My sober month was going so well, until I left the house

When I woke up Googling symptoms of alcohol poisoning, I decided it might be time to take a break from drinking. And it was all going fine until I made one big mistake, writes Katy Hall.

I’ve always been the kind of person who thinks New Year’s resolutions are a bit rubbish.

Is this really the year that you’re going to learn that second language and write that novel and take that trip around the world? Probably not. Because if you did really want to do those things you’d surely just do them and not need to wait for a calendar to tick over, wouldn’t you?

Still, when I woke up on the first day of 2020 with the kind of hangover that lingers around for 48 hours and leads to Googling symptoms of alcohol poisoning, I decided it might be time to jump on the Dry January bandwagon and take a break from a social activity that has given me so much joy (and pain) over the years.

According to the most recent figures from the Australian Institute of Health and Welfare, 41 per cent of Australians drink at least once a week, and six per cent drink daily. These statistics, teamed with our nation’s love of a drink at the end of a long day and a traditionally boozy summer season, has seen a rise in popularity of months like Dry January and Feb Fast.

Months like Dry January and Feb Fast are growing in popularity. Picture: iStock

As someone who has taken unintended intermittent breaks from drinking in the past, I didn’t think that making a strict commitment to sobriety would be all that hard. And for the first few days it actually wasn’t. But then I made the fatal mistake of leaving the house.

“Is there something you want to tell us?” a friend asked me excitedly before looking me up and down when I said no to a glass of champagne over dinner.

At first I was confused, and then it dawned on me. “No,” I replied, seeing her face look visibly disappointed at the news that there was no secret to be guarded.

“Are you pregnant?” my husband’s mate asked point blank at the pub the next week.

“Nope, just driving,” I answered.

“You’re not pregnant, are you?” my hairdresser said when I turned down a beer after 5pm on a Friday.

“No, I’m just trying to not be hungover every weekend,” I replied truthfully.

The older I get the harder it becomes to bounce back from a night of drinking. Picture: iStock

Within weeks of arriving at my 30s, my hangovers changed dramatically. No longer was I forced to lie in bed wondering if an undiagnosed allergy to alcohol was to blame for the pain coursing through me, which was great. But instead, trawling late-night messages to establish how the night before had ended was replaced with waking up tired, spending the entire day shuffling around the house tired and going to bed early and, you guessed it, tired.

Monday would invariably arrive and I had achieved nothing of actual use, had no food in the house, and bore a striking resemblance to a pile of garbage that had been left out in the sun too long.

And so in the interest of being a couple of rungs above a bona fide train wreck, but still a few below my #bestlife, 31 days of smug, shiny and very sober behaviour was not only necessary, but also long overdue.

Within days of this new regimen I woke up well rested and felt calmer. I read more books, remembered to cleanse properly at night, took some yoga classes and even managed to go running the few times it wasn’t 40C or hailing. I cooked in mass quantities and retired for the evening feeling a sense of accomplishment.

Whether it’ll continue into Feb Fast, as many others are doing, remains to be seen. Perhaps that’s a resolution for next year.

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