Is the cost of drinking turning people off it?

Gone are the days of two pints for a tenner and a one-day munch and movie-fueled hangover.

I've always been what many would call a "party girl." I love being in the heart of the commotion. Rooms swimming with people, music booming, and booze flowing are a nightmare for some, but for me, it's always been a dream. 

My social butterfly wings have taken me on countless adventures centred heavily around drinking. Following four action-packed years in UL, I hit the slopes in France for a ski season, which I can confirm lives up to the "crazy" reputation they hold. I topped this off that summer by bartending for several weeks in Greece, only to return home to pull more pints. 

For a while, it seemed my world would always revolve around drinking. And for a long time, this was something I welcomed, but in truth, even towards the end of my ski season I was beginning to consider hanging up my party girl boots. The thrill of crowded spaces and countless shots had long worn off. Perhaps it showed my age, but I now began to loathe drinking, associating it with Sunday scaries (more like week-long scaries), crippling spending, and gruelling hangovers.

Overspending no longer had the same cute, young and wreckless feel as it once did. I now had rent, bills, and saving goals to account for, and I was the same person getting in the way of hitting them. Right after a good week or month of saving, I'd go on one night out and blow the majority, if not all, of it. That gutwrenching feeling of watching your Revolut balance fall before your eyes was something I was far too familiar with. Nights out are so expensive because it's never just the "night out." It's the taxis, the takeaway after, the hangover munch, and more. And it's not just the financial aspect that's costly; it's also the mental and physical toll it takes. 

If you believe in astrology, you will understand me when I say I'm a textbook Virgo. I was that kid who would rip up a drawing if I didn't think it was my best work. Although I've thankfully grown out of (most of) those self-pressuring habits, I am still quite the perfectionist and can be hard on myself. In the past year or so, I've been finding it increasingly challenging to bounce back to normal after a night or days of drinking. What used to be a hangover day has now multiplied by 3 or more, bleeding into my daily life and setting back my entire week. All the fitness goals, saving targets, and other aims I would have planned out for my week were being sabotaged by the drunk version of myself, and it was beginning to weigh on me. Socialising is supposed to be a break from stress, but it became a major contributing factor for me.

At the ripe age of 23, I began to detest one of the fundamental rights of passage to my twenties and began fearing going out. The thing is, I knew it wasn't the act of going out that was the issue. I still loved an excuse to dress up and looked forward to meeting my friends; it was the drinking and aftermath that went hand in hand with it that was the problem. And honestly, I didn't know how to combat it. The thought of somehow separating drinking from going out was so foreign to me that it didn't even cross my mind as a plausible tactic. Nevertheless, I wasn't about to become a hermit, so I knew I would have to come up with some kind of strategy. 

You would think the obvious thing to do would be to try and find a happy medium: go out and just not drink as much. I tried and tested this, but unfortunately, the lure of rounds was too much for me. It was time for plan B. I needed to dive in headfirst and tackle the beast at the heart of the problem. I needed to remove drink from the equation entirely, so that's exactly what I did. It just so happened my sober debut fell on a big night out. It was one of my best friend's birthdays, and there was a group of us going for dinner and drinks. I thought about pulling the old "this isn't the right time for this" excuse, but knowing better, I decided to push on with it. There was never going to be a "right time" to quit drinking. You're always going to have plans and upcoming events; you need to make it the right time for yourself. So, under the shroud of Dry November, I decided to take the plunge (more like pledge) and not drink. 

Partaking in no-drink months is nothing new. Many people do Sober Octobers and Dry Novembers or Januarys; it's a common concept for decades. For me, it wasn't just a month to detox or save money (well, it was, but also); it was a trial for a new, imagined future. I was sober curious and wanted to see if it were possible for me to go on the same nights out I've always been on and have the same amount of fun, just minus drinking. And to my great surprise and excitement, it turns out it is! With the help of one slowly sipped can of Monster, a couple of mocktails, and amazing company, I had one of the best nights I've had in a very long time. I still laughed, chatted, and danced as I would if I had been drinking. The only difference was I never hit that messy, drunk stage and was left with a lot more money than usual. My conversations were much crisper and meaningful, and of course, waking up fresh was a major bonus. Overall, it was such an enlightening experience that has really boosted not only my belief in myself but also my belief in others. Despite the odd few jokes and jeering, my friends respected my decision not to drink and never made me feel like I shouldn't be there or was any less fun than the rest of them. 

Although these are all very new developments in my life, I can't help but feel this marks the start of a new chapter and a new, lasting relationship with alcohol. Learning that it is still possible to have and be fun without drinking is so empowering. 

Alcohol has always been a crutch for me when socialising, something to lean into for confidence when my own barrel is running low, but the truth is, it's not mine to take. The version of me pumped with countless drinks, a belly full of beer, and a head of mush, is not my authentic self. 'Drunk me' is someone else, and while I cannot deny how enjoyable it can be to step into her shoes and let loose with my friends, it is something I plan on doing considerably less. I don't intend to be a born-again pioneer. I'm simply taking back control of my relationship with drinking and writing my own rulebook. I'm not going to go out every Saturday just because everyone else is, I'm not going to drink unless I want to, and I'm not going to apologise for it or feel any shame for doing so. 

It's been a couple of months now since my first sober adventure, and since then, there's been many more. I've driven to nights out, had a fantastic time drinking mocktails and zero drinks with friends, and then driven home again to get into bed before 12. On the other hand, I'm still no stranger to a pint of Guinness and continue to love a good boozy night with friends. They are just much fewer and far between than they once were. The difference between this version of myself and the old Enya is astounding, but honestly, I love it.