By Miriam Verheyden

The other day I didn’t think about booze at all, not even once.

The other day I didn’t think about booze at all, not even once. I didn’t realize this astonishing feat until the next day, and it stopped me in my tracks. Wow. It’s note-worthy because it’s been many, many years since I’ve had a day where alcohol didn’t show up in my mind – a decade or more. 

I quit drinking on December 31, 2021. That’s 105 days at the time of this writing, a number I just had to look up. Even a week ago I didn’t need to because I was aware of the number every single day, just as I was aware of alcohol every single day before December 31. Because even though I didn’t drink every day, I thought about drinking all the time: about how I wanted to drink but maybe shouldn’t, how much I would allow myself to drink, how much wine was left at home, if I should buy more, if I should take some time off drinking, how much time, if I drank too much, if I was an alcoholic, if I was overthinking my drinking, if it affected my health, my relationships, my work, my life. 

I would take those quizzes that tell you if you are an alcoholic, and since I never drank in the morning (bachelorettes and Christmas morning don’t count, right?), never missed work because of it, didn’t drink daily and rarely blacked out those quizzes told me that I was a-okay. I also compared myself to other people, and I was doing alright: I drank more than some, but definitely less than others. Our society gave me its stamp of approval, and it was important to me to be seen as fun, easy-going and social. Alcohol plays a very important role in all those things in our culture, and if everybody is doing it, what’s the harm? 

Waking up in the middle of the night with hanxiety and self-hatred is the worst – it’s zero stars from me.  

But tell that to my subconscious. I would wake up every night at 2 am if I drank the evening before, filled with self-loathing and shame. Let me tell you, waking up in the middle of the night with hanxiety and self-hatred is the worst – it’s zero stars from me.  

It robs you of sleep, peace of mind and self-esteem. Regular drinking gave me anxiety I never had before, and it started to affect me even on days when I wasn’t consuming alcohol: I generally felt pretty shitty about myself. I could never get away from thinking about drinking, and it’s an exhausting way to live. I yearned to be my old self again, when I could go days or even weeks without drinking or thinking about drinking. 

Somehow, without me noticing, those days were long gone, and now alcohol showed up in my head every single day without my consent: as remorse in the morning after a night of imbibing, making myself the promise (and often breaking it) of not drinking that day; as powerful desire to pour myself a glass of wine every time I came home from work; as an overwhelming feeling of deprivation when I didn’t drink, and resenting it; as the nagging fear that I drank too much. 

On December 30, 2021, I had my last drink: a bottle of champagne that I didn’t enjoy. The next day my new life began.

Then I watched And Just Like That, the sequel to Sex and the City, and their skillful portrayal of Miranda’s subtle but real drinking problem hit me right in the stomach. “That’s me,” I kept thinking, and I pictured myself at her age, ten+ years into the future, and where I would be if I continued on the path I was on. I knew it was time to quit. 

On December 30, 2021, I had my last drink: a bottle of champagne that I didn’t enjoy. The next day my new life began. 

The first month is hard.

The first month is hard. I’m highly motivated, but I’m thinking about alcohol nonstop. I read all the quit lit I can get my hands on, download a quitting app and google alcohol-free celebrities obsessively. 

I have never been aware that I have triggers for drinking, but now I get to know them all in painful detail: coming home from work, cooking, days off, being bored, feeling down, feeling happy, feeling frustrated, feeling angry, making a fire, celebrating something, having friends over, talking to my sister on the phone, watching certain TV shows, hearing someone talk about wine. Even the fricking wine emoji is a trigger, and let me tell you, it’s being used a lot. 

It’s an uncomfortable eye-opener just how much alcohol has infiltrated every aspect of my life. In that first month I grieve the loss of wine like the loss of a close friend. It is a toxic friend, yes – but how much fun we’ve had over the years! I reminisce about long, intimate talks with my husband in our favourite spots under the willow tree, or on the porch, or around a bonfire, fuelled by endless drinks; I get misty-eyed when I remember how we drank away an entire afternoon while on vacation in Hawaii until we got cut off and firmly asked to leave; I cry just thinking about how I would never drink with my sister again like we did in London, Paris, and during her visit here in Canada. What am I doing? Why do I want to make my life so unnecessarily hard? Am I a masochist who wants to feel bad? My drinking is fine, isn’t it?

Fortunately, I have written down a list of stuff that happened while drinking, and I pull it out every time alcohol tries to lure me back with its one-sided recollections of the great times we’ve had. That list is sobering (pun intended): the fights I had with my husband, passing out, falling down the stairs at a friend’s place, burning my arm because I was drinking while cooking, falling off a horse, driving when I shouldn’t, the 2am wake-ups, the tearful phone calls with friends when a problem I had was a thousand times magnified by booze, the hangovers, the self-loathing, the fear. Oh God, the fear: I was terrified that I was doing irreparable damage to my liver, my stomach, my brain, and my mental health. I would watch my hands in the morning to check if there was any trembling, briefly relieved when there wasn’t, only to be replaced by renewed fear that tomorrow might be the day when it would start. 

