In New Zealand, where summer is in full swing come January, alcohol flows freely as part of the culture. The idea of a completely sober January was foreign to me. However, living in the UK introduced me to Dry January, a cultural phenomenon where millions commit to going alcohol-free for the month’s start. The promises were lofty: better sleep, weight loss, more energy, extra savings, and an overall life upgrade. Sounded tempting.
I consider myself a fairly heavy drinker – a regular cider or rum and ginger ale with dinner on weeknights, and weekends often found me at the pub enjoying a few more drinks. After New Year’s celebrations, I packed up my spirits and dove into a month of sobriety, eager to experience those touted benefits.
But truthfully, my weight remained the same, my sleep didn’t improve, and my bank account was just as empty. The biggest difference was the missing ritual of a relaxing pint at day’s end. To fill the void, I explored alcohol-free drinks like Trip CBD beverages and Picoso Spicy sodas, and at the pub, I stuck to Coke Zero or zero-alcohol lagers with lemonade.
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The only noticeable change was a subtle improvement in skin tone if I squinted just right in bright light. In the first two weeks, I became acutely aware of the constant ‘alcohol noise’ in my head — persistent thoughts about drinking that I had to actively quiet. Walking past my local pub was tough. Initially, I didn’t even want an alcohol-free drink there, fearing I couldn’t resist the real thing. This struggle nudged me to use Dry January as a chance to reassess my relationship with alcohol.
By month’s end, those drinking thoughts had vanished. Life went on much the same — just without alcohol. While the promised transformations didn’t materialize, I gained valuable insight into how easily alcohol had woven into my daily routine.
When January ended, I had a cider while cooking dinner. Rather than feeling joyful, it felt surprisingly dull. The expected rush of relief was absent, which itself was a refreshing change. I don’t plan to quit drinking entirely, but I’m committed to continuing Dry January annually.
Dry January isn’t the miraculous cure-all some claim it to be, but it’s a useful pause—an opportunity to rethink habits and treat drinking as the occasional celebration it should be, not a daily given.