The Lie in the Mirror: Answering “Is My Drinking Excessive?”

I asked this question numerous times over my 45-year drinking career, “Is My Drinking Excessive?”, but always came up with the same lie, “No, I don’t have a drink problem, I can take it or leave it”, and the numerous other lies the brain told me. It’s a simple question, isn’t it? Four little words that should have a straightforward answer. Yet, for decades, that question was a revolving door in my mind. I’d approach it, push it open with a flicker of genuine concern, and immediately be ushered out the other side by a well-rehearsed, comforting lie. The lie was my gatekeeper, my shield, and my closest confidant. It told me everything was fine. It told me I was in control. It told me that the man looking back at me from the mirror was exactly who he was supposed to be.

This isn’t a story about quitting drinking, not in the way you might think. We’re often sold a narrative of dramatic interventions, of car crashes and lost jobs, of a single, explosive moment that forces a change. My story wasn’t like that. This is about what happens after. It’s about the deafening silence that rushes in when the constant, low-hum numbing stops. It’s about the slow, terrifying process of the masks coming off, one by one, until you’re left standing face-to-face with the raw, uncomfortable truth that your life has drifted so far from who you wanted to be, you barely recognise the bloke in the mirror.

For 45 years, I drank. Forty-five. Let that number sink in. It’s a career. A mortgage. It’s longer than many people’s entire adult lives. And during that time, I wasn’t the caricature of a problem drinker you see in films. I wasn’t reckless, chaotic, or smashing windows on a bender. From the outside, and even from the inside most of the time, I was functioning. I was more than functioning; I was successful, personable, the life of the party. Smiling. Cracking jokes. I was even coaching others, dispensing advice on how to live a better life, all while systematically, quietly, and efficiently destroying myself. Mine was that other kind of drinking. The insidious kind. The slow, silent killer dressed up as “just one more.” The socially acceptable kind that pats you on the back as it walks you, step by imperceptible step, toward a life you never intended to live.

This post is for anyone who feels that same disconnect. It’s for the people who feel stuck. Numb. Trapped in cycles they can’t seem to break — whether it’s booze, food, mindless scrolling, or the most potent addiction of all: lying to themselves. It’s for those who have a persistent, nagging feeling deep in their gut that they’ve got more to give but don’t know where to start. If you’re asking yourself if your drinking is excessive, you’re already holding the key. The question itself is the beginning of the answer.

The Functional Façade: Deconstructing the Lies We Tell Ourselves

The most powerful lie is the one that contains a kernel of truth. “I can take it or leave it,” I’d tell myself. And on some level, it felt true. I could go for a day. Maybe two. I could “leave it” for a morning meeting or a family event. This flimsy evidence was all the proof my brain needed to build an entire fortress of denial. The lie wasn’t just a sentence; it was a complex psychological defence mechanism, meticulously constructed over decades to protect the habit. The brain, in its desperate attempt to maintain the status quo, will tell you anything to keep the numbing agent flowing.

The “functioning” drinker is the master of this self-deceit. Society provides the perfect cover. We celebrate drinking. It’s how we connect, how we relax, how we reward ourselves. A glass of wine after a long day isn’t seen as a problem; it’s marketed as self-care. A few beers with friends isn’t a warning sign; it’s bonding. My life was a testament to this.

• Smiling. Cracking jokes. My exterior was my armour. Humour became a deflection. As long as I was making everyone else laugh, no one would look closely enough to see the strain behind my eyes. The performance of being “fine” was exhausting, but it was a role I had perfected over 45 years. Each joke was another brick in the wall, another layer of soundproofing to keep the quiet desperation from being heard. The laughter of others was validation that the mask was working.
• Coaching others while destroying myself. This is perhaps the most painful irony. I was adept at seeing the patterns, the self-sabotage, and the potential in other people. I could give rousing speeches about seizing the day and living with purpose. Yet, every piece of advice I gave was a boomerang that I refused to catch on its return. It was easier to fix the world than to look at my own reflection. This duality creates a profound sense of fraudulence. You feel like an imposter in your own life, doling out wisdom you can’t apply to yourself. The cognitive dissonance is immense—preaching health while committing a slow-motion suicide, advocating for clarity while marinating in a fog.
• The slow, silent killer dressed up as “just one more.” This is the heart of the matter. Excessive drinking for the high-functioning person is rarely an explosion. It’s a rising tide. At first, it’s just your ankles. It feels refreshing. Then it’s your knees, and it’s a bit more effort to move. Before you know it, you’re treading water, and you can’t remember what it felt like to stand on solid ground. “Just one more” is the mantra of the slow drift. It’s the harmless negotiation you have with yourself a thousand times over, each one seeming insignificant in the moment. But those moments compound. They stack up, day after day, year after year, until “just one more” has built the very prison you inhabit. The bars aren’t made of steel; they’re made of excuses, justifications, and the crushing weight of routine.

The lies we tell ourselves are seductive because they allow us to postpone the terrifying work of actual change. They keep us in a holding pattern of comfortable misery. We know something is wrong, but the perceived pain of confronting it feels greater than the chronic, low-grade pain of continuing as we are. We become trapped in cycles—booze to numb the dissatisfaction, junk food to comfort the anxiety, endless scrolling to distract from the emptiness. Each is a temporary escape, a fleeting hit of dopamine that only digs the hole deeper, reinforcing the need for the next escape. It’s a perfectly closed loop of self-medication, and breaking it seems impossible.

