Sober October: Sobriety Revisited

Why I Quit Drinking

I didn’t quit drinking because of some dramatic rock-bottom moment. There wasn’t an intervention or a health scare. I quit because I realized I didn’t like what alcohol was doing to me—and I was tired of lying to myself about it.

I knew I needed accountability, so I told the one person who would hold me to it: my wife. AA wasn’t my path, and I didn’t need strangers—I needed someone who would look me in the eye and call me out if I slipped. Once I pulled that pin, there was no turning back.

At first, it was hard. There were beautiful days when work wrapped up early, and I’d think, “I could pop into a bar, no one would know.” But that quiet honesty kept me in check. One day turned into three, then ten, then months. I found online communities where people shared their stories. I read about others who made the same decision, and it helped me stay grounded.

Then I realized something strange: I didn’t even enjoy drinking. I wasn’t missing alcohol—I was missing escape. When the craving hit, I’d pause and ask what I really wanted. Sometimes it wasn’t even booze. It was a cigarette, or just a way to feel less stressed.

But the truth is, alcohol adds stress. It spikes cortisol, wrecks sleep, and delays the things that actually matter. I got tired of saying “I’ll do it tomorrow.” Growing up means facing things now, not numbing them until later.

These days, life is simpler. I don’t need a drink to unwind. Sometimes I’ll have a non-alcoholic beer or gin—maybe two or three times a year—but the funny thing is, I never want a second one. When it’s real booze, I always wanted more.

Physically, I feel better. I look better. I’ve seen what happens to people who keep drinking into their 40s and 50s—they look like they do. Giving it up has been one of the best choices of my life, probably top five.

The thing I worried about most—what people would think—turned out to be irrelevant. Nobody cares. When I quit, I signed up for an Ironman. I told people I wasn’t drinking because of training. That became my easy excuse. But the truth is, I didn’t need an excuse. I just needed a reason.

And when someone pushes you to drink, it’s not about you. It’s about them. They want company in their own choices. That realization made me more compassionate, not defensive.

Quitting drinking isn’t about giving something up—it’s about taking something back. My energy, my clarity, my control. My ability to wake up without regret.

So if you’re doing Sober October, Dry January, or just thinking about it, I’ll say this: the fear is worse than the reality. Nobody’s judging you. Nobody’s keeping score.

And if they are, it’s about them, not you.

It’s been years since that decision, and it remains one of the smartest things I’ve done. No hangovers. No guilt. No pretending.

Just presence—and that’s worth every bit of it.

If you’re considering making a change, I’m here to listen and help. Learn more or get in touch at jimfrawley.com.