermine your resolve, but you won’t shed real ones. Those who care about you, will support you – and may even ask for help themselves. While the alcohol substitutes are better than ever, whether that’s faux fizz, or one of the many excellent zero-alcohol beers. (Although, not Becks Blue – that’s awful. Try BrewDog.)
2. Impose a trial separation
'More than a decade on, not drinking is simply my real – occasionally dragging, but, finally, stable – life,' says Hannah Betts
My abstinence began with no alcohol for 12 weeks because I couldn’t sleep. I didn’t yet know this would mean for ever, and might have found this impossible if I had.
As 90 days approached, it was obvious that this had transformed not merely my insomnia, but my entire existence.
Remember, booze is our culture’s great social, emotional and mental health prop. At first, you’re likely to be hit by a flood of emotions, insights and challenges. Treat yourself as the invalid you are and indulge in what the young refer to as ‘self care’. I’ve always despised the coloured-pen brigade, but came to consider journalling essential. Go on walks, have massages, read novels, take baths, sleep. Do whatever you need to do – just don’t drink.
3. AA is brilliant – but not for everyone
AA's religious elements may pose a problem for people looking to join the support group
For those of us who don’t do God, Alcoholics Anonymous may present issues, as a higher power is key to its 12 steps. (Step 1 is to admit to being powerless over alcohol; step 2 that a power greater than ourselves can restore us to sanity; step 3 to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God.) However, AA’s 90 years of wisdom is for all. Its very catchphrases are salutary. I will always love: ‘It’s not a drinking disease, it’s a thinking disease.’ But, it could be: ‘Progress, not perfection,’ ‘Play the tape forward,’ or ‘One day at a time.’
I didn’t attend any meetings in the flesh, but I did have a virtual AA group: Recovered Cast (recoveredcast.com). Based in Detroit, it’s run by Mark, a former drinker who broadcasts from his late son’s bedroom, a young man who lost his life to addiction.
I needed it because some group aspect is key to learn that you’re not special, just another drunk, and the drunks before you have learned stuff. For £8 a year you gain access to its invaluable 1,300-plus episode back catalogue.
I also read and relished the late Caroline Knapp’s memoir, Drinking: A Love Story. App-wise, Try Dry (alcoholchange.org) is Alcohol Change’s free, time-out of drinking tracker, with tips (the money-saved tally delights many).
4. Sobriety will make you look younger
Not drinking makes you look young in two respects.
In the first case, young people are more sober curious, less interested in being perma-plastered.
In 2022, 26 per cent of 16-24-year-olds reported not drinking in the previous 12 months. Thus you’ll find you have more in common with younger generations than your own.
But, you’ll also drop years off your looks. Newly sober, I shed a mortifying stone and a half during the first seven weeks. Within days, people started going wild about how amazing I looked. I lost my booze face: skin hollowed and shrunken about the eyes, yet bloated and overblown overall. Abstinence made me healthier more generally.
Not only was I not destroying my liver, one eats a lot less rubbish when one isn’t forever soaking up a hangover. Eleven years on, I’m told I look up to 20 years younger than my 54 years. Generous, but I’d certainly look older still doing it.
5. Find other forms of pleasure
Going without alcohol leaves a gap. A large part of this will involve how you register pleasure and relaxation. Have fun working out what joys you most cherish. Eat chocolate, binge Netflix, get into fitness, fetishise your skincare, knit, pick up litter, visit art galleries, bake cakes.
Later, I replaced a destructive love of liquor with a positive passion for my dog Pimlico: meaning I also now boast some sort of outdoor, daylight existence and community. (Much as I longed for a whippet, I could not have been responsible for her in hammered mode.)
You’ll be saving money so splurge it in other areas. I indulge myself with lapsang souchong, mangos and supermarket roses.
What I spent on red wine goes on good soap and great scent. When I need a tonic, I will make supper while listening to an ancient history podcast. These are the bricks on which my happiness is built. Discover yours.
6. You’re going to have to feel the feelings
A lot of us used alcohol for escapism, emotional, not least. Without this mode of avoidance, we’re going to have to feel the feelings. This means early sobriety can be like dreaming: stuff will come up, not all of it real.
I found this an intense, isolating time of painful self-evaluation, stripped of my usual defence mechanisms for avoiding vulnerability with my family, with men, in life as a whole. HALT is a brilliant AA acronym. When you crave a drink, ask yourself: ‘Am I hungry, angry, lonely, or tired?’ – or some unwinning combination of all four – and address these things rather than taking temporary solace in the bottle.