The Brutal Realisation: When the Mirror Stops Lying

There was no single, cataclysmic event. No flashing lights, no dramatic ultimatum from a loved one. My moment of change didn’t happen in a public spectacle but in the profound silence of an ordinary day. At 57, after a lifetime of running, I simply stopped. It was a quiet moment of clarity. Me. A mirror. And a simple, brutal realisation: If I don’t change everything, I’ll lose everything.

This is the part of the story that often gets left out of the recovery narrative. We are conditioned to expect a “rock bottom.” We believe we have to lose the house, the car, the job, the family, before we are granted permission to change. But what if rock bottom isn’t a place? What if it’s a feeling? What if it’s the soul-crushing realisation that you’ve been existing instead of living?

That moment in front of the mirror was my rock bottom. It wasn’t about what I had lost on the outside; it was about what had eroded on the inside. I looked into my own eyes and saw a stranger. Not a monster, not a villain, just a bloke I didn’t know. A man whose dreams and ambitions had been diluted over time, replaced by a predictable routine of numbing and pretending. The life I was living had drifted so far from who I wanted to be; the gap seemed unbridgeable. That is a terror far greater than any external crisis.

This quiet clarity is born from the cumulative weight of thousands of small compromises.

• It’s the morning you wake up with a familiar, dull headache and a wave of self-loathing that is so routine you barely notice it anymore.
• It’s the conversation you have on autopilot because your mind is already calculating the minutes until your first drink.
• It’s the hobbies you’ve abandoned, the passions you’ve let wither, the relationships you’ve maintained at a superficial level because true intimacy would require a vulnerability you can no longer access.
• It’s the sickening feeling that time is accelerating, that the years are blurring together into a featureless landscape of the same repeated days, and you are merely a passenger.

When the numbing stops, even for a moment, the raw, uncomfortable truth rushes in to fill the void. The truth is that the alcohol wasn’t the problem; it was the solution. It was the faulty, destructive solution to a life I couldn’t stand to feel. It was the anaesthetic for a deep-seated sense of being stuck. It was the mask that allowed me to face the world. And in that moment of clarity, the realisation hits: the solution is now the cage. The thing I used to escape my life has become the very thing preventing me from having one. And the final, brutal truth lands with the force of a physical blow: If I don’t change everything, I’ll lose everything. Not just the tangible things, but the intangible—the chance to know who I really am, the opportunity to build a life I don’t need to escape from.

The Midlife Reset: A Framework for Rebuilding

This book, this journey, isn’t about the act of quitting. That’s a single event, a line in the sand. This is about what happens the day after, and the day after that. It’s about the staggering, overwhelming, and ultimately liberating process of a reset. A midlife one. Late, maybe. But not too late.

When you remove the numbing agent, you are left with the thing you were trying to numb. You have to face the unvarnished reality of your life, your choices, your regrets, and your fears. It’s terrifying. The masks come off, and you’re left with your own face, which you may not have truly seen in decades. This is where the real work begins. It’s not about finding the perfect replacement for booze; it’s about building a life that is so fulfilling, so aligned with your true self, that the thought of numbing it becomes absurd.

I won’t give you fluff. I have no interest in guru speak or peddling perfect morning routines that sound great on a podcast but fall apart by Tuesday. My path was paved not with inspirational quotes, but with hard-earned truths and lived experience. It was a process of rebuilding from the ground up, based on a simple framework of radical honesty and deliberate action. The principles are straightforward, but they are not easy.

This framework is for people who are sick of their own bullshit. It’s a commitment to:

• Stop Lying to Yourself: This is the foundational step. It means an end to the grand lies (“I can take it or leave it”) and the thousand tiny ones (“I deserve this,” “It’s been a hard day,” “I’ll start tomorrow”). Honesty has to become a practice, a muscle you exercise every moment. It starts with admitting you don’t have the answers and that the way you’ve been living isn’t working.
• Embrace the Uncomfortable Truth: When the numbing stops, feelings you’ve suppressed for years will surface. Boredom, anxiety, regret, sadness. The instinct is to find a new numbing agent—food, scrolling, workaholism. The reset requires you to sit with the discomfort. To learn what it’s trying to tell you. Your boredom is telling you your life lacks passion. Your anxiety is telling you there are unresolved fears. These feelings are not your enemies; they are your roadmap.
• Move from Existing to Living: For years, I existed. My life was a loop of predictable inputs and outputs, designed to maintain equilibrium and avoid disruption. Living is different. Living is active. It involves making conscious choices, trying new things, facing fears, and pursuing what sets your soul on fire. It means choosing the difficult, meaningful path over the easy, empty one. It means being the author of your life, not just a character in a story that’s happening to you.
• Build a Life You Don’t Need to Escape From: This is the ultimate goal. The entire purpose of the reset is to construct a reality that is more compelling than any escape. It means identifying your core values and aligning your actions with them. It means investing in your health, nurturing your relationships, finding work that matters to you, and cultivating genuine joy. When your life is built on a foundation of purpose and authenticity, the need for a chemical escape hatch simply falls away. You’re no longer running from your life; you’re running towards it.

Conclusion: It’s Not Too Late to Meet the Bloke in the Mirror

Returning to the original question—”Is my drinking excessive?”—you begin to see that it might be the wrong question entirely. It’s a question that invites a negotiation, a comparison, a lie. Perhaps the better question is the one I finally asked myself in front of that mirror: “Is this the life I wanted to be living?”

