Things I Thought I’d Miss Forever That I Don’t Miss At All

Things I Thought I’d Miss Forever That I Don’t Miss At All

Not even a little bit

Photo by Fred Moon on Unsplash

Three and a half years ago, I stopped drinking. If you’d told me back then which parts of my old life I’d genuinely stop missing, I’d have laughed. Surely I’d always crave a big night out. Surely festivals would feel flat without a drink in my hand. Surely socialising would just be worse, unenjoyable, anxiety-inducing.

None of that turned out to be true. Here’s what I actually don’t miss, three and a half years in.

11pm to 4am

I used to think the best part of any night out happened after 10pm. That’s when things became lively and fun. Looking back, what actually happened after 11pm was that conversations got repetitive, things got messy, and I’d wake up the next day having spent money I couldn’t remember spending on a night out I couldn’t fully remember.

Now I never stay out past 11, and I don’t miss it. Not even a little bit. The evenings I do have (dinner, festivals, drinks with friends where I’m having a soft drink) end when they naturally run out of steam, not when everyone’s too drunk to make sense. I get to leave when I’ve had enough.

The anxiety that showed up the next day

This is the biggest one for me. For years, drinking gave me anxiety that would creep in the next morning and usually stick around for days. Not just hangxiety, a genuine, physical dread that affected everything. I didn’t even realise how much of my baseline anxiety was alcohol induced until it was gone.

It didn’t disappear overnight. It took a few months of not drinking before I noticed my anxiety had gone from every day to something rare and only in certain situations. It was finally manageable. I don’t miss that anxiety. I don’t miss crying my way through Sunday mornings, going over ments from the night before, wondering what I’d said and done. That alone would have been worth it even if nothing else had changed.

Being the last one standing

I used to brag about being able to outdrink people and stay up longer than others. I wanted to be known as someone who could keep going. I was proud of it. In reality, I was suffering with my mental health and using drink as a crutch.

I don’t miss that identity. I don’t miss needing to be the last one standing to feel like the night had been a success.

The performance of drinking at festivals

Festivals were the one I was most nervous about. Surely a festival without drinking would be a lesser experience.

It isn’t. If anything, I get more out of festivals now. I remember the bands. I actually watch the sets instead of half-watching them while queueing for another drink. I don’t spend two of the three days recovering from the first one. I still love the atmosphere, the sense of everyone being somewhere together for a weekend, I just experience it with full awareness and colour. I go home actually having enjoyed myself and still feeling fresh, rather than needing a week to recover.

I used to waste so many hours at festivals recovering from headaches in the heat, gearing up to find food when I was too hungover to function, not sleeping well, and just generally feeling rubbish. I don’t miss it at all.

Drinking as a substitute for actually enjoying food

I used to think of a big meal out as something you drank your way through. Look at the wine list before the food menu, maybe even before you go. What I’ve found since is that food tastes better without it. I can taste everything. I can also enjoy the conversation better with a clear head, without focusing on the next drink.

I don’t miss wine with dinner. I prefer dinner without it.

The version of socialising that only worked with alcohol in it

This was the fear that took longest to remove. I thought that without drinking, I’d become boring, or that other people would find me boring, or that social situations would feel unbearably awkward without the social juice I’d always assumed I needed.

What actually happened is that I still socialise plenty, it’s just different. I go to fewer big, chaotic nights and more dinners, more daytime things, more laid-back events where I can actually hear what the other person is saying and where everyone isn’t hammered around me. I don’t miss the version of socialising that only felt normal with a drink in my hand, because it turns out that version of me is still there without it. Probably a better version. I didn’t need the alcohol to be able to talk to people. I just thought I did.

What’s changed instead

I have a toddler now, which has had its own impact on how and when I socialise. But I notice the two things complement each other nicely. Not drinking means the exhausting parts of early parenthood don’t get overlap with hangovers and anxiety. I don’t think I could’ve coped with that. I have no Sunday morning guilt, and I can be present for my child.

The thing I actually miss

There’s very little from my drinking life I miss. The late nights, anxiety and overthinking, hard mornings, the fear the next day, the cost, the lost memory.

What surprised me most wasn’t any single thing I gave up. It was how much lighter everything else got once I did.

Come and find me on Substack: https://substack.com/@thesobercommunity