What a year without booze did for my brain and body
Since giving up drinking, Jenny Tucker has lost a stone in weight, has more energy and sleeps better - Rii Schroer
For most of my adult life, I have woken up on New Year’s Day with a stinking hangover. I’ve always believed it was worth the pain. Unlike some, I love New Year’s Eve – a chance to party, to be with dear friends, and – whoop whoop – celebrate the next 365 days into my life. There’s something about January 1 which seems soaked in anticipation: the promise of possibilities and a chance to start afresh.
So this time last year, I did something I’d never done before: I resolved to stop drinking. It might not sound like a biggie to some, but this was massive to me. Other than during pregnancy, I’d always been a fully fledged member of the just-one-more club. And as a journalist, it’s almost required as part of the CV. At the start of my career, in the late 1980s, Soho was my watering hole and lifelong connections were made over a glass of something 12 per cent proof. We loved partying the way Swifties love Taylor, with a dedication and passion that turned everything into a blur of glorious, sweeping delight. We were young, fun and regularly sozzled. It was all such a hoot.
My 40 years of drinking
I have a lot to thank my career for. When I first started out as a junior writer on the launch of the teenage girls’ magazine Just Seventeen, I was a naive graduate from the wilds of Essex. Suddenly, I was thrown into a world that had me interviewing pop stars, tripping off to overseas locations to oversee photo shoots, and pinballing around swanky parties that put the likes of George Michael and Simon Le Bon within poking distance. I couldn’t have been happier.
But more importantly, I forged tight friendships with my colleagues, who are still my best friends today. With the passing years, some have moved to other parts of the country, but we meet regularly, and until this year, booze was inextricably woven into our gatherings. Girls’ holidays in Ibiza meant falling out of Pikes at sunrise, then spending the next day curled under a parasol, howling with mirth as we dissected the events of the night before. Such as the time my bestie lost her debit card. A frantic call to the bank’s customer service triggered the question: “When did you last use it, madam?” Her reply: “At around 6am in the Full Moon bar. I bought six sambucas!”
Jenny, pictured during her partying days, says she had ‘always been a fully-fledged member of the just-one-more club’
All friendships have a unique narrative that evokes hilarity. It’s often the suture that binds them. Our common denominator was getting drunk together. Which is OK in your 20s and 30s, but not so great, perhaps, in your 40s and beyond. As the grey hairs start appearing, it becomes a dangerous game of health roulette.
Not only are the years totting up for me – I am now 60 – but I write regularly about how to live a wholesome lifestyle, so there is no denying it: alcohol isn’t good for you. In fact, the World Health Organisation says there is no safe level of alcohol consumption, and various experts that I’ve interviewed for The Telegraph have told me that we should be drinking zilch. Multiple studies link alcohol to seven types of cancer.
On a personal level, I had started noticing that my memory was waning. While I wasn’t drinking heavily, I was regularly having one or two glasses of wine (let’s be honest, sometimes three) each night with my evening meal. Often, I’d watch a film or read a chapter of my book and then the next morning, I’d find it hard to recall details. One of my biggest fears as I age is losing my memory. My mum had crippling dementia, which diminished her beyond recognition.
A new way of socialising
One morning, towards the end of 2024, as I rose from bed with a fuzzy head, I started to wonder whether alcohol was serving me well. So I committed to doing Dry January, initially more to support my elder son, who was also abstaining for a month. I anticipated the worst. Would I be able to resist grappling that chilled bottle of chardonnay from the fridge on day four? Could I go to a dinner party and be sated enough by sparkling water without needing to gouge my eyeballs out with boredom? Would my friends still want to associate with this sensible, sober me?
The truth is, stopping drinking can be an issue when hanging out with people who still enjoy their evening tipple. It’s helpful to know this in advance if you’re contemplating doing the same. Interactions are now based around a whole new version of what makes us tick.
Thankfully, most of my closest friends have been amazing, never huffing in annoyance or loading on the judgment, just offering support. One even admitted that she had felt mortified last year when we had gone on a trip to Greece together and a big night in a local bar had ended with her crawling up the hotel stairs on her hands and knees. At the time, we laughed about our antics, but it’s true: such behaviour really isn’t dignified for a person of a certain age. And, oh dear, that’s now me.
