Why are you doing Dry January?

Madeleine Shaw
10 min readDec 30, 2024

More than an alcohol-free reset, it can be an opportunity to reconnect with yourself

Image: Keith Shaw Photography @keith_shaw1969

I started doing Dry January (DJ) around 10 years ago out of curiosity. I was in my mid-40s and had been drinking with gradually increasing regularity since my teens. Other than one pregnancy in my late 30s, there had been no intentionally abstinent periods of longer than a handful of days in my adult life.

I was curious about a few things, namely: What’s all the hype? Would I actually feel different without drinking for a month straight? Would I sleep better? And the underlying, uneasy question I did not allow to fully surface: Am I addicted to alcohol?

For many, DJ is seen as a “reset.” Meaning that they’re looking to reconnect with a clearer sense of when they actually feel like having a drink, as opposed to it simply being a reflex or habit. To test the “leave it” aspect of being a “take it or leave it” drinker. Fabulous.

As someone who has dealt with their fair share of questions regarding why they chose sobriety — whether it be at parties or from family or friends — DJ also feels like an opportunity to break from alcohol without question or judgement. You’re just doing this Dry January thing, end of conversation.

Or might there be more to it?

Over the years, DJ’s significance for me evolved, and looking back, I wish that I had delved a little deeper into my motivations and what I learned along the way. What I initially billed as a lark of sorts, I now read in hindsight as my body’s way of expressing a cry for help.

Yes, but you had a problem, I can hear some of you thinking. In the end, I absolutely did. I also could have quit a lot sooner, saving myself years of struggle. Or — who knows? Returned to the take it or leave it fold?

Alcohol is a tricky drug. There was never one day when I knew that I was crossing over from recreational to problematic use. DJ was invaluable in giving me a picture of what a difference even a relatively small amount of alcohol was making in my life.

I’m not suggesting that my experience is universally true, but rather sharing it as a call to deeper questioning or observation. Given the increasing awareness of alcohol’s impact on health, I believe that the question of whether or not one has a drinking problem can be a red herring. Booze can and does do its damage well before many of us succumb to dependency; it absolutely warrants a critical approach. DJ is a brilliant way to get a reading on where you may be at with alcohol.

While my drinking was hardly extreme (I tapped out at half a bottle of wine a day when I decided that enough was enough), I was astonished to see, in my mid 40s, how dramatic the impact of 31 booze-free days was. Everything was just …better. My skin, sleep, energy, boundaries. I was blown away.

I felt younger, lighter and less distracted. Kind of like a kid learning to ride a bike for the first time, when you realize that you’re actually doing it without someone holding the seat behind you. I can feel this good all the time, without alcohol? This simple, early DJ insight was to prove life-changing.

Not that there weren’t challenging moments. I would become weepy a fair bit, which made me wonder about the extent to which my wine use had been muffling uncomfortable emotions. I found myself quicker to speak up when something was troubling, and became bored and irritable around others who were drinking much beyond a glass or two. I felt lonely when I was the only one not partaking.

Another useful insight at such times came when I took my line of inquiry a bit further. When those uncomfortable feelings arose, I asked myself whether there was a wholesome way to support myself. I highly encourage this practice at all times, but especially during DJ.

Whereas my previous default had been to “take the edge off” (to numb out things like exhaustion, frustration and the like) with wine, during DJ I found myself doing things like exercising, talking through my feelings with a loved one, or just crying them out on my own. Tending to my needs, rather than putting them off.

Instead of feeling lonely, I left parties, or didn’t go in the first place, and felt wonderful. Rather than assuming that I was “missing out” because I wasn’t drinking, I increasingly came to see it as choosing myself. Every hangover-free morning reinforced the wonder of this new perspective. I was gaining an exciting new sense of clarity and control.

Given all of this energy and insight about effective ways to care for my needs in my temporarily sober state, though, I was still suspiciously eager to pour myself a glass on February 1st. I had earned it, right? I looked forward to the sweet, buzzy feeling of the first glass. My reward for having “sacrificed” a month of enjoying its pleasure.

