The things people say when I tell them I don’t drink (and how to respond)

I gave up alcohol for my own complex reasons, but here’s what I say to people who don’t understand

Three years ago, I gave up drinking. Alcohol was behind a lot of the moments that make up my life, both the good and the bad ones, and, latterly, the very bad ones, so giving it up was a huge moment for me. Now and then, I can’t help but talk about the decision to abstain, while trying my best not to be a bore about it (a sober bore is nearly as bad as a drunk bore, after all). When I do mention it, I tend to receive the same responses, so here are my replies in one handy lump…
Afraid so. Like someone with a nut allergy avoids nuts, I avoid alcohol because it makes me ill. I’ll have one glass of wine, blink, then wake up in hospital thinking, “bloody hell, not again.” Three years ago, I realised it was best to stop completely, so I did. 
Quite sure, yes. I’ve thoroughly researched my ability to have just one.
Anything I fancy, just without the wobbliness. I’ve learned how to have fun without drink. Dr Peter McCann, consultant psychiatrist, specialising in addictions, and medical director of Castle Craig, tells me, “Alcohol causes relaxation, so if you experience social anxiety, it’s a form of self-medication, and often not a good way to manage those feelings.” 
After about half a year of quitting, I no longer needed booze to relax; my brain sort of reset. It feels a bit like going back to that childhood state of mind before I knew alcohol existed and we all just had fun without it. 
Of course, that’s life. Boredom is quite the privilege, though, it just means there’s no drama currently happening. “It is a bit concerning if you feel like alcohol is necessary to not be bored,” says Dr McCann. “I usually help people to understand that they can learn to tolerate and sit with the feeling of boredom and it will pass. You don’t have to react immediately to feeling bored. It’s an important cognitive skill to learn.”
The good news: you don’t have to. People become curiously protective about booze, like dogs with bones. I get it, I’m the same when I read about some nannying bore trying to take sugar away from me just because I like the odd Twix. If you can drink a few glasses of wine occasionally, have a nice time, and not fall down the stairs, more power to you. But many people want to cut down (2024 YouGov research shows a quarter of UK drinkers have reduced consumption) so it’s worth talking about.
Sorry about that, but to be fair, if tipplers stopped asking, “why aren’t you drinking?” every time we turned down a celebratory glass of champers then we’d stop answering. I mean, we rarely ask “why ARE you drinking?” Though, with the recent boom of mocktails and non-alcoholic beers, fewer eyelids are being batted at abstainers and as mentioned previously, there’s more of us now. Ideally, we’d never have to mention it.
Why not? It’s nice to have options beyond Diet Coke. I enjoy the taste of beer, especially in summer. I don’t need an “alternative” to alcohol, just a tasty drink that’s 0 per cent; I don’t really think much beyond that these days. 
Good question. Research is still young on this. Admittedly, the first Becks Blue I tried in sobriety was a calculated risk that could’ve gone horribly wrong. As Dr McCann tells me, “Your acceptable level of risk is an individual decision. Anything that activates your reward circuitry similarly to alcohol could be a trigger, so that’s something to be honest with yourself about.” 
I’m afraid that’s just my face. I used to look worse with a hangover, though. My emotions are more stable now. A Frank Sinatra quote that drinkers love bringing up suggests having pity for teetotallers because they never get to feel happier than when they wake up, as if that’s a bad thing. I wake up feeling good and stay that way, which beats feeling a bit rubbish then feeling better by lunchtime. It’s like saying you feel sorry for people who don’t have stiff necks because they’ll never feel the relief of cracking them. I’d rather just not have a stiff neck to begin with.
Thoughtful of you to ask, but yes, it’s fine. In recovery, I’ve learned the world doesn’t revolve around me. Other people drinking doesn’t cause me to put a drink in my own mouth. Plus, I get to feel useful being the designated driver. 
Honestly, in my twenties, I would’ve done. Not drinking then, working in magazines in London in the Noughties, would’ve been very hard. Besides, drinking for me then was fun, controllable and hangovers were cured by 10am with a Coke and bacon roll. But I’m 40 now and don’t want the life I had then. By my mid-thirties, I wasn’t having wild nights anyway, just passing out drunk on my sofa. I’m very content with my life now, and so is my wife, Sumin, who doesn’t drink but purely because she doesn’t much like it. Alcohol wouldn’t add anything to my current existence, it would only take things away. 
I go to the pub even more now I’m sober. I reached a point with my drinking where it was too expensive to drink in the pub (if your tipple is Smirnoff by the half-pint) and plus there was nowhere to lie down. 
I stopped in the nick of time. My liver and pancreas were really suffering, and I turned a bit yellow… which was worrying, but everything went back to normal. Now, I enjoy regular exercise and put the money saved on booze towards my personal trainer, Joe, at the nearby Cambridge Country Club, where I also golf and swim. I go for a total of about three hours a week. It’s great for my mental health and waistline.
In my experience, people tend to know the answer to this question if they ask it. If alcohol causes more problems than joy, maybe it’s time for a break. It’s your call, really. As Dr McCann says, acceptance of a problem is the first big step. “When that insight comes, it’s a huge moment. Like the clouds parting. And things tend to get easier from there. In many models of recovery, acceptance of powerlessness is a key step.”
Willpower alone is “white knuckling” and isn’t reliable. If you’re really hanging in there, eventually you’re going to lose your grip. I realised I can’t drink sensibly, so I made a decision to stop and to get help. It’s about getting to a point where you simply don’t want alcohol anymore, not so you still want it but you’re desperately trying to resist it. “Once someone is fully invested in the idea that they have an alcohol problem and they have experienced time and time again that willpower just isn’t working as a way to manage it, they start looking for another way,” says Dr McCann. “To those people I would suggest speaking to a professional.”
It’s tough. My GP once told me to just drink less and sent me on my way. I mean, he was right, but I needed support. “I feel there’s not much central coordination with the help you can get, it’s all a bit patchwork,” says Dr McCann. “I think going to the GP can be a good first step. I’d love to see [alcohol problems] managed like how we manage type 2 diabetes where from first diagnosis we have a strict management plan, sensible advice and follow-ups. If you don’t want to see your GP, a lot of local services have reasonably good online resources now.”
Support groups helped me immensely. I met people from all walks of life and we all shared a common problem: alcohol. I wouldn’t have been able to give up drinking by myself because I didn’t know how. As Dr McCann says, “by going to mutual groups, like AA or SMART, and taking part and meeting people you can change the pattern of your life and that will lead you away from a compulsive pattern of living that centres around alcohol.”
Why try to live the rest of your life in one go? Sounds daunting. I tend to set shorter goals. “Try to seek abstinence for at least six months,” advises Dr McCann. “You need that sort of time frame to allow your body and your brain to recover to the point where you can reasonably reassess the situation.”
Exactly. That’s why I stopped drinking – to have a long (touch wood), hangover-free life.
Fair enough. It’s your round, isn’t it? Mine’s a Virgin Mary.
Recommended