Month two starts off with a bang.

Month two starts off with a bang. I feel fantastic! I love how much better I sleep without waking up once. And I have so much more time! I’m writing again, which I’ve dreamed of doing for over two years while I was sipping endless glasses of wine, but never got around to. Turns out that drinking takes up a LOT of time. It slows down your brain, which means that as soon as you’ve had your first sip of wine you can kiss the day goodbye. The mornings aren’t that great either after a poor night’s sleep and the occasional hangover, and before you know it ten or twenty years have passed and your dreams lay abandoned in the dust, leaving you bitter and disappointed with life. 

And what do we do when we’re disappointed? We take our medicine, in my case booze, to numb the pain and give us a brief respite from facing reality. We are pushing our feelings down deep inside and pour gallons of numbing agent onto them, hoping they will disappear forever. That doesn’t work, of course, so we have two choices: we either keep running away by literally drowning our sorrows, or we start the work of facing our demons. I’ve tried option A for years, it’s time to give option B a shot.

For the first time in my life I confess to another human being – my therapist – that I’ve been drinking too much, and the relief is indescribable.

For the first time in my life I confess to another human being – my therapist – that I’ve been drinking too much, and the relief is indescribable. I didn’t realize how heavy that secret had become, and unburdening it feels sweeter than any buzz ever has. 

One day around the end of month two I come home from work and crave peppermint tea instead of wine. I can’t believe it! It’s a major win that makes me dance around the kitchen and whoop loudly – and makes me think for one surreal, crazy moment that I should celebrate this win with champagne. Habits are hard to break, and I’ve associated celebration with champagne for all of my life. Luckily I let that thought go right away, but not before recognizing the insidiousness of alcohol. Society has really done a number on us in terms of glorifying alcohol, and I’ve never questioned it until now. Not wanting to be manipulated by Big Booze is a new but compelling reason for quitting – I want to be truly free and not being told what to do any longer. Women have historically been told by the entire world how to behave, and I’m not following their rules anymore. Quitting alcohol is a feminist act, and I’m proud of having gotten there. 

Month three comes with bone-deep exhaustion. That’s annoying, because having more energy was a welcome and much-loved side-effect of living alcohol-free, and suddenly being tired again sucks.

Month three comes with bone-deep exhaustion. That’s annoying, because having more energy was a welcome and much-loved side-effect of living alcohol-free, and suddenly being tired again sucks. But life goes on even when we go through a major change, and now that I’m not numbing anymore, a few of my problems have caught up with me. This time I’m facing them with a clear head, and instead of pushing them down into the pit of despair, I deal with them. That’s exhaustive work, but so much more satisfying and effective in the long run. It actually solves the problems instead of delaying them, and how amazing is that?! 

I’ve assembled a bunch of tools to use now that I don’t have booze anymore as a coping mechanism, and they come in handy: journaling, yoga, meditation, napping (so much napping), taking baths, reading, Netflix, candy, chocolate, peppermint tea, writing, playing with my dogs and cats, connecting with other alcohol-free peeps. Yes, I’m fully “out” about having quit drinking, because I’m finally proud of it! I’m also starting to socialize in month three, and to my relief it’s easier than I feared. I don’t last as long as I used to, so I take myself home when I’ve had enough. Being able to drive home after a party without fearing the cops is another huge perk of not drinking. Booyah! Plus I’m enjoying the shorter time a lot more. I love being clear-headed and sharp-witted, and I do believe I’m funnier than I was when tipsy. 

Month four. A shift is happening. This doesn’t feel temporary anymore – it’s a lifestyle change.

Month four. A shift is happening. This doesn’t feel temporary anymore – it’s a lifestyle change. I wake up grateful every morning and go to bed grateful every night. I barely have cravings anymore, my bloating has gone down, and my cellulite is less noticeable. But much more important is the fact that I haven’t experienced an attack of self-loathing in months. I’m not plagued by constant doubt and self-hatred. I am much more confident. My anxiety has gone way down. My energy has returned. I’m finally doing instead of thinking of doing: I have a difficult but successful conversation with my boss. I’m working on my third book. I’m about to give a speech about mental health in front of 500 of my peers. I speak up for myself. I’ve stopped apologizing all the time. My husband and I are planning another major life change, partly brought on by solving problems once and for all instead of pushing them away. 

My life is so much bigger and better and more exciting. 

My life is so much bigger and better and more exciting. 

I can’t wait to see what the next 100 days will bring, and 100×100 days after that. This isn’t temporary – this is my new normal. And it’s fucking magical.  

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Miriam Verheyden is a mental health advocate, x-ray technologist, dog mom and writer. She quit drinking on December 31, 2021 and is in awe ever since about how her life is expanding and getting bigger. Miriam loves to finally live a life true to herself and is looking forward to sharing the magic of sobriety with others. 

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