A time comes when change is inescapable albeit filled with peculiarities. Previously, Facebook was our leading virtual locale for broadcasting everything from countless holiday snaps to making public your relationship status. But now, it’s more akin to an abandoned online town. Many of us have demoted Facebook, making it more of a reminder for friends’ birthdays or a terrifying reminder of bizarre things we professed a decade ago that, at the time, seemed insightful. Nowadays, the majority of my so-called Facebook flashbacks appear to focus on me toasting the arrival of Friday and the much-anticipated wine time.
In my earlier unmarried and childless years, when I was not accountable to anyone and the repercussions of enjoying wine on a Friday and Saturday night, with the occasional glass on a Sunday before embracing a new work week, were hardly any. Looking back, I realise I was unwittingly creating the groundwork for a lifestyle that would later become entrenched.
Fast-forward several years, my circumstances drastically altered. I found myself wedded, pregnant with my first little one and unexpectedly facing a year of total abstinence from alcohol. Honestly, I wouldn’t be truthful if I claimed not to miss my weekly wine sessions during my pregnancy.
I remember quite distinctly attending a hen do when I was just into my pregnancy. As I was yet to have an ultrasound scan, revealing my news didn’t seem right at the time. To articulate my decision of sticking to mocktails for that night, I invented a tall tale about injuring my back and being on strong anti-inflammatories. Each of my sisters-in-law was suspecting I was with child. Their sceptical smiles and knowing glances were a loud testimony to my less than convincing cover story. When the wedding day arrived, I was nearing the end of my first trimester and had no option but to break the news earlier than I had intended to, due to not participating in drinking, which would have otherwise led to speculation amongst those in attendance.
John Creedon once said, “I was frequently sent away, not stemming from a lack of affection, but due to my family’s inability to handle the situation.” When an adult abstained from alcohol during a gathering or a night out, people became intrusive and jumped to conclusions. The common assumptions were that men were likely on antibiotics, and women at a childbearing age were presumed to be expecting.
The whispers and continuous questioning led us to disclose our the matter. Attending my first wedding without indulging in a single drink, especially combined with the initial trimester’s overwhelming fatigue, resulted in one of the longest evenings of my existence.
Nonetheless, navigating through this alcohol-free period was not as taxing as expected. The very thought of drinking wine was repelling during my pregnancy. As I welcomed two children into the world within a span of three years and was preoccupied with early motherhood, my routine wine indulgence often disappeared.
Then, the Covid-19 pandemic hit. With a five-month-old and a three-year-old at home when the global lockdown took effect, I found myself resorting to some extraordinary measures to cope, as did many others. Many of us engaged in activities such as making copious amounts of banana bread, setting up tiki bars in our gardens, or feigning errands like feeding our mother’s goldfish to venture out whilst evading the restrictions.
Sea-swimming served as a therapeutic endeavour that maintained my mental well-being amid these challenging times. However, on the days we were restricted within a 2km radius, the sanctuary of my home would feel imprisoning, and I would yearn for my regular glass of wine over the weekend. As the lockdown stretched out endlessly, the days started merging into one another.
Once the tortuous lockdown phase was behind us, I found myself trapped in a routine of uncorking a bottle of wine every Friday evening once the children were tucked in. Rather than limiting myself to a glass, I would end up staying awake until late into the night to empty the bottle.
Instead of treating ‘wine o’clock’ as a sacred end-of-week treat after a spell of hard work, I started to recognise it as a habit that often left me feeling more fatigued, anxious and unhealthy.
I recall feeling wearied and muddled when waking up, and despite my inability to be fully attentive to my children, I somehow managed to maintain a facade and drag myself along. Quite often, I’d find myself replaying the same cycle on a Saturday night, before preparing to get through the upcoming week.
This habit turned into a culture, a routine I adopted. I saw it as a recompense for my demanding week, filled with handling office work, being a parent and managing the pressures of family-life, or merely as a comfort following a challenging week in all aspects. Whether to commiserate or elevate spirits, I’d enthusiastically announce my plans to indulge in my wine-drinking ritual on social media, sharing memes about fatigued mothers and ‘wine o’clock’.
Despite eagerly looking forward to ‘wine o’clock’ on Fridays, I began realising the destructive nature of this habit that seemed to be gradually gnawing away at my health. I was caught in a harmful loop, and it felt as if I was subconsciously subjecting myself to some kind of punishment or self-sabotage. In a very typical ‘Irish mother-like’ manoeuvre, I scrutinised my alcohol consumption habits and the person I was becoming, and it didn’t sit well with me. And so, I quit it.
A recently published report in the Lancet highlighted that Irish females ranked seventh worldwide for consuming an average of 3.1 alcoholic drinks daily. I never thought I fell into that statistical count as I wasn’t a daily drinker. I didn’t consider myself an alcoholic, but I was likely on a path towards ‘grey-area drinking’.
Just like many others, I participated in ‘dry January’. I relaxed and didn’t overburden myself. Even though I faced a few individual obstacles that could have easily led me to give in and grab a glass of wine, I opted for the high road instead.
Unwittingly, four months of a drinks-free life had flown by. This was the reset button I had been seeking, and it wasn’t long until I began to realise the numerous advantages it brought. Waking up on a weekend day, I felt rejuvenated, fresher and genuinely rewarded, not by the wine I might have had the previous evening, but by a wholesome night’s rest. It seemed as if I had regained control over my existence and broken free from the hazardous monotonous routine that I never wished to be part of in the first place. It was as though I had put a halt to the gradual self-destructive pattern that had infiltrated my life.
I seldom consume wine these days. Although being sober might seem fashionable at the moment, for me, it represents a significant personal transformation. I reinterpreted my habitual end-of-the-week reward into something that frequently left me feeling exhausted, more perturbed, and in less optimal health. I don’t disapprove of having a drink; I might occasionally enjoy a glass either at home or when out and about, but the crux is that it’s now solely under my discretion, no longer a reflexive action or something I do due to societal expectations, a change which I’ve found liberating.
There’s a Sober October campaign currently in action this month. Even though it might be a clever piece of marketing hinged on a catchy rhyme, it does present an excellent chance to examine your drinking patterns, make a conscious decision to break from the harmful routine you may have been entrenched in and perhaps explore where this new journey might lead you.