Let me tell you something real. Getting sober after 40 years isn’t just a decision—it’s a resurrection. Not the clean, glossy kind you see in movies. The gritty, tear-it-down-to-the-foundation kind. This isn’t about white-knuckling through a dry January. This is about tearing apart the identity that was built around booze and rewriting the blueprint from the ground up. It’s raw. It’s painful. And yeah—it’s liberating.
This past week, I hit 111 days without alcohol after four relentless decades of drinking. That’s 40+ years of excuses, shame, anxiety disguised as “just tired,” and the slow erosion of self-trust. And I’ve documented every gritty, soul-ripping, truth-spitting piece of it.
This blog isn’t a highlight reel. It’s not meant to pat me on the back or pretend everything’s polished and picture-perfect now sober after 40 years. This is a mirror—and maybe, just maybe, you’ll see something of yourself in it.
It’s a window into the actual transformation—the kind that doesn’t fit in a 12-step box or end with a cheerful coffee mug that says One Day at a Time. No. This is deeper, messier, and more beautiful than that. It’s about climbing out of the hole you helped dig and learning to trust your own hands again.
Because if you’re going to make it past day one, day seven, or day 111… You need more than willpower. You need to know what the real work looks like.
Let’s go.
1. “Just Change What’s in Your Glass?” Bullshit.
Earlier this week, I said: Sober after 40 years
“16 weeks sober after 40 years drinking—turns out it takes more than just switching what’s in your glass.”
It hit because it’s true. We’re told that sobriety is a matter of replacing the drink with something else. Water. Juice. Kombucha. Anything. But that’s a surface-level fix for a soul-deep wound.
It’s not the drink in your hand that breaks you. It’s the reasons why you’re reaching for it.
The hard part is waking up sober and still hating yourself. It’s standing in a room full of people and feeling like you’re not even real. It’s realising alcohol was your emotional duct tape. It held your life together until you could no longer breathe under it.
Sobriety strips the mask off. It leaves you raw. Exposed. Real. And when that happens? You do the f*cking work.
That work is ongoing. It doesn’t end at 30 days or even 300. It’s not linear. It’s a grind. A ritual. A rebirth.
2. What Is The Work? | Sober after 40 years
People always ask me, “What do you mean by ‘the work’?”
They want a checklist. A tidy to-do. But this isn’t tidy. Still, I’ll give it to you straight:
- Radical self-inquiry: Journaling every morning. Not Instagram journaling—the curated, filtered kind with perfect handwriting and quotes. I’m talking about raw, unfiltered reflections. Stuff you wouldn’t dare post. Pages full of rage, grief, shame, confusion. Pages that help you purge and process, not perform. On why I drank, who I blamed, what I feared, and what I’m reclaiming.
- Daily rituals: My cold-water therapy? It’s been limited. Welsh Water poisoned my go-to river—my therapy room. So now it’s freezing showers. Not the same vibe, but it does the job. It resets the nervous system. It grounds me.
- Mindset rewiring: It’s repetition. It’s reminding yourself every day: “You’re not broken. You’re buried.” And digging yourself out with brutal honesty.
- Emotional mastery: Breathwork when I want to scream. Meditation when my mind won’t stop racing. Movement—gentle stretches when my back flares up. Not to punish, but to honour.
- Speaking the truth out loud: I post. I share. Not for likes. For lifelines. Because someone’s scrolling right now, whispering, “Is it still possible for me?”
The work is showing up when it would be easier to check out. It’s crying in the shower instead of drinking in the kitchen. It’s answering your own prayers because no one else is coming.
And most won’t do it. Because the work is hard. But you? If you’re still reading, you’re one of the few who might.
3. The Lapse ≠ Relapse Lesson
There’s this myth floating around in the recovery space:
“If you drink again, you’ve failed.”
Let me set that straight—
No. You haven’t failed. You’ve had a lapse. A moment. A signal that something inside still hurts.
Relapse is when you camp out in shame. Lapse is a crack in the armour that lets light in. It’s a reminder to recalibrate.
Lapse doesn’t mean back to square one. You’re not starting over. You’re starting wiser.
If you can learn from it, it’s not a failure. It’s data. It’s power. It’s your next move, better informed.
4. Cold Water, Broken Backs & Brutal Truths
This past week, my back screamed. Old injuries flared. Pain I used to drink over.
And the river? Polluted. My sacred spot—trashed.
So I adapted. That’s what this work teaches you. You pivot. Cold showers instead of river plunges. Breathwork instead of beast-mode training. Journaling instead of numbing.
I didn’t drink. I sat in it. I softened. I breathed. And that was the win.
Recovery isn’t heroic. It’s honest. It’s learning that some days you roar, and some days you just survive.
And both count.
5. “Sober After 40 Years” Means Teaching, Not Preaching
I post the truth because someone out there is drowning in silence.
“Somebody’s scrolling right now, looking for proof that healing is possible.”
I remember searching. Hoping. Doubting. So now I speak, even when it’s uncomfortable.
You don’t have to be a guru to guide. You just have to be a little further along than the person behind you.
We recover out loud not to brag, but to build bridges.
If you’ve made it one day sober, tell someone. If you’ve made it one hour, hold space for yourself. That’s the ripple effect.
So if you’ve found any strength in your story, share it. Tell your truth. You never know who’s waiting for your words to be the sign they’ve been searching for.
6. No Rehab. No Meetings. Just Mindset.
Let me be clear: I’m not anti-AA. I’m just anti-box.
What saved you might not work for me. And what works for me might free someone else.
I didn’t go to rehab. I didn’t sit in meetings.
I rewired my mind. I built rituals. I replaced poison with purpose.
I reclaimed my mornings, my mind, my mission.
And maybe that’s what you need, too.
7. Real Food, Real Fuel
This week I made soup. From scraps—broccoli and cauliflower stalks, most would toss.
Waste not. Heal everything.
That’s the metaphor. The parts we once saw as useless—whether it’s food scraps or fragments of ourselves—are the exact pieces we need to nourish the life we’re building. Nothing is wasted. Not your pain. Not your past. Every broken part can be composted into growth.
What you used to throw away—your story, your body, your power—is exactly what you need to heal.
Feeding yourself well is sacred. Nourishment isn’t just nutrition. It’s an act of rebellion against your old self.
Eat. Sleep. Move. Breathe. That’s the foundation. That’s the comeback.
8. So Where Are We Now?
111 days alcohol-free. No lies. No numbing. No hiding.
Is it easy? No. Is it worth it? Every damn second.
Here’s what I know now:
🖤 You’re not too far gone.
🖤 You’re not broken beyond repair.
🖤 You’re not late. You’re right on time.
The only thing between you and freedom is a decision. And a willingness to do the work.
You don’t need a sponsor. You need a reason.
When you find it? Burn everything else.
📘 Want to Know EXACTLY How I Did It?
I wrote it all down. Every tool, every ritual, every mindset shift that helped me survive and thrive after 40 years on the booze.
- Mindset rewiring
- Breathwork + cold immersion
- Emotional tools
- Nutrition and recovery rituals
- Daily practices that stick
👉 Grab the guide – Click here to download it directly
Or contact me below, and I’ll send it directly.
You’re not alone.
You’re not done.
You’re powerful.
Your comeback starts here.
Let’s dig you out.
Discover more from Ian Callaghan – Real Personal Growth & Outdoor Adventure Coaching
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