I haven’t had a drink in three months.
I wrestled with the idea of whether or not to write about this because even though I wasn’t thinking about it like a fast, it technically was. And I wondered if I wrote about it honestly and publicly, I’d be doing what we’re warned against in Matthew 6.
“When you fast, do not look somber as the hypocrites do, for they disfigure their faces to show others they are fasting. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward in full. But when you fast, put oil on your head and wash your face, so that it will not be obvious to others that you are fasting, but only to your Father, who is unseen; and your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you.”
I didn’t want to talk about not drinking because I wanted approval or congratulations from other people, but because a lot of the messaging around alcohol – especially from Christians – was something I could never relate to.
I don’t care that alcohol is “poison.” I don’t think drinking always has to be this overwrought, cliche act of self medication, or a sign of deep disturbance. But a lot of people that decide to abstain can be so militant and insufferable about it, and I thought I might be able to offer a different perspective.
I meditated on it for a while and asked two trusted Christian friends for advice. Neither of them took issue with me writing about it. I was still on the fence, but after I went out with a different friend who confessed that she was thinking about doing something similar and wanted my input, it seemed like the green light from God I needed.
I had already come to the conclusion that I wanted to be more controlled in my drinking long before I decided to take a break. I could have four drinks in one night without worrying about anything going wrong. But even after I’d set that mental limit, I found myself passing it on occasion.
One time, I was so excited to see a friend I hadn’t hung out with in months that I just wanted to keep going. Another time, I was at an acquaintance’s birthday party and felt out of place, and instead of going home when I first thought about it, decided to keep drinking, hoping it would help me get past it.
I hated that feeling of not being able to account for an hour or so. Logically, I know that I mostly get quiet, sleepy, and start making up languages when I drink too much. But I would become consumed with paranoia after the fact, and my imagination would run wild.
The Breaking Point
The straw that broke the camel’s back, though, was when I left my house key in an Uber after a pool party, and ended up paying nearly $600 to get my locks changed.
I was furious with myself.
And in addition to this expense, there was this unhinged narrative spiraling about all the insanely out of character things I could have done because there was a gaping black hole in my memory, and my instinct is to assume the worst.
Did I slap someone? (I’ve never slapped anyone in my life besides my brother). Did I say something mean? (I’ve never had a mean thought about the girl that I was with). Did I start hysterically sobbing? (That’s admittedly on brand but never in public or drunk).
This was at the end of April. The first time I’d hung out with this girl was in December, and I stuck to my limit and probably left around midnight. I texted her something that weekend, and didn’t hear back from her until the middle of the week. I was initially confused because I remembered everything. I knew I hadn’t done or said anything remotely offensive. But as I got to know her, I realized that was just the way she was. She even texted that way with guys she was actually interested in.
But even though I knew she was notoriously slow on iMessage, because there was so little I could remember, I was teeming with anxiety. What if this wasn’t her signature pacing, but was the result of something I had no recollection of?
It turned out to be her normal glacial texting. It all ended up being fine. I was weird and barely spoke, but it was nothing I couldn’t recover from. The worst damage done was definitely to my credit card.
But after days of panicking and torturing myself with soap opera scenarios, I knew I never wanted to feel like that again. Not in that flippant, hollow way where people swear they’re never drinking again after one bad hangover. I meant it.
I’d also reached a point where I was sincerely trying to surrender my life to God – not just my Sundays. I wasn’t just reading the Word; I was trying to obey it, and the guilt I felt for that failure was eating me alive. I hated feeling like I was disappointing my Father after all the progress I’d made. I didn’t want to create distance between us and I didn’t want to mock His love with unrepentance. I felt like I had to make a real sacrifice that showed Him I was genuinely sorry.
I didn’t think drinking itself was the problem – it was deciding to make exceptions to the rules I’d set based on “extenuating” circumstances.
For one reason or another I’d tell myself that one more cocktail wouldn’t be the end of the world – and for the most part, it wasn’t.
But drinking in excess – like all sin – is a gamble. It’s fun, until it’s not. It doesn’t feel like a big deal and in the blink of an eye it becomes our master.
I remember those anti drug and anti drinking PSAs that made it seem like if you drank once, you’d immediately destroy your life and become some beggar on the street the next day. But I think the devil generally plays the long game with us. He lets us get accustomed to our vices until we convince ourselves that we’re untouchable and immune to consequences. And when we least suspect it, everything comes crashing down.
I wasn’t willing to keep rolling those dice.
And I definitely never wanted to make mindless mistakes that cost me a roundtrip flight to Europe again.
I wanted to set a limit and stick to it with no exceptions, and I thought a six month break would help me build the muscle I needed to do it.
It’s been both easier and more difficult than I imagined it would be in different ways.
What I’ve Learned So Far
The first weekend I went out without drinking I noticed myself on an emotional roller coaster. It was intense, and I don’t know if I can fully articulate it or if I even want to. It was extremely unpleasant. It wasn’t like I was upset because I wasn’t drinking but I felt every negative sensation at full strength and without relief. I would’ve thought and felt the same things if I had been drinking, but at a much lower potency. After a week or two I feel like my body more or less self regulated and I felt normal again, but it was awful at first.
