Dry January Is the Hardest Thing I’ve Ever Done (and It’s Only Week 2)
Like lots of people, I partied a little too hardy this New Year’s Eve, and ended up waking at one o’clock the next afternoon with only foggy recollections of the last few hours of my evening. It felt like crap.
So I made a decision: For the first time since college, I’d go a full month without indulging in a single alcoholic beverage—or, as the kids are calling it, Dry January.
Of course, I had absolutely no idea how difficult it would be. The Internet is flooded with stories about the many wonders of Dry January—how it benefits your health, your friendships, and mindset. But I hadn’t read anything about it being the hardest, most unpleasant thing I’d ever done.
Well, let me tell ya: It SUCKS. For the most part, anyway.
The first few nights of the month were relatively easy: I went to work, then home, watched The Bachelor on Monday and Married at First Sight Tuesday, and then slept. No complaints there. I even took initiative by moving all my beers from the refrigerator into a kitchen cabinet. Go me! But things got weird on Wednesday, when I had what may have been my first-ever completely sober adult date. We ate dinner—with water—for about an hour, and then… nothing. No post-din cocktails, no beer at my apartment. It just ended. Which was fine, I guess?
The following night, a couple of girlfriends came over mine for some wine and cheese, minus the wine. Though the fromage wasn’t any less delish than usual, it just felt like something was off. I even missed asking if anyone needed a top up in the kitchen, and the sound of the cork as the corkscrew’s arms start rising up and suddenly it POPs! This was not going to be easy.
Next came Friday, which was also my editor’s last day on the job. To celebrate, my coworkers went out and bought a nice bottle of champagne for us all to share—and I found myself cringing as the cups of bubbly passed right by me. For one of my colleagues who’d also pledged to do Dry January, the pressure of Prosecco proved too much. “I’m sorry…” she murmured to me as I passed by her desk on the way out. I couldn’t blame her.
That night, I stayed home and watched TV with a friend who wasn’t really in the mood to drink, anyway—which was just fine by me!
But then, my friends… THEN came Saturday. Having not had a night out in New York since before the holidays, I found it hard to resist when my friend invited me to tag along with her to a whiskey bar on the Lower East Side. It was the ultimate Dry January test—and one that, the second I stepped into the place, I was certain I’d fail.
Standing there in that dark establishment, surrounded by 100 people sipping from tumblers of scotch and pints of beer, I felt like a crazy person. Why didn’t they feel guilty about drinking, I wondered? And alternatively, why am I making such a big deal out of this? It’s not like I’ve ever had problem with drinking! Just a beer or glass of wine here and there after a long day of work, or a few PBR tallboys on a weekend night…
I swear, I almost lost my motivation (which… was nothing, quite honestly). But I plowed through, ordering a water—no ice, no lemon—at the bar, and shotgunning it down like I was playing a round of flip cup. With water.
Wary of bugging the bartenders by asking for a new glass of H2O every 20 minutes, I dedicated much of my night to standing in line at the single stall women’s room, where I’d refill my glass in the sink. I finished off 3 pints of water in my first hour and a half at that bar.
Desperate for support, I texted my mother in Massachusetts. Hardly a big drinker, herself, I figured she’d be the right person to talk me down from my stressed out state. I was mistaken.
“I regret Dry Jan :(. Ughghgh I feel like an alcoholic!” I wrote, to which she replied, “You can change your mind you know. Just drink in moderation.” THANKS FOR NOTHING, MUM.
Feeling restless and not fully satisfied in my sober state, I decided to leave my friends for a bit and grab a gourmet grilled cheese down the road. It was just past midnight. And as I sat there looking out of the little restaurant’s window—at all the buzzed people stumbling along on the sidewalk before me—I felt a little tinge of happiness for the first time all night: Happy that I had warm apple cider in my cup, that my drunkish mind wasn’t wandering over to sad thoughts territory, and that there was absolutely no possibility I’d be spending my Sunday nursing a hangover.
I can’t lie—it was pretty nice.
The next morning, I texted another girlfriend who’d also decided to go alc-free this month. “Dry Jan IS SO HARD UGHGH!!” I wrote.
“I had one drink yesterday because my aunt and uncle were in town :( so ashamed,” she replied.
And so it seems I’ve officially, somehow managed to succeed where the rest of my peers have failed. But as for how well I’ll manage abstaining the rest of January? I really can’t say. My parents are visiting this weekend, so at least the pressure to spend a night on the town won’t be there.
But after that, I’ll be on my own again. Just me, and that already-opened bottle of Chardonnay that’s been calling to me from the door of my fridge ever since I got back from Christmas vacation: “Drink me, Nora… drink me…”
I’m not gonna lie—I’m scared.
How’s Dry January been going for you? Let me know in the comments!
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