If the answer is no, then any behaviour that keeps you stuck in that life—whether it’s one drink a night or ten—is excessive. It is costing you too much. It is costing you time, potential, and the chance to know the person you were meant to be. The slow, silent killer isn’t just about physical health; it’s about the death of the spirit, one “functioning” day at a time.

My journey started at 57, after a 45-year drinking career. A midlife reset. It was late, yes. There’s no denying the years lost to the fog. But the single most important truth I’ve learned is this: it is not too late. It is not too late to stop the drift. It is not too late to take off the masks and confront the raw, uncomfortable truth of your own life. It is not too late to rebuild from the ground up.

If you’re reading this, a part of you is already there. A part of you is tired of the performance. If you’re ready to stop lying to yourself. If you’re sick of existing instead of living. If you’re done with the bullshit and want a life you don’t need to escape from — this is for you. The path isn’t easy, but it leads back to the one person you’ve been avoiding for years: yourself. And it’s time you were reacquainted.

Beyond the Bottle: The Real Benefits of an Alcohol-Free Life

Benefits of an alcohol-free life. In the tapestry of British culture, alcohol is a deeply woven thread. It’s the celebratory pop of a champagne cork at a wedding, the comforting pint after a long week at the pub, the sophisticated glass of red with dinner. It’s so omnipresent that choosing not to drink can feel like a radical act, one that often invites questions: “Are you driving?”, “Are you on medication?”, “Are you sure you don’t want just one?”.

For decades, the conversation around avoiding alcohol has been narrowly focused, primarily centred on individuals with alcohol use disorder. While their journey to sobriety is profoundly important and life-saving, this limited perspective obscures a much broader and more empowering truth: the benefits of reducing or eliminating alcohol are available to absolutely everyone.

The rise of the “sober curious” movement and the explosion of high-quality, non-alcoholic alternatives signal a cultural shift. People are beginning to question the default status of drinking and explore what life could look like with more clarity, energy, and intention. This isn’t about judgment or prohibition; it’s about conscious choice.

So, who really stands to gain from stepping away from the bottle? The answer is far more extensive than you might think. It’s not just one type of person. It’s the ambitious professional, the dedicated athlete, the busy parent, the student facing exams, the retiree enjoying their golden years, and anyone in between who wants to optimise their health, wealth, and happiness. This post will delve into the diverse groups of people who benefit from avoiding alcohol, exploring the transformative impact it can have on every facet of modern life.

The Physical Renaissance: Reclaiming Your Body’s Potential

The most immediate and well-documented benefits of ditching alcohol are physical. Alcohol is, at its core, a toxin that the body works hard to process and eliminate. Removing it from the equation allows for a head-to-toe biological reset.

Individuals Managing Chronic Health Conditions

For this group, reducing or eliminating alcohol isn’t just a lifestyle choice; it can be a critical component of their medical management plan.

• Those with Liver Concerns: The liver is the body’s primary filtration system and bears the brunt of alcohol processing. For individuals with conditions like non-alcoholic fatty liver disease (NAFLD), alcoholic hepatitis, or cirrhosis, continued drinking is akin to pouring petrol on a fire. Abstinence is the single most effective action they can take to halt disease progression, allow the liver to heal, and prevent catastrophic liver failure. Even for those with a perfectly healthy liver, regular drinking contributes to fat accumulation, laying the groundwork for future problems.
• People with Cardiovascular Issues: The old myth that a glass of red wine is “good for your heart” has been largely debunked by more comprehensive research. Alcohol can contribute to high blood pressure (hypertension), a leading risk factor for heart attacks and strokes. It can also trigger arrhythmias like atrial fibrillation and weaken the heart muscle, a condition known as alcoholic cardiomyopathy. For anyone managing their heart health, avoiding alcohol helps to stabilise blood pressure, maintain a regular heart rhythm, and reduce overall strain on the cardiovascular system.
• Diabetics and Those with Blood Sugar Instability: Alcohol plays havoc with blood sugar regulation. Many alcoholic drinks, especially cocktails, ciders, and sweet wines, are packed with sugar, causing sharp spikes in glucose. Conversely, the body prioritises metabolising alcohol over maintaining glucose levels, which can lead to dangerous hypoglycaemia (low blood sugar), particularly for those on insulin. By avoiding alcohol, individuals with diabetes gain far better control over their blood sugar, making their condition easier to manage and reducing the risk of long-term complications.
• Anyone with Gastrointestinal Problems: Alcohol is a known irritant to the digestive tract. It can worsen the symptoms of acid reflux (GERD) by relaxing the oesophageal sphincter. It can aggravate conditions like Irritable Bowel Syndrome (IBS), gastritis, and ulcers. For those suffering from chronic gut issues, removing this major irritant can lead to a dramatic reduction in bloating, pain, and discomfort.

The Peak Performer: Athletes and Fitness Enthusiasts

For those who treat their body like a high-performance machine, alcohol is a spanner in the works. It directly undermines fitness goals and athletic potential in numerous ways.

