Goodbye “Dry January”

I have a friend who gives up just about everything comforting during the month of January. She goes without caffeine, meat, dairy, and alcohol. It’s intended as a cleanse. I admire this. It’s a mental challenge to get through the darkest, coldest month of the year without most of the typical comfort food and drinks. After a particularly indulgent December in 2014, my husband and I decided to get in the spirit and give up alcohol for the first 31 days of 2015. We later learned this is a commonly observed practice in Europe known as “Dry January”. We did it again this year, and plan to do so in 2017. Given the prominent role drinking has in American culture, you can’t get through an extended period of not drinking without some amount of contemplation. That’s what this is.

Right away I realized how much I anticipated a glass of wine at the end of the day. I had no idea how ingrained that ritual was until it was gone. There have been times when that glass of liquid seems like the best thing about my day. Even more, I missed wine with special dinners. Some meals, like grilled lamb chops with roasted root vegetables on a cold winter evening, just beg for a complimentary bottle of wine. It was a little sad to have to bypass the lovely Oregon Pinot Noir, waiting in the wine rack for its turn.

I learned that it is important to my friends that I drink when they drink. They were at first uncomfortable with and later in awe of the fact that my husband and I were not drinking for a full month. It sparked telling comments such as “I can’t remember the last time I went a day without drinking.” A day! I learned that’s not really that uncommon. Yes, I have a couple of friends that are probably functional alcoholics, but not all of these people are in that category. Most of them just really enjoy their drinks.

It turned out that this January was the month that the custody battle for my daughter came to a climax. At issue is my ex-husband’s alcoholism and the effect it has on his ability to parent. Not surprisingly, the events and negotiations around this dispute triggered an “I need a drink” reflex. Eliminating the cocktail option during the heat of the battle was definitely a good thing.

It was interesting to observe my own evolving feelings over the course of the month. The first week was the hardest. I felt the loss and I complained about it. It helped that we came up with alternative beverages. We drank tonic with lime or fresh-squeezed blood orange juice with club soda and a few dashes of bitters. (OK, yes there is alcohol in bitters. We chose to accept that.) We began to really look forward to “mocktail hour”. It didn’t dawn on me how strange that was until a couple of weeks in. Any other month of the year we would not look forward to or even consider drinking one of these concoctions. That was somewhat reassuring though, because I realized it was at least in part the ritual, rather than the alcohol, that I was missing.

I can confirm that a month without alcohol has a pronounced effect on my physical appearance and general well-being. My skin tone improves, my face gets less puffy, and I sleep better. Last year, in addition to abstaining from alcohol consumption, I was eating pretty carefully and I lost weight. Now that Dry January 2016 has concluded, I can see in the mirror (and tell by how my jeans fit) that this time around I miscalculated with food. I used alcohol deprivation to justify making and eating fabulous desserts. I generally don’t eat sweets, but I rationalized that almost daily, I could have treats like homemade apple crisp with cardamom ice cream. I obviously over-compensated.

Both years, the concept of “going without” occupied less space in my mind as January wore on. In fact, it was with mixed feelings that I approached that first drink, come February. By then I had more energy and focus, and new habits had taken hold. Plus I had just seen what “drunk” looks like from a fully sober perspective, and it’s not a pretty thing.

There was a bit of a downside to not drinking that could probably be overcome with more time and effort. I think I became more somber and less playful. My husband and I didn’t laugh together quite as much and we skipped our weekly date nights. We completed some work on the house that we might not otherwise have gotten done, had some long overdue conversations about our budget and saving money, and we exercised together more frequently than usual. Those were good, constructive outcomes. But romance was lacking in January. We acted more inhibited and our behavior was more staid. Maybe we genuinely benefit from the pleasure that comes with opening a bottle of wine and the anticipation of the long, relaxing evening ahead. Perhaps that hints at the elusive upside to drinking, and the reasons we partake in the first place.