‘I had started to wonder whether alcohol was serving me well,’ says Jenny
Yet some of my drinking comrades have been less than impressed. One told me in no uncertain terms that she wasn’t happy about my self-restraint and announced: “Oh well, you’ll never be invited to anything now.” As if I am bearable to hang out with only when I’m bonkers with booze and screeching like a howler monkey.
I do get it. When someone says they are not drinking, the word “boring” appears in a speech bubble above their head. It’s an assumption we tend to make, but I am hoping I can prove the naysayers wrong because it’s actually OK being sober. In fact, it’s amazing.
The secret to success
I wish I could say there was a connect-the-dots route to success. Perhaps my decision came at a time when I was ready to step back – maybe that’s what made it work… But when I first embarked on sobriety, I had no clue as to whether it would be a surefire victory.
I was shocked that it was easier than I had expected. There were no cravings (though I did eat more chocolate for a while) and when January came to an end, I was ready to step into the next month and then the next. People have asked whether I had hidden bottles in the depths of the cellar, or stopped mixing with other drinkers, or felt like the dullard at the party. None of those, honestly. It’s like deciding to lose weight, learn a language or change jobs. You decide you are going to do it and then you try really hard to stick with it. There’s no magic wand. So if you’re even slightly tempted, my advice would be just do it.
A clear head and a flatter stomach
Once you start to see the benefits, it’s a huge motivator to help you stick to your resolve. I’ve lost a stone in weight, my skin is clearer, I have more energy, sleep better and, much to my husband’s delight, have developed a new-found tolerance.
Not drinking has made me realise how much alcohol contributed to my anxiety. I’d wake up after a big night, worrying whether I’d said the wrong thing or embarrassed myself, while the aftermath of the hangover ravaged my jangling nerves and churning gut.
These days, there is a simple joy in waking up feeling 100 per cent ready for what’s ahead. I haven’t been so productive in years, getting myself to the gym most mornings and even swimming at Hampstead Heath Ponds as the low winter sun highlights the silvery skies.
But the best part of it all is that I am fully present every day. There is no stodgy head, no loss of the previous day’s nuances. I am in the room, living with the brightness levels turned right up. And as the new year marks 12 months under my belt, there’s nothing I want to feel more than to be wholly participating in life. For the rest of my time here, I’m striving for full clarity, please. That prospect is a million times more appealing than any double G&T.
Jenny says the best part of giving up alcohol is being fully present every day - Rii Schroer
Just to reassure you, my fun hasn’t been squashed. I have saved enough money to fund a mini-break to Marseille. I’ve been to Christmas parties and danced until the early hours. I’ve chatted to friends, laughed alongside them and watched (without envy) as they quaffed champagne. I’ve made a conscious decision not to be that sober person who constantly checks their watch to see if it’s 10pm and thinks, “Oh goody, bedtime!” and I really want to prove that “you’ll never be invited to anything” person wrong.
Recently, I asked a pal of mine who’s been on the wagon for eight years whether he misses being that bombed fella who once sat on a glass table at a wedding reception and shattered it into splinters. “Not only am I still alive,” he replied, “but I feel bloody fantastic. I love being sober.” Likewise.
My five tips for going alcohol-free
- Giving up, or drastically cutting back on alcohol, is a conscious decision. You might need professional support; you might be able to do it alone. I found I had to shift my mindset (“I won’t drink today”). Taking it one day at a time does help.
- Don’t beat yourself up if you have the odd drink. If you can manage drinking now and again without undoing all the good work, it’s still a positive step forward.
- Don’t listen to the cynics. You won’t become boring. But you will be different. If they can’t tolerate your differences, it’s their problem. It’s likely you’ll become more interesting and fun to be around because you won’t be a sozzled bore. Drink doesn’t always bring out the best in people.
- There are tons of no- or low-alcohol options out there. Some are awful and taste like weird-flavoured fizzy water, but my favourites are Corona Cero, Impossibrew Cask Reserve Amber, Mother Root ginger aperitif and Sentia Gaba Gold.
- Embrace the benefits. Use improved health, clarity and energy truly to enjoy all the things you love doing. My daily fix of exercise is my new habit.
Recommended
Am I drinking more than everyone else? Use our tool to find out
Sign up to the Front Page newsletter for free: Your essential guide to the day's agenda from The Telegraph - direct to your inbox seven days a week.