• Hydration Sabotage: Alcohol is a diuretic, meaning it makes you urinate more frequently, leading to dehydration. Proper hydration is fundamental for muscle function, temperature regulation, and nutrient transport. A dehydrated athlete is a less effective athlete, prone to cramps, fatigue, and reduced endurance.
• Impaired Muscle Recovery and Growth: The post-workout period is critical for muscle repair and synthesis. Alcohol consumption during this window severely blunts this process. It can decrease the production of human growth hormone (HGH) and interfere with protein synthesis, meaning all that hard work in the gym yields diminished results.
• Disrupted Sleep Architecture: Quality sleep is arguably the most powerful performance enhancer available. Alcohol is a notorious sleep disruptor. While it may help you fall asleep faster, it suppresses vital REM sleep in the first half of the night and causes sleep fragmentation in the second half. The result is waking up feeling groggy and unrefreshed, which directly impacts energy levels, reaction time, and cognitive function during training and competition.
• Empty Calories and Fat Storage: Alcoholic drinks are often calorie-dense but nutritionally void. A single pint of lager can contain nearly 200 calories. These “empty” calories contribute to weight gain, particularly visceral fat around the abdomen, which is linked to a host of health problems. By avoiding alcohol, athletes can better manage their caloric intake and body composition to optimise their power-to-weight ratio.

The Longevity Seeker: Anyone Prioritising Healthy Ageing

We all want to live not just longer, but better. Avoiding alcohol is a powerful tool in the healthy-ageing toolkit. It helps preserve vitality from the inside out.

• Skin Health and Appearance: Alcohol dehydrates the entire body, and the skin is often the first place this shows. It can lead to dryness, dullness, and the accentuation of fine lines and wrinkles. Furthermore, alcohol can deplete Vitamin A, an important antioxidant for skin cell turnover, and can trigger inflammatory conditions like rosacea. Quitting drinking often results in a plumper, clearer, and more hydrated complexion within weeks.
• Reduced Cancer Risk: The link between alcohol consumption and cancer is irrefutable. Alcohol is classified as a Group 1 carcinogen by the World Health Organisation, placing it in the same category as asbestos and tobacco. It is causally linked to at least seven types of cancer, including mouth, throat, oesophagus, liver, colon, rectum, and breast cancer. There is no “safe” level of consumption when it comes to cancer risk; any reduction is beneficial.
• Preserving Cognitive Function: While severe alcohol abuse can lead to devastating neurological conditions, even moderate, long-term drinking can accelerate brain shrinkage, particularly in the hippocampus, a region critical for memory and learning. Avoiding alcohol helps protect brain volume and supports long-term cognitive health, reducing the risk of dementia and preserving mental sharpness well into old age.

The Mental Dividend: Cultivating Clarity, Calm, and Resilience

The impact of alcohol on mental and emotional well-being is profound, complex, and often paradoxical. While many people drink to relieve stress or numb difficult feelings, alcohol frequently exacerbates the very problems it’s being used to solve.

Those Navigating Mental Health Challenges

For this group, alcohol acts as a deceptive friend, offering temporary relief while digging a deeper hole. Removing it can be a game-changing step towards genuine healing.

• People Experiencing Anxiety: The phenomenon of “hangxiety” is real and biologically driven. Alcohol initially boosts the calming neurotransmitter GABA, which is why the first drink can feel relaxing. To compensate, the brain reduces its natural GABA production and ramps up glutamate, an excitatory neurotransmitter. When the alcohol wears off, the brain is left with a deficit of calm and an excess of stimulation, leading to heightened anxiety, nervousness, and even panic attacks the next day. By quitting, individuals break this chemical cycle, allowing their brain’s natural anxiety-regulation systems to rebalance, leading to a more stable and less anxious baseline.
• Individuals with Depression: Alcohol is a central nervous system depressant. While it might provide a temporary mood lift or a sense of escape, its long-term effect is to worsen the symptoms of depression. It disrupts the delicate balance of mood-regulating neurotransmitters like serotonin and dopamine. The cycle of drinking to cope with low mood, only to wake up with an even lower mood and depleted neurochemicals, is a vicious one. Abstinence allows these brain chemicals to return to healthier levels and significantly improves the effectiveness of therapies and antidepressant medications.
• Anyone Struggling with Sleep: As mentioned in the context of physical performance, alcohol’s destruction of sleep quality cannot be overstated. For those with insomnia or other sleep disorders, using alcohol as a sleep aid is a disastrous strategy. It leads to non-restorative, fragmented sleep, daytime fatigue, and a greater need for stimulants like caffeine, which can further disrupt sleep. By eliminating alcohol, people rediscover what true, deep, restorative sleep feels like, which has a powerfully positive knock-on effect on mood, energy, and overall mental health.

The High-Stress Professional and the Overwhelmed Parent

In a world that demands constant performance, it’s easy to fall into the habit of using alcohol as a tool to “switch off” or “take the edge off”.

• Breaking the Stress-Drink Cycle: Reaching for a glass of wine after a stressful day at the office or once the kids are finally in bed is a deeply ingrained ritual for many. It feels like a reward and a release valve. However, this reliance creates a dependency where the brain learns that alcohol is the primary solution to stress. Over time, this can actually elevate baseline cortisol (the stress hormone) levels and diminish one’s natural ability to cope with pressure.
• Discovering Healthier Coping Mechanisms: When the default option of a drink is removed, it creates space to develop a more robust and sustainable toolkit for managing stress. This might include exercise, which genuinely reduces cortisol and releases endorphins; mindfulness or meditation, which trains the brain to respond to stress more calmly; or reconnecting with hobbies that provide a sense of flow and accomplishment. These strategies build resilience, whereas alcohol erodes it.