Except, a small voice inside me noted, you felt fantastic without it and are now opting back in. Nighttime wakefulness, low-grade headache, morning sluggishness and overall irritability soon followed; a sharper edge revealed itself following a month’s sabbatical. An edge that justified being removed with — ta da! — a glass (or two) of wine. Rather than being reset, I fell right back to where I was before.

Things were starting to add up, though: it was drinking that created this edge, not my life, as busy and harried as it often was. It was thanks to Dry January that I came to appreciate the difference.

For most of the half-dozen or so years that I did DJ before quitting drinking for good in 2021, it served as an important reminder of all of the above. But over time it also came to function as a kind of Get Out Of Jail Free card, as in It’s ok for me to have alcohol in my life in this way because it would be impossible for anyone with a problem to not drink for 31 days.

This was a different voice. It was clever and wheedling and said things like: See? You’re good. Now let’s celebrate with a nice cold glass of sauvignon blanc. I came to call this voice The Winer.

The Winer would calmly rationalize that problem drinkers were not like me. They embarrassed themselves, drove drunk, abused others, and could not control themselves. They were messy and pathetic. You know: alcoholics (intoned with a dismissive sneer.)

I, on the other hand, was a sophisticated drinker. I appreciated alcohol, and used my drug of choice responsibly, in moderation. Not that I could have told you what moderation actually meant, practically speaking. That you weren’t a falling-down drunk, I guess? Which, obviously, I wasn’t. No problem here, except for The Winer and the fact that unless I impose a month of prohibition, I’m not able to stop myself from drinking every day.

The viral essay Enjoli crossed my social media feed in 2016, and something inside me clicked. The way that author Kristi Coulter connected alcohol with quieting women’s dissatisfaction with their oppression stopped me in my tracks. “…(B)ooze is the oil in our motors, the thing that keeps us purring when we could be making other kinds of noise.” The penny dropped: that which I had been using as a “reward” for “balancing” so much was in fact depleting and weakening me.

I shivered in recognition with this line in particular: “We can’t afford to act like it’s okay that “Girls can do anything!” got translated somewhere along the line into “Women must do everything.” We can’t afford to live lives that we have to fool our own central nervous systems into tolerating.”

Even as a lifelong feminist, I had never put alcohol under a political lens. Coulter was speaking my language, but on a topic I had never seen addressed in this way. I was electrified, but also frightened.

I kept drinking my wine (way less than Kristi’s bottle a day habit, The Winer rejoiced) and doing DJ as proof that I was still “fine.” But something inside me had shifted, and I started paying closer attention to why and how I drank.

I started listening to a podcast called HOME, hosted by Holly Whitaker and Laura McKowen. I loved these women’s raw, hilarious, and touching stories about their lives. They went a long way to changing how I thought about “alcoholics” and brought me closer to feeling safe in putting up my hand as someone who was struggling.

Their version of sobriety was, surprisingly, not about deprivation. Once through the trials of addiction and quitting, recovery was about healing, personal growth and freedom. Here’s my favourite episode, in which they tackle some common fears and misperceptions about how sobriety is “Uncool.”

In 2020, as Covid was beginning its worldwide rampage, frustrated by menopausal night sweats, I decided to up the ante in the form of doing a 100 Day Challenge, kicked off with DJ. Holly Whitaker’s book Quit Like a Woman: The Radical Choice to Not Drink in a Culture Obsessed with Alcohol (QLAW) had just come out. I immediately loaded it onto my e-reader and burned through it.

Another thing that I would encourage DJers to do is to take some time to learn more about alcohol, its health risks and how it impacts the brain and body (here’s an excellent 2024 summary that links to multiple research findings.)

It’s my belief that the concern with addiction–as critical as it is–can obfuscate the equally real potential for health harm well before dependency sets in. Until I read QLAW I am embarrassed to admit that I knew practically nothing about alcohol, other than that I liked it (at least while I was drinking.) I don’t think that I even thought of it as a drug: it was just wine.

