So, before I say anything else, I want to be very clear:
This is not a rule. It is not a lecture, and it is certainly not me telling anyone else what they should or shouldn’t do.

It is simply a personal reflection on how my own relationship with alcohol has changed, what I have noticed about the way it affects me, and some of the questions I have found useful to sit with.

I am not saying that people who don’t drink are somehow better, more evolved or more health-conscious than people who do. I have enjoyed alcohol in the past. I have had some hilarious nights out, made some brilliant memories and, at different times in my life, absolutely loved a drink.

My Relationship With Alcohol Didn’t Change Overnight

Apart from perhaps one or two occasions, I haven’t really drunk alcohol for the last few years.

Initially, that wasn’t part of a grand decision. I was pregnant, and then I went through cancer treatment, so drinking was simply a big no for me. At that point, I wasn’t thinking, “That’s it, I will never drink again.” I had always been someone who enjoyed a drink on a night out, and I assumed there would probably come a time when I would start drinking socially again.

Even when I went for long periods without alcohol, if I did have a drink, I would start craving it again. Once a week could quietly become a midweek glass of wine too. It wasn’t dramatic and it didn’t look like an obvious “problem”, but I became curious about the pattern.

My consultants have also been very clear with me about alcohol in relation to my cancer history, and that has naturally made my personal decision much easier.

Cancer Research UK states that drinking alcohol increases breast cancer risk, including at low levels, while the World Health Organization describes alcohol as a toxic, psychoactive substance associated with significant health risks.

For me, after experiencing chemotherapy, the idea of drinking enough to feel even the slightest hint of a hangover fills me with dread. I have spent enough time feeling sick, exhausted and unlike myself to voluntarily sign up for a bonus round. So, for me, saying no has become relatively easy.

But my decision is not only about cancer. I have found myself reflecting on the bigger picture too.

Why Do We Find It So Unusual When Someone Isn’t Drinking?

A few weeks ago, I attended a couple of events and social occasions. Several people said things along the lines of:

“Are you not drinking?”
“Go on, just have one.”
“One or two won’t do you any harm.”

I wasn’t offended or upset by these comments. They simply made me think.

It is interesting that choosing not to drink can still require an explanation, while choosing to drink generally doesn’t.

Nobody asks why you ordered the wine.
But order a sparkling water and suddenly it feels as though you have announced a major lifestyle philosophy.

I am confident without alcohol, and I can honestly say that I have just as much fun without it, if not more.

Full disclosure, I am still experiencing chemotherapy fatigue, so I may require a nana nap before any particularly ambitious night out. I don’t have the false burst of energy alcohol may once have given me.

Alcohol and Anxiety: What I Began to Notice

Alcohol is a central nervous system depressant. It can create a temporary sense of relaxation or reduced inhibition, but for some people, that can be followed by poorer sleep, increased anxiety, irritability or a generally unsettled feeling once the effects wear off. The NHS also recognises links between harmful drinking, anxiety, depression and disrupted sleep.

For me, the after-effects did not always look like obvious anxiety.

I want to be careful here because I am not saying that alcohol “causes” every experience of anxiety, or that giving it up is the answer to anxiety.

Our experience is still being created moment to moment through thought. But when the body is tired, depleted or uncomfortable, it can be incredibly easy to become frightened of those sensations, add meaning to them and get caught in more anxious thinking.

We experience the original discomfort, and then we suffer again because of what we think that discomfort means.

The physical sensation may be real, but the story we create around it can intensify the whole experience.

Do We Enjoy Alcohol, or Do We Enjoy What We Think It Gives Us?

When we talk about who drinks and who doesn’t, the conversation is often framed around whether someone “enjoys” alcohol.

“I just enjoy a glass of wine.”
“I enjoy a drink with dinner.”
“I enjoy going out for cocktails.”

I completely understand that. But I have started making a distinction that feels important to me.

We psychologically enjoy alcohol. We may enjoy the taste. We may enjoy the ritual, the social experience, the feeling of letting go or the anticipation connected to it. 

But our body is not sitting there thinking, “Oh lovely, a Sauvignon Blanc. What a treat.”

Our body is processing the alcohol and working to remove it.

That does not mean nobody should drink. It simply means that, for me, it became important to stop describing drinking as something that was benefiting my body when what I really meant was that I enjoyed the psychological experience attached to it.

Those are not quite the same thing.

The Question That Changed My Relationship With Drinking

A long time ago, before cancer treatment and before I had stopped drinking for any significant length of time, I began questioning why I wanted alcohol in particular moments.

I made a little pact with myself:

But if I was out socialising, having fun and genuinely fancied a drink, I was comfortable saying yes.

I wasn’t trying to be perfect. I wasn’t creating another rule to beat myself with. I simply wanted to notice when alcohol was being used to change, escape or suppress my current experience.

What I started to see was fascinating.

There were times when I thought I wanted a drink, but what my body actually wanted was food, rest, quiet or sleep.
There were times when I did not really want to go out, but I wanted alcohol to help me feel more like going out.
There were times when I felt socially uncomfortable, flat or tired, and I wanted a drink to make me feel like a more energetic, entertaining version of myself.