Everyone Seeking Enhanced Cognitive Function and Emotional Stability

You don’t need to have a diagnosed mental health condition to benefit mentally from an alcohol-free life. The gains in day-to-day clarity and emotional intelligence are remarkable.

• Lifting the Brain Fog: Many regular drinkers don’t realise they are living in a state of low-grade cognitive impairment. The subtle fogginess, the slight dip in short-term memory, the reduced sharpness—these are often accepted as normal. Removing alcohol is like cleaning a dirty window; the world comes into sharper focus. Concentration improves, memory recall becomes quicker, and problem-solving skills are enhanced.
• Achieving Emotional Regulation: Alcohol numbs emotions, both good and bad. While this might seem appealing in the short term, it prevents us from properly processing our feelings. Living without this chemical crutch forces you to sit with your emotions, understand them, and learn to navigate them. This leads to greater emotional intelligence, more authentic reactions, and a deeper sense of self-awareness. Life’s highs feel higher because they are not chemically induced, and its lows become more manageable because you have the clarity and resilience to face them head-on.

The Lifestyle Upgrade: Reclaiming Time, Money, and Authentic Connection

The benefits of avoiding alcohol ripple outwards from our internal biology and psychology to transform the very fabric of our external lives. It’s an upgrade that impacts our finances, our relationships, and how we spend our most precious resource: time.

The Financially-Minded and Goal-Oriented

The financial cost of a regular drinking habit is staggering when you stop to calculate it. Re-allocating these funds can be life-changing.

• The Shocking Maths of Drinking: Let’s break it down. A pint in a UK pub can easily cost £5-£7. A decent bottle of wine from the supermarket is £8-£12.
  • Scenario 1: The Casual Pub-Goer. Three pints after work, twice a week. At £6 a pint, that’s £36 a week. That’s £1,872 a year.
  • Scenario 2: The At-Home Wine Drinker. Half a bottle of wine a night. That’s about four £10 bottles a week, or £40. That’s £2,080 a year.
  • This doesn’t even include the associated costs: the taxis, the late-night takeaways, the brunch to “cure” the hangover, or the premium-priced cocktails on a big night out.
• Funding Your Dreams: What could you do with an extra £2,000 a year? That’s a luxury holiday. It’s a significant overpayment on your mortgage. It’s a substantial boost to your investment portfolio or pension pot. It’s the seed money for a new business venture. When framed this way, the choice is no longer between having a drink or not; it’s between a fleeting buzz and a tangible, long-term life goal.

Parents, Partners, and Role Models

The decision to stop drinking has a powerful, positive effect on our most important relationships.

• Being Truly Present: Hangovers steal time and energy. A Sunday morning spent feeling groggy and irritable on the sofa is a Sunday morning you’re not fully present for your children or partner. An evening spent focused on “wine o’clock” is an evening where your attention is divided. Sobriety gives you back your mornings, your weekends, and your mental clarity. It means having more energy for bike rides in the park, more patience for homework help, and the capacity for deeper, more meaningful conversations with your partner.
• Setting a Positive Example: Children learn more from what we do than from what we say. By modelling a life where fun, relaxation, and celebration are not intrinsically linked to alcohol, parents provide a powerful and healthy example. They show their children that it’s possible to navigate life’s challenges and joys with a clear head, building a foundation for a healthier relationship with substances in the future.

The Social Explorer Redefining “Fun”

One of the biggest fears people have about quitting drinking is the perceived impact on their social life. “Will I be boring?”, “Will I lose my friends?”, “What will I even do?”. The reality is often the complete opposite.

• Discovering Authentic Connection: Alcohol can be a social lubricant, but it can also create a facsimile of connection. Conversations can be repetitive, emotions artificially heightened, and memories hazy. Socialising sober allows for genuine connection. You remember conversations in their entirety. You forge bonds based on shared interests and real personalities, not just shared inebriation.
• The Expanding World of Alcohol-Free Socialising: The social landscape is changing rapidly. There is a burgeoning market for sophisticated non-alcoholic spirits, beers, and wines that provide the ritual and taste of an adult drink without the effects. Alcohol-free bars are popping up in major cities. More importantly, removing alcohol as the default social activity opens up a world of possibilities. Socialising becomes about the activity itself: joining a hiking club, taking a pottery class, starting a book club, going to an early-morning fitness session. Your social life becomes more varied, more interesting, and often, more fulfilling. You start collecting memories, not hangovers.

The Ultimate Beneficiary: A More Authentic and Empowered You

So, who benefits from avoiding alcohol? The athlete is chasing a personal best. The patient is managing a chronic illness. The student is cramming for finals. The professional seeking a competitive edge. The parent wants to be more present. The person battling anxiety. The retiree is preserving their health. The individual is trying to get their finances in order.

The answer, ultimately, is everyone.

Avoiding alcohol is not an act of deprivation. It is an act of acquisition. You are not “giving up” a drink; you are gaining clearer skin, deeper sleep, a healthier body, a calmer mind, a fatter wallet, more authentic relationships, and more productive weekends. You are gaining control, clarity, and time.

The journey doesn’t have to be a stark, black-and-white decision between being a “drinker” and a “teetotaller”. It can start with curiosity. It can start with a 30-day challenge, like Dry January or Sober October, just to see how you feel. It can be a commitment to alcohol-free weekdays.