At 54, I add a second H for ‘hormonal’ to become HHALT. As you build time teetotal, you will begin to learn your triggers, and whether these tend to occur alone, or in public.
For some, solo winter nights are the challenge, for others, friend-filled, summer afternoons. Mine centred around rebellion – a ‘screw this’ attitude being how I dealt with not only misery, but boredom.
I still have to watch it so I don’t rebel from abstinence itself.
7. Socialising is actually better sober
Awkward Brits imagine that we drink to be less socially anxious: the sauce making us brighter, braver, bravado-filled.
Actually, I am far ballsier without it. Now I don’t have to be scared of myself, I’m not scared of anything. Plus I listen, ask questions, remember what I’m told. I may not dance on tables any more, but continue to boast the loudest laugh in any room.
Launched into Christmas parties 90 days dry, I would consume a small bar of dark chocolate to give myself the same sugar high drink was providing for everyone else. Weddings can prove interminable: take time out, no one will notice. Should funeral attendance feel compulsory, at least skip the wake.
Remember, a French exit – vanishing without saying goodbye – is the perfect strategy when everyone’s hammered.
8. Interesting people will still be interesting
More interesting, in fact, because you’ll be paying attention; ditto interesting things.
However, bores and tedious situations you’ll have to drop. That’s fine – you should have been saying no in the first place, rather than self-medicating your way through.
The most boring individuals will be those who feel threatened that your abstinence is a judgment on their own consumption. Typically, this will involve some puce-faced dipsomaniac informing you he’s never had a problem before passing out in his soup.
But, it can also make people mean, aggressive and cattily undermining. Some people found it fun to throw the term ‘alcoholic’ around before I was ready to as a way of mortifying me socially. Screw ’em. This is their problem, not yours.
9. Your sex life may suffer – then improve
Ultimately, intercourse will be hotter and altogether better, but for a while this may be a work in progress
The beginning of our erotic lives traditionally coincides with the beginning of our drinking careers.
The result: sober sex means losing one’s virginity all over again, with just as little prowess.
I was 90 days on the wagon when I met my partner, forced to turn the lights off merely to kiss him a month later.
To get into my body, I needed to be out of my head, meaning it took a long time for sex to feel like sex again. If you have a regular partner, it helps to be honest.
In place of the customary social lubricant, one may need sexual lubricant. Ultimately, intercourse will be hotter and altogether better, but for a while this may be a work in progress. Don’t panic. Your mojo will return. Although, frankly, at times, sober sex can still feel weird after all these years. But, then having to be oblivious to engage in the act was pretty weird too.
10. You’re new at sobriety for a few years
Boozehounds will consider you new at not drinking for the first 12 months.
Personally, the learning curve was steep until year five. Forget that, I’m still learning.
Obstacles will constantly crop up: sober holidays can feel unexpectedly taxing. Family meet-ups are lethal; the AA have an axiom: ‘Your family knows how to push your buttons because they’re the ones that put them there.’
But, it’s also just a case of events, dear girl, events, to misquote Harold Macmillan. In my first 18 months dry, there was my mother’s fatal cancer, my father drinking himself to death, almost losing my baby nephew. All I wanted to do was lose myself in the bottle to escape these horrors; get smashed and blot it all out. However, I stayed present for them, for myself. I didn’t go absent and this was everything.
And I would have given 30 years’ carousing for one sober night’s watch over my mother’s bed.
11. You may miss booze – and that’s OK
AA teaches that you work the steps, then you cease to crave. I miss alcohol all the time. It was my passion for 30 years, right from my early teens when it was the pure pleasure that was also social armour. (I looked older, had older friends, while drinking wasn’t taboo in my liberal family.)
I loved drinking, but I’ve had to learn to love other things more: my sanity, my self-respect, my quality of life – and the happiness of those around me.
AA talks about ‘God moments’, where one encounters a situation that powerfully enforces your decision to quit. It’s possible for the godless to have these. Only this weekend, my friends were getting plastered around me –raucous, rowdy, having a whale of the time. Next morning, one of them came to me, teary and shaking, to tell me how desperate she feels, for which her drinking is an inadequate mask.
She knows – as I did 11 years ago – that it’s time to call a halt; a halt to the self-hatred, festering misery and the shame. As Sober October dims into memory and the festive season looms, ask yourself: is it time for you too?
