Get Happy and Healthy by Cutting Back on Alcohol

Personal Perspective: You can be mostly sober.

Reviewed by Monica Vilhauer

Sauvignon Blanc is my drink of choice, which I’ve been consuming nightly for well over a decade. My husband prefers Chardonnay. I consider us to be social drinkers, but is that true or a clever bit of denial? We’ve never had a DUI, but have we driven buzzed? Yes, and were lucky to never get pulled over. Sound familiar?

NIAAA guidelines are somewhat open to interpretation. “Alcohol use disorder (AUD) is a medical condition characterized by an impaired ability to stop or control alcohol use despite adverse social, occupational, or health consequences.”Adverse social, occupational, or health consequences—that’s a bit vague.

Okay, let’s consider social consequences: After we’d both been drinking, my husband and I occasionally argued at dinner. Later, I might not even remember what had been so darned important.

Second, occupational. Was it remotely possible that I might have been more productive, creative, or insightful at my job without a previous night of drinking? Was even the tiniest hangover decreasing my performance? Maybe. Even though my husband and I are retired, I feel a shred of regret that I was not always operating at 100%.

Then there’s health. That’s its own story.

In 2005, I was diagnosed with a rare and aggressive lymphoma. After months of grueling chemo, a blood poisoning that almost killed me, and a psychotic drug reaction, I still needed a bone marrow transplant to survive. While this arduous year of treatment gave me back years of life that I wouldn’t have had, my immune system will always be compromised. I need infusions of antibodies to keep me disease free. Don’t get me wrong, I feel good. So good I never worried that wine was hurting me. But was there damage that couldn’t be detected? Was I decreasing my life span, making my later years less healthful, risking a reoccurrence of cancer?

Chronic alcohol consumption can depress the immune system—along with a litany of other health hazards. And many of these are sub-clinical. I’ve known all of this for years.

Google is a blabbermouth if you want to learn about the risks of chronic drinking.

My husband, who has an occasional episode of mild A-fib, decided to cut his nightly wine consumption from two glasses to one. I was still drinking two glasses of Sauvignon Blanc—one while I cooked dinner, and another one with dinner. In January, we decided to have a dry month. Some nights it was a real battle to resist a drink; still, we did it.

A dry January was an achievable goal. We put on a warrior mentality and decided to do it. Well, at least until the end of the month when we jumped off the wagon.

Then, we needed to make a decision.

What did that dry January mean? Would we go back to our previous habits, or would this be a new pattern? We chose the latter. We would not give up drinking but would only indulge on “special” occasions. But in February, there was Valentine’s Day, my husband’s birthday, and a couple of celebrations on the 19^th hole. We indulged, and it was fun. I’d cut down from 60 plus drinks a month to three or four happy hours, at 2 drinks max.

You may not be a golfer with a 19^th hole to look forward to. How will you define your special occasions? Finally donated those Goodwill bags? Fertilized the house plants? Organized those tax-deductible receipts? You’ve got to decide. Just be careful of “It was such a lousy day….” Or “I need to relax….” Those can be slippery slopes.

When you’ve been drinking for years—or decades—giving up happy hour, without an end in sight, takes a mighty big resolve.

Some afternoons, I would think about not drinking and actually be afraid. How could I resist a drink? Didn’t I deserve one? Heck, yeah. I also felt grief, as if a friend had left me. A sense of abandonment accompanied this decision to cut out the nightly wine.

But we’ve stuck to our guns. My husband’s A-fib has not come back. I look at my face every morning in a 10-times magnifying mirror and am pretty sure that the broken capillaries are disappearing.

After months of struggling to cut back, I still feel the urge to drink. But it’s transitory. Some afternoons around five, I do have a twinge of longing. I feel deserted by my friend, Ms. Sauvignon Blanc.

Alcohol is a flirt. The desire for it comes, then leaves.

Here’s a big win. Some mornings when I wake up, I feel ridiculously happy. Light. Clean. I want to raise my fist and cheer, “Yes.” (Sometimes I do.) And happy hour, I realize now, is just that: an hour. The dopamine lift that alcohol brings it temporary. The benefits of cutting back last years.

I don’t plan to stop drinking. I will still enjoy birthdays, dinner parties, and the 19^th hole with friends. But every night? No.

Cutting down was doable for me and my husband because we had each other as well as good reasons to minimize. Perhaps you can find your own reasons and your own pal to join you. It’s a battle, no doubt; and my husband and I are not done fighting. But it does get a little easier with time.

I think about our two grandsons, 6 and 9. I think about our daughter and her husband. I think about having more healthy and happy years with them. Bottom line: It’s not easy, but it’s so worth it.

Happy hour comes and goes, but good health lasts a lifetime.

Susan's second book Mostly Sober: A Love Story and a Road Trip, is a deeply human narrative centered around the sober-curious movement and will help and resonate with the growing number of people determined to reduce their drinking.