Until then, the things to know about alcohol–wine in particular–were the different grapes, vintages, terroirs and so on. The fancy sommelier language, which glass to choose, how to pair it with different types of food and so on. Not that it’s a Level 1 carcinogen. Not that it shrinks your brain. Not that it’s the number one date rape drug.

If 31 days off booze felt wonderful, once I started racking up 60, then 90, I was high on life. I felt ridiculously good. The trouble was what to do next. I had not made myself or anyone any promises about my post-100 day aspirations.

The Winer was still lurking, clapping me on the back for my increasing number of days, while noting that in these dark Covidian times there was precious little to celebrate. As it happened, my daughter’s 15th birthday fell on day 101. There was a cold bottle of champagne in the back fridge. Why not give myself a break from this unnecessary ordeal and live a little, The Winer purred. It’s a special occasion, a celebration. You deserve it.

I drank well over half the bottle and was overcome with shame. While it’s pretty undramatic as rock bottom stories go, this was my nadir. What I could have so very easily done, particularly had I thought of choosing to quit as a gift to my daughter, I had basically thrown away. Apparently, in fact, “leaving it” was not so easy after all.

I have heard it said that rather than some drastic incident, for many of us gray area drinkers, rock bottom is when we tell ourselves the truth about alcohol’s power over us.

Doing the 100 days, rather than affirming that I was ok, showed me that even in the face of feeling better than I had in years, I was still hooked. Not even my oceans-deep love for my daughter was enough to sway me to let it go once and for all.

It took a shade over a year after that for me to quit drinking for good. A year of see-saw “moderation” that was basically a gloves-off scrap with The Winer about whether or not to drink. It was exhausting. The pleasure and lightness of drinking was gone. I knew my truth about it and that the only truly workable long-term solution was going to be choosing sobriety, come what may.

I was scared as hell. How would being sober change my relationships, my social life? Would I ever have fun again? The Winer went ballistic, but I knew better than to believe their lies.

While my 101st day failure had exposed the truth about my dependency, my DJ experiences had shown me that life on the other side was actually sweeter, richer, and calmer. If I was feeling great at 30 days, and fantastic at 100, what might permanent freedom be like?

On April 14th 2021 I attended my first online sobriety meeting and, thanks to witnessing another attendee’s story, found my actual Get Out Of Jail Free card. It was Hope’s one-year sobriety celebration, and I found myself possessed with a pure desire to be like her. Imagining myself attending a meeting one year hence, feeling the adulation and support of others sharing my path.

It was the moment that I relinquished the moderation struggle, the endless self-questioning and recrimination and just let it the fuck go. I have not drank since.

To sum up: DJ is awesome, however beware if it becomes “proof” that you do not have an issue with alcohol.

Notice how you feel throughout the month, where you struggle and what comes up. Are there healthful, effective ways that you can take the edge off? Things that you can do for yourself or change in your life to make it more easeful? Or conversely, are there any moments that you feel better? How’s your sleep, your energy?

If you drop off the wagon, note the circumstances and be curious and compassionate about what was going on. Notice the stories you tell yourself about your relationship with booze. What tipped you off course on something that you were committed to?

My final note is that DJ is not just about not drinking. It can be about revisiting our pre-drinking selves and gaining insight about how alcohol may be holding us back from meeting our needs and feeling our best. Our capacity for pleasure and self-comforting were within us well before we picked up booze.

Open up to the possibility that life with less or no alcohol can be as much, if not far more fun and joyful. I was a wine lover and am now relieved and even euphoric at the prospect of never touching it again. I would not trade sobriety for all the fancy bottles in the world.

Wherever Dry January takes you, I applaud anyone who gives it a go, and can guarantee that you’ll learn something valuable about yourself.

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Madeleine Shaw
Madeleine Shaw

Written by Madeleine Shaw

Author, The Greater Good: Social Entrepreneurship for Everyday People Who Want to Change the World. Adventurer in sobriety and recovery. madeleineshaw.ca.

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