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About this time last year I wrote an article explaining how a month off alcohol in 2020 had become a self-imposed year-long booze ban. It was an intersection of the annual Dry July fundraiser, my mother’s death and a dodgy liver that had stretched it out initially for three months, and then as I discovered the unexpected joy of not drinking, I was still dry a year later.

After reaching that milestone, for a brief second I considered having a tipple. At first I thought: why not? But then I thought: why? There was absolutely no appeal to getting back in the game. I’ve now clocked up two years since hanging up my drinking boots.

Sydney-based Genevieve Quigley started Dry July two years ago, and hasn’t had a drink since.

When I first shared my story, the outpouring of messages was overwhelming. I had feared I’d get the occasional jibe like “Jeez, wellbutrin yan etkileri ne zaman geçer you must be fun at parties” but it was quite the opposite. Most people reached out to congratulate me.

A more unexpected response was the number of people who said they wanted to make the same change. They could see the damage that alcohol was doing to their health, work and relationships. Some said they’d witnessed close family members destroyed by booze and didn’t want to go down that path.

It’s a hard thing to admit to, and as I’ve discovered, harder to do even if the benefits of dropping the bottle can be huge. For many of those who reached out, what was stopping them was fear. Fear that they wouldn’t be able to relax, or have fun, or be accepted socially if they didn’t drink. I understand these fears. I had the same ones for many years. But from someone who’s stepped through to the other side, I can say that the view is glorious from over here.

I’ve found that not only is it still possible to unwind without a drink, but the upside to quitting alcohol is that I have less to switch off from in the first place. There are no more hangovers, or regrets about what I’ve said and done while drunk, fewer arguments, more money and better physical and mental health. Major life stressors haven’t suddenly disappeared – in the last two years I’ve experienced the death of a parent, bought and sold a home, juggled a busy job and raising teenagers, all during a global pandemic – but it has been so much easier to handle without alcohol in my life.

When it comes to having a good time, you may need to trust me on this one, but I have more fun these days. This is because I feel everything. When I first returned to watching live music without a drink in my hand, I loved that the electrifying high of being at a gig was no longer being dulled by booze. Going to the footy to watch my beloved Swans is better without a beer, and a hot chocolate makes an excellent hand-warmer on a cold night game.

Parties or dinners with my friends haven’t suddenly become boring because I’m sipping on soda water. I discovered that I can still crack a joke, tell a story and laugh with mates without booze. I’m no longer fooled into thinking I need a couple of glasses of pinot to bring out my personality. Plus I’ve made new connections thanks to my step into sobriety society.

Is it always easy? Hell no. Experiencing everything in high definition means sorrows can’t be drowned. There is no avoiding those emotions and I have to deal with them head on. But the escape that alcohol provided was only temporary anyway. The problems were always there the next day and harder to face with a hangover.

But the toughest part of going sober, for which there is little control, is the drinking culture we live in. It is normal to drink alcohol; it’s odd to buck this trend. At times, I can feel like an outsider. But the beauty of not drinking is the inner strength I’ve built. The negative self-talk that once chatted away in my brain has gone. It’s replaced with thoughts about how to live my best life: spending time with my family and friends, swimming in the ocean, walking my dog, focusing on big dreams, embracing small moments, and working on the novel I’m halfway through writing which I always said I’d do “one day”.

For many of those who reached out, what was stopping them was fear.

I’m open about being sober in social settings as I want to help normalise it. It’s surprisingly easy to say, “No thanks, I don’t drink”. But sometimes I just can’t be bothered with the attention it brings. There’s no denying it does draw uncomfortable questions (“Not even one?” ) or negative reactions (“How boring”). This is where the rise of the alcohol-free drinks market has helped. For me, and I know they’re not for everyone, having an AF tinny in hand has been a good decoy at times.

The growing demand for these types of drinks shows there’s a shift towards the normalisation of not drinking, or at least drinking less. The change in attitude has also been helped by the increasing number of sober communities and high-profile people who are openly speaking about quitting.

These sober celebs resemble the other group of people who reached out to me when I wrote my article last year: those who’d also quit alcohol, often many years before me. They were a mix of genders, ages and professions, but they all had one thing in common – their lives were better without booze. Not one of them had regretted their decision. The one word I kept hearing was “freedom”.

It’s hard to explain what freedom means in this context unless you’ve experienced it. But if you’re curious to find out, give it a go. Maybe this July. Maybe longer. Or maybe just today. You won’t regret it.

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