By removing alcohol from the equation, you are removing a confounding variable from your life. You get to discover who you truly are, what you truly enjoy, and what you are truly capable of, unclouded and uninhibited. The ultimate beneficiary is the most authentic, energetic, and empowered version of yourself, waiting to be rediscovered.

Moonlit Serenity: A Journey Back to Art, Sobriety, and Self

Art and Sobriety Recovery. There is a profound stillness in the image before me. A scene titled Moonlit Serenity, a lone swimmer under the full Autumnal moon. The water, a deep and reflective blue, cuts through a landscape hushed by the cool air of autumn. The moon hangs full and luminous in the sky, its twin shimmering on the water’s surface, a perfect, unbroken circle of light. It illuminates the golden leaves of the trees, clinging to the last vestiges of the season, as their skeletal branches reach towards a dusky sky. And there, in the centre of this quiet world, is the swimmer. A solitary figure, moving through the cold, dark water, neither rushing nor struggling, but simply progressing. This image is more than just a picture; it is a mirror. It reflects a feeling I know intimately: the quiet, sometimes isolating, but ultimately peaceful solitude of a journey that must be undertaken alone.

For a long time, my own creative river has been still, its surface undisturbed by the stroke of a brush or the click of a stylus. It’s been a while since I’ve engaged with any art, be it the fluid world of digital painting, the sculptural challenges of mannequin art, the chaotic beauty of canvas pours, or the delicate dance of watercolours. This creative dormancy wasn’t a conscious choice, but a side effect of a much larger personal undertaking: the journey into sobriety and the ongoing work of managing my mental health. In the early days, the silence in my studio was deafening. The energy once channelled into creation was instead redirected towards survival, towards learning how to exist in a world suddenly stripped of its familiar, albeit destructive, coping mechanisms. The tools of my trade felt alien in my hands, the blank canvas a daunting void rather than a field of possibility.

But looking at this image, at this lone swimmer, something shifts. I see a metaphor for this very process. The swimmer is not fighting the current; they are part of it. The coldness of the water is not an adversary but an environment, a medium for movement. It is an embrace. This is the perspective I have been searching for. It is time to stop standing on the riverbank, watching the creative current flow by. It is time to take the plunge, to embrace the cold shock of starting again, and to find the rhythm of my own stroke in the quiet moonlight of this new chapter. It is time to let the creativity loose once again, to seek out that Moonlit Serenity for myself. The journey of the lone swimmer is my own: under the watchful eye of a full Autumnal moon, I must learn to let the water, however cold, embrace the solitude, for it is in that solitude that I am beginning to find peace.

The Stillness on the Bank: Creative Hibernation in Recovery

Every artist, regardless of their medium, understands the concept of a creative block. It’s often depicted as a frustrating, temporary barrier. But the creative stillness that can accompany the early stages of sobriety and the intense work of mental healing is something different. It’s less of a wall and more of a vast, frozen expanse. It’s the feeling of standing on the cold, hard-packed earth of the riverbank in the painting, watching the water, but feeling utterly disconnected from its flow. The desire to create may still be a faint pulse deep within, but the energy required to bridge the gap between thought and action feels monumental.

In my experience, the cessation of artistic practice was a symptom of a much deeper rewiring. When you remove a substance that has long served as a social lubricant, a confidence booster, or a silencer of internal critics, you are left exposed. The world feels louder, colours seem harsher, and emotions, once conveniently dulled, surge with an overwhelming intensity. In this state of raw sensitivity, the act of creation can feel less like a release and more like another source of pressure. The internal monologue shifts from one of inspiration to one of doubt. What if I’m not good enough without the haze? What if the part of me that was ‘creative’ was intrinsically linked to the part of me that was self-destructing? The mannequin in the corner of the room seems to stare back with judgment. The pristine white canvases stacked against the wall feel like monuments to a past self, a person who could effortlessly translate feeling into form.

This period of hibernation is also a period of profound fatigue. Building a life in sobriety is exhausting work. It involves establishing new routines, forging new neural pathways, and learning entirely new ways to cope with stress, boredom, and pain. It is a full-time job for the mind, body, and soul. There is often simply no energy left over for the perceived luxury of art. The mental capacity required to conceptualise a digital piece, mix the paints for a canvas pour, or carefully lay down a watercolour wash is already allocated to just getting through the day. This isn’t laziness or a lack of passion; it is a necessary reallocation of resources toward the fundamental goal of stability and healing.

The solitude of the swimmer in Moonlit Serenity speaks to this phase, but from a different perspective. Before the swim, there is the decision to enter the water. Before the journey, there is stillness on the bank. This period of creative inactivity, while challenging, is not a void. It is a fallow period, a time of quiet observation. It is a time for gathering strength, for watching the moon and the stars, for learning the contours of the landscape from a safe distance. It is a necessary pause, the deep breath taken before the plunge. The fear of the cold water—the fear of failure, the fear of what we might discover about ourselves in the stark clarity of sobriety—is real. But just as autumn is not an end but a transition to winter’s rest and spring’s renewal, this creative hibernation is not a final chapter. It is the quiet, essential prelude to a new kind of expression, one that is waiting patiently just beneath the surface.

