I STOPPED DRINKING FOR A MONTH

Here's what I noticed

“You’ve NEVER drunk alcohol?” I asked my neighbour as I sipped my summer wine, raising an eyebrow in disbelief.

“I once drank half a glass of beer when I was 20,” he said with a shrug. “After half a glass, I went to the toilets and started laughing uncontrollably. I was tipsy, but I remember thinking, 'Who's laughing?' It wasn’t me. Nothing was funny. Ever since that day, I’ve always said no. It’s always seemed weird to me that people drink.”

This conversation planted a seed in my mind. I had been a heavy drinker in my twenties—binge drinking most weekends. In Australia’s celebrated drinking culture, my behaviour was not just accepted; it was encouraged. No one questioned my drinking habits, ever. In fact, I vividly remember a family member suggesting I drink more during a rough patch when I was battling depression.

"Drinking is good," they said. "It helps you release emotion."

I knew in my gut that was terrible advice. Alcohol and depression? A dangerous cocktail. I stopped drinking for a while then, recognizing the potential disaster lurking behind that seemingly innocent suggestion.

Fast forward to my thirties, which I spent in Spain. The Spanish have a far healthier relationship with alcohol. Drinking is an integral part of social life, yes, but here, it’s slower, more measured. You sip wine over long meals, accompanied by conversation, and rarely do you see anyone get visibly drunk. Of course, that’s a bit of a generalization, but the culture is different. As a result, my drinking habits mellowed. A few beers or glasses of wine a week—nothing excessive, certainly nothing to worry about.

Or so I thought.

As I entered my forties, though, things shifted. A pill for this, another for that, my body not bouncing back the way it used to. I found myself wondering: is it really normal to drink five glasses of what is essentially poison every week? That’s when my neighbor’s words began to echo in my mind. What if my “healthy” drinking wasn’t so healthy after all?

The first week I went without booze was surprisingly easy—until Friday night hit. No glass of wine to unwind with. I felt an unexpected pang of sadness. Oh, I realized, I’m mildly addicted. Drinking had been masking something for me. That was my only low point, though. Since I stopped drinking, my sleep has improved, my skin looks clearer, and I have more energy than I’ve had in years.

When I told a friend about my decision to quit drinking indefinitely, I framed it in a way that surprised even me: "I want to be like a child again."

The kids in my life are endlessly fascinating. They laugh easily, they’re curious, and they don’t need alcohol to feel alive. It hit me then—why do we, as adults, need this crutch? Why do we need something to help us unwind, loosen up, and feel joy? Isn’t that, in itself, a little unsettling?

Another friend’s response to my not drinking was, "Just take it easy on yourself, don’t deny yourself anything." I couldn’t help but think, wouldn’t the more natural response be, "It’s great you’re no longer drinking poison to take the edge off your reality. Well done." But we’ve become so libertarian as a culture that we now see self-denial as a greater offense than continuing a toxic habit. Instead of applauding the decision to stop drinking, we focus on making sure we don’t feel deprived—almost as if it’s more important to preserve indulgence than to prioritize health or well-being.

Here’s the thing most people don’t know: alcohol is one of the few substances we consume that is toxic to every cell in the human body. It’s classified as a Group 1 carcinogen, right up there with asbestos and tobacco. Yet we drink it regularly without a second thought. Did you know that even moderate drinking increases your risk of cancer? Not something we hear often, right?

So why am I writing this? It’s just a nudge. A little reminder that in this strange, chaotic world, alcohol has become so normalized that we rarely stop to question it. But when you take a step back, it’s kind of crazy, isn’t it?

I’m excited about the idea that my five-year-old won’t grow up seeing alcohol as a fixture in everyday life. There won’t be an “adult” drink and a “kid” drink separating us at the table. He’ll see me fully engaged, laughing, being present—without needing a drink to unwind or enjoy the moment.

And that, I believe, is a gift worth giving—both to him and to myself.