Sometimes I was drinking because I wanted to escape the moment I was already in.

Was I Socialising, or Was I Avoiding Myself?

Even when I believed I was drinking socially, I began noticing that it could still be a subtle way of avoiding or suppressing myself.

Perhaps I wanted to feel more outgoing or feel more energy. Perhaps I wanted to stop thinking so much. Perhaps I wanted to feel more relaxed, more confident or more entertaining.

But after the first few drinks, I wasn’t necessarily more myself. Quite often, I was less myself.

We can drink because we want to feel more present, free and connected, yet reach a point where we are less aware of the conversation, less connected to our body and less able to remember parts of the evening clearly.

Alcohol can also make us feel sleepy initially while disrupting the quality and structure of our sleep. Research summarised by the US National Institute on Alcohol Abuse and Alcoholism notes that even moderate doses can alter sleep physiology and reduce REM sleep.

We may fall asleep quickly, but that does not necessarily mean we have experienced restorative sleep.

And I do not think I need to convince anyone how different life feels after a genuinely good night’s sleep compared with a night where you technically slept, but wake up feeling as if you have been wrestling a badger.

Those experiences did not come from alcohol. They came from connection, presence and being available to the moment I was in.

Do not get me wrong, I have had funny nights with alcohol too. I am not rewriting history and pretending every night out was secretly terrible. But the trade-off, for me, gradually stopped feeling worth it.

I could see that what I had sometimes called relaxation was not the same as genuine peace of mind. It was temporary suppression.

Real peace does not need me to numb part of my experience. It does not require me to become a different version of myself first.
There is wellbeing underneath the noise, even when I temporarily lose sight of it.

This is something I wrote about in more depth in this piece about Postponing Peace of Mind, because we often tell ourselves that we will relax later, feel better later or enjoy ourselves once something outside of us changes.

Sometimes that “something” is a finished to-do list.
Sometimes it is another person behaving differently.
And sometimes it is a glass of wine.

What The Unrestricted Model® Has Helped Me See

The Unrestricted Model® is not about creating strict rules, controlling behaviour or telling people how they should live. It points us back towards understanding.

Wisdom is not confused. It does not shame us and it does not need to deliver a dramatic speech.

It can be as simple as noticing, “I don’t actually want this tonight.”

Equally, someone else may look honestly at their own relationship with alcohol and decide they feel completely comfortable with it.

The point is not that we all reach the same conclusion.
The point is that we stop outsourcing the decision.

Freedom does not come from following somebody else’s rules. It comes from seeing clearly enough to make our own choices without being pushed around by fear, habit, pressure or the need to change how we feel.

I Don’t Need to Make a Huge Declaration

It is unlikely that I will drink again, but I am not particularly interested in making a huge statement about it. I do not need to announce that I am “sober forever” or create another identity that I then have to protect.

Because of my cancer history, I know I will categorically never return to drinking in the way I might have done in the past. But more than that, I no longer feel as though alcohol offers me something I cannot access without it.

I can feel confident without it.
I can relax without it.
I can be funny, loud, quiet, sociable, awkward, tired or completely myself without needing to chemically alter the experience first.
And I can have a brilliant time while drinking something that comes with a slice of lime and absolutely no threat of a two-day emotional hangover.

The Most Important Thing Is Honesty

Whether somebody drinks alcohol is none of my business.
Whether I drink alcohol is none of theirs.

We usually know when we are trying to convince ourselves that something is serving us.
We know when one drink regularly turns into several.
We know when we are drinking because we are stressed, anxious, lonely, exhausted or trying to escape our thoughts.
We know when the consequences are becoming more significant than the enjoyment.

You are not broken because you reach for a drink after a difficult day. You are not weak because you have developed a habit. You do not need to attack yourself, frighten yourself or create another enormous self-improvement project.

Understanding changes everything, not because it forces us to behave perfectly, but because we begin to see our choices more clearly.

A Final Thought on Alcohol and Anxiety

I am not sharing this to tell you to stop drinking. I am sharing it because alcohol is so accepted within our culture that we do not always pause to question the role it is playing in our lives.

We talk about it as relaxation.
As confidence.
As fun.
As a reward.
As something that helps us cope.

But it may be worth asking whether the feeling we are looking for is really inside the glass, or whether we have simply forgotten that we already have access to peace, connection and aliveness without it.

Perhaps the most unrestricted choice is not automatically drinking.

Nor is it automatically refusing.

It is being honest enough to know what feels true for you when the noise, the expectations and everybody else’s opinions settle down.

That is where self-trust begins.

Discover The Unrestricted Model® and explore the Unrestricted Wellbeing Programme.

This blog shares my personal experience and is not medical advice. Anyone who drinks heavily, experiences withdrawal symptoms or is concerned about their drinking should speak to a GP or alcohol support service before suddenly reducing or stopping. The NHS advises seeking medical support where withdrawal may be a risk.