Embracing the Cold Water: Art as a Practice of Mindful Presence

The decision to create again is a conscious act of courage. It is the moment the lone swimmer pushes off from the bank and commits to the water. The initial shock is undeniable—a gasp, a tightening of muscles, a moment of sharp, cold clarity where every nerve ending is alive. This is the feeling of opening a new file in a design program after months away, of stretching a fresh canvas, of squeezing paint onto a palette. It is daunting. It is uncomfortable. And it is absolutely vital. This act of “embracing the cold water” is where art transitions from a past hobby into an active, powerful tool for recovery and mental wellness. It becomes a practice of mindful presence.

In sobriety, the mind can often feel like a turbulent place, a relentless churn of past regrets and future anxieties. Mindfulness is the practice of anchoring oneself in the present moment, and art is one of its most profound expressions. The sheer focus required to create something, anything, pulls you out of the whirlpool of your own thoughts and into the tangible reality of the here and now. The process becomes a sanctuary. The swimmer is not thinking about the start of the river or its end; they are focused on the next stroke, the feeling of the water against their skin, the rhythm of their own breathing. So it is with art.

Each medium offers its own unique form of this mindful engagement, a different way to embrace the solitude and find peace.

• The Surrender of Watercolours: The style of the artwork, Moonlit Serenity, appears to be watercolour or ink. This medium is a masterclass in letting go. Unlike oils or acrylics, you cannot simply paint over a mistake. You must work with the water, anticipating its flow, embracing its bleeds and blossoms. This process mirrors the journey of recovery in a beautiful way. You cannot erase the past, but you can work with it, letting the colours blend and flow into something new and unexpectedly beautiful. The act of laying a wash of blue for the river or a pale yellow for the moon requires a steady hand and a calm mind. You are forced to be present, to watch how the pigment settles into the paper, to accept the imperfections that give the piece its character and life. It is a gentle yet powerful way to practise acceptance.
  
• The Catharsis of Canvas Pours: In stark contrast to the delicate control of watercolours, canvas pouring is an act of explosive release. It is a physical, visceral process. Mixing the paints, choosing the colours, and then letting them cascade and collide across the canvas is a way to express emotions that are too big and too messy for words. For the anger, grief, and confusion that can surface in sobriety, a canvas pour is a safe container. There is no right or wrong way for the colours to interact. The beauty lies in the chaos, in relinquishing control and witnessing what emerges. It is a powerful metaphor for pouring out the turmoil within and trusting that the result, while unpredictable, can be a work of art.
  
• The Safety of the Digital Canvas: For a mind grappling with anxiety, the fear of making a permanent mistake can be paralysing. Digital art offers a unique refuge. The existence of the “undo” button is a profound comfort. It creates a playground for experimentation without consequence. You can try a bold new colour palette, a different brush style, or an entirely new composition, knowing that you can always go back. This freedom can be instrumental in coaxing a hesitant creative spirit out of hiding. It lowers the stakes, allowing the focus to shift from achieving a perfect outcome to simply enjoying the process of creation itself. It’s like learning to swim in a calm, shallow part of the river before venturing into the deeper current.
  
• The Rebuilding in Mannequin Art: Working with a three-dimensional form like a mannequin is a deeply symbolic act. It is about taking a blank, human-like shape and giving it an identity, a story, a new surface. In recovery, so much of the work involves dismantling an old identity tied to addiction and building a new one. Decorating, painting, or sculpting a mannequin can be a powerful externalisation of this internal process. It is a way to physically reshape a form, to confront and redefine one’s relationship with the body and the self, transforming a faceless object into a vibrant testament to resilience and change.
  

In each of these practices, the goal ceases to be the final product. Instead, the “doing” is the destination. The peace is found not in the finished painting or sculpture, but in the quiet hours spent creating it, alone, under the gentle light of one’s own focus and intention—a full Autumnal moon for the soul.

The Light of the Autumnal Moon: Forging a New Creative Identity

As the swimmer moves steadily down the river, they are guided not by a harsh, interrogating spotlight but by the soft, pervasive glow of the full moon. This is the light of clarity. The Autumnal moon, often called the Harvest Moon, is symbolic of reaping what has been sown, of a time of reflection after a period of intense growth. For the artist in recovery, this represents the phase where the consistent practice of creation begins to yield a profound internal harvest: a new creative identity steeped in authenticity and illuminated by the clarity of a sober mind.

For years, the creative process may have been intertwined with substance use. There’s a persistent, romanticised myth of the tortured artist who requires chaos and intoxication to produce great work. One of the most terrifying fears in getting sober can be the worry that this myth is true—that by healing yourself, you will kill your art. The journey of creating art in sobriety is the process of methodically and joyfully dismantling this lie. You discover that the creativity was never in the bottle; it was in you all along. In fact, it was being muffled, distorted, and held captive.

Sobriety peels back the layers of self-deception and emotional numbness. The resulting clarity can be initially jarring, but for an artist, it is a gift. You gain access to a spectrum of emotions and experiences that were previously inaccessible. The highs are more vibrant, the lows are more poignant, and the subtle moments of quiet joy—like watching the moonlight on water—are felt with a newfound depth. This raw, unfiltered emotional landscape becomes the new wellspring of inspiration. The art produced from this place is different. It may be less frenetic, less performative, but it is infinitely more honest. It is work that speaks with a quiet confidence rather than a desperate shout.

This is where a new creative identity is forged. It is an identity not based on a persona, but on genuine experience. The themes of your work may shift. You might find yourself drawn to concepts of peace, resilience, growth, and serenity, as depicted in the painting. The lone swimmer is not a figure of tragedy or despair; they are a figure of quiet strength and endurance. Their solitude is not loneliness but a chosen state of mindful purpose. This becomes the story you tell through your art, because it is the story you are living.