Again, I don’t think drinking is always this dramatic, psychological trauma response. But a lot of people have a tendency to try to numb themselves to distress. And when we turn to the Bible instead of a bottle with our problems, the process is slower and much more painful – but also much more rewarding.
I started this break in May, which was the same month I went to Vegas for a week. I’d briefly considered postponing the break to start in June, or letting myself off the hook for vacation, but I ultimately contended that if I could make it through a week in Vegas of all places without drinking, I could successfully complete the full six months. I think the hardest thing for me to deal with when I’m not drinking is music I don’t like…and I’m honestly not a great sport about it when I am drinking anyway.
In St Pete, they do something called “First Friday” downtown every month. I don’t even know what it’s supposed to be, I just know that the bars and sidewalks are packed like sardine cans and the vibes are horrible. A friend invited me out and I went to meet her, not realizing what horrendous day it was until it was too late. With sober eyes, an event I already abhorred looked even more depressing. I don’t know how to describe it. Everyone – even the hot people – kind of looked miserable and kind of looked like reanimated corpses, even if they were smiling.
But going out on other occasions during this break, I realized that I genuinely enjoyed bars and clubs under the right circumstances. If it wasn’t overly crowded, I liked the DJ and I had good company, I didn’t need to be hammered to enjoy myself.
I’ve also noticed that the weight of my decision feels heavier when I’m out on a random afternoon than on a Saturday night. The constraints of my commitment feel more suffocating to me when they’re preventing me from stopping at a random bar in passing, ordering a glass of champagne and seeing where the rest of the day takes me. Of course, you don’t need to drink to be spontaneous, but I won’t pretend it doesn’t help.
While I enjoyed going out, I noticed that it was easier to end the night when I wasn’t drinking. Sometimes under the influence, I’m reluctant to go home because I’m convinced if I have one more drink or push myself for just one more hour, the night will magically change. But sober, when you realize you aren’t having a good time anymore, you just leave without trying to convince yourself to stay out longer than you should.
You also realize that some of the bad habits you thought could be blamed on alcohol are actually just you. I’ve spent more Sundays than I’d like to admit since I started this break rotting on my couch, destroying my brain with scrolling and tv, contributing literally nothing to society or my own wellbeing for that matter.
On Memorial Day Weekend I went to the beach. I only knew one person there, but it was a big group of people. All things considered, it was probably the social setting where I was most tempted to give up the break. But I stuck with it. And it was awkward at moments, but I had a great time. I remember drama breaking out, and being able to see the situations clearly while everyone else was arguing in circles, and being a voice of reason and deescalation. More than one person made a comment just generally appreciating my presence, and being surprised that I could be “fun” and “chill” despite my sobriety.
If you’re a person that’s “in your head,” over thinking and introverted, you might find yourself drinking to help take the pressure off – especially around people you don’t know. And if anyone understands that, it’s me. The truth is you might be a little strange, you might be a little clumsy with your words, but you’re better off powering through that initial discomfort than overcompensating with booze, because drinking isn’t actually making you less weird. It’s making you less aware of your surroundings and actions, and it’s too easy to completely overdo it in those conditions.
I always made fun of mocktails when I was drinking, and thought they were absurd. It’s criminal and deranged to charge $10+ for JUICE. But I’ve started buying them even though my position hasn’t changed because I feel bad for bartenders/servers when I don’t. Also, soda water, lime and muddled jalapenos is weirdly refreshing.
I always found people that made sobriety their entire personalities unbearable, and to my surprise, I found them even more annoying after I decided to take a break from it.
I don’t think drinking is inherently evil, but these first three months have shown me what it’s capable of for better or worse.
I think drinking – like any other earthly pleasure – has the potential to create a barrier between us and God when we aren’t putting Him first.
One Sunday, my preacher was talking about idolatry, and used an example of how at one church, it would be nearly empty for weeks on end because all of the men were hunting. And he explained that while we tend to associate idolatry with obvious, obscene sins like gambling, drug use and sex, we’re capable of making idols out of anything and everything – even what seems inherently good. He said that idolatry really came down to disordered attachments, and when anything became more important to us than our relationship with God, we were turning it into an idol.
The leadership at the church in his anecdote didn’t ask the men to give up hunting though. The details are blurry, but if I’m remembering correctly, they began holding a service before their excursions, and even started donating meat to the church and charities. The way I’m writing it, it might sound like they were just looking for a loophole to keep doing what they wanted, but I promise that isn’t the way it was conveyed to me. When I first heard this story, it sounded like their hearts had genuinely changed, and they had realized that they didn’t have to choose between honoring God and their pastimes – they could honor God through them.
On this side of life, there will always be idols. There will always be distractions taking our focus off the Lord, even if that isn’t what they seem like. And they’ll probably make us happy. But the purest love, joy and fulfillment any of us will ever find is in Christ, and anything standing between that is worth reevaluating.
what do you think?