This process is also about reclaiming your narrative. Addiction has a way of telling your story for you, casting you in a role you never auditioned for. Creating art is an act of taking back the pen, the brush, the stylus. You become the author of your own experience. Each piece created—each watercolour landscape, each abstract pour, each digital illustration—is a page in this new autobiography. It is a testament to survival, a map of the journey from the turbulent rapids to the calm, moonlit waters. The identity of “the artist” becomes integrated with the identity of “the person in recovery,” not as two separate things, but as a whole, resilient being who has learned to transform pain into beauty and chaos into serenity. The light of that full Autumnal moon no longer seems distant; it feels like a light that is emanating from within.

A Practical Guide for the Hesitant Swimmer

Knowing you want to return to the creative river and actually taking the first stroke are two different things. The bank can feel safe, and the water looks impossibly cold. For anyone standing in that place of hesitation, whether your journey involves sobriety, mental health, or simply navigating a long period of creative dormancy, here are some practical, gentle steps to help you ease back into the current.

1. Start Impossibly Small. The goal is not to create a masterpiece on day one. The goal is to simply begin. The pressure of a large, empty canvas can be overwhelming. Instead, try these:

• The Five-Minute Sketch: Set a timer for five minutes and sketch anything—the cup on your desk, a pattern on a rug, a cloud outside the window. The time limit removes the pressure to make it perfect.
• A Single Colour Wash: Take a piece of watercolour paper and simply cover it with a single, beautiful colour. Pay attention to the way the pigment moves and dries. That’s it. You have engaged with your medium.
• Digital Doodling: Open a drawing app and just make marks. Scribble, create patterns, test out different brushes. There is no objective other than the physical act of moving the stylus.

2. Create a Dedicated, Accessible Space. You don’t need a grand studio. A small corner of a room will do. The key is to have your tools out and accessible. If your watercolours are buried in a box in the attic, the barrier to entry is too high.

• Keep a small sketchbook and a pen on your coffee table.
• Leave your tablet or laptop open to your favourite art program.
• Designate one small table as your “art spot,” with a few paints and brushes ready to go. Reducing the friction between impulse and action makes it infinitely more likely that you will create when the mood strikes.

3. Focus on Process, Not Product. This is perhaps the most crucial mindset shift. For now, let go of the outcome. The purpose of your art-making is the therapeutic benefit of the act itself.

• Put on some music you love while you work.
• Pay attention to the sensory experience: the smell of the paint, the texture of the paper, the sound of a brushstroke.
• If you find the inner critic getting loud, gently acknowledge it and return your focus to the physical process. Tell yourself, “I am just playing with colours right now.”

4. Use Prompts and Find Inspiration Sometimes, the tyranny of the blank page is the problem. Having a starting point can make all the difference.

• Use Imagery: Find a photo or an image that evokes an emotion in you, like the Moonlit Serenity piece. Don’t try to copy it perfectly; just use it as a jumping-off point for colours, shapes, or mood.
• One-Word Prompts: Use a single word like “calm,” “growth,” or “solitude” and see what it inspires.
• Follow a Tutorial: There is no shame in following a guided tutorial online. It’s a low-pressure way to get your hands moving and learn a new technique without having to invent a concept from scratch.

5. Find a Gentle Community. Sharing your work can be terrifying, but finding the right community can be incredibly affirming. Look for groups (online or in person) that are focused on support and encouragement rather than harsh critique.

• Search for art therapy groups or creative recovery forums.
• Share your work with a trusted friend.
• Remember that you don’t have to share anything at all. This journey is yours. The art can be a private dialogue between you and yourself.

Like the lone swimmer, your pace is your own. There is no race. The river will be there when you are ready. The key is to be kind to yourself, to celebrate the smallest effort, and to remember that every single mark you make is a step away from the stagnant bank and into the life-giving flow.

The Journey Downstream | Art and Sobriety Recovery

The journey of the lone swimmer does not end in the middle of the river. The painting captures a single moment, but it implies a continuous, steady progression. The swimmer will continue their journey downstream, stroke by stroke, moving through the Moonlit Serenity towards a destination known only to them. This is the truth of recovery, of mental health, and of the creative life. It is not a singular event, but an ongoing process—a lifelong swim.

Returning to art after a period of dormancy is not about recapturing a past self. That person, with their old habits and perspectives, stood on a different riverbank. The person who chooses to enter the water today is new, forged by experience, and possessing a quiet strength they may not have had before. The art they create will be a reflection of this evolution. It will carry the wisdom of the struggle, the clarity of the present moment, and the hope for the future.

The initial fear of the cold water gives way to the rhythm of the swim. The solitude ceases to be a burden and becomes a cherished space for reflection and connection with the self. The darkness of the night is not menacing but peaceful, illuminated by the constant, gentle light of the Autumnal moon—a reminder that even in the quietest, most solitary moments, there is a light to guide us.

My own tools are waiting. The watercolours are ready for their first drop of water, the digital canvas is waiting for its first line. The journey ahead feels vast, but it no longer feels intimidating. It feels like an invitation. An invitation to embrace the quiet power of my own resilience, to find my own rhythm, and to create not despite my journey, but because of it. It truly is time to let the creativity loose once again. It is time to swim, to embrace the solitude, and to find the profound and lasting peace that waits in the heart of the creative current.