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Sober Christmas is hard, but at least I won’t wake up in a spinning room I don’t recognise

If you’re trying to avoid alcohol too, remember that this is all temporary. Granny’s glass of sherry at 10am - temporary. Uncle asleep in the boot room on St Stephen’s day - funny and temporary

When surrounded by what you are trying to stay away from, Christmas can feel lonely and cruel. Photograph: Agency Photos
When surrounded by what you are trying to stay away from, Christmas can feel lonely and cruel. Photograph: Agency Photos
Mary-Kate Harrington
Sun Dec 15 2024 - 07:00

I have a dear friend whose father does not drink except on Christmas Day, when he will open a bottle of Bollinger at precisely 8.15am and drink it in its entirety pre-lunch.

Christmas is associated with drinking in a manner that would be outrageous at any other time of year. The festive season confers the right to do as you please. You can drink whatever you want at absolutely any time you like, without so much as a bat of the eyelid from your equally merry company. In my experience, the ones that tend to overcook it are the most miserable.

I know because that was me.

I remember one Christmas coming down only to find out I had gone out in my wellies and pyjamas after dark and walked straight in on an elderly couple staying in their nearby rental cottage as they were enjoying a tipple in front of midnight mass, as if I was walking in home drunk after the 12 pubs. Oh, hello strangers! I was mortified, but my drinking had to get much worse before I threw in the towel.

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As I have written here before, I had my first drink at 12. By the time I was 24, every time I drank I would end up with severe withdrawals that often led to hospital stays. I could stop drinking for days or even weeks, but I always went back to it. It took me two stints in rehab to eventually get sober.

This year, my second Christmas in recovery, there is a relief to knowing I won’t wake up in a spinning room I don’t recognise. For most people, the consequences of overdoing it are as innocuous as a few extra pounds and a little more paracetamol. But for an alcoholic of my kind, to drink at Christmas would mean no Christmas to speak of, no memories of new year or of 2025 at all.

I loathe tinsel. Like many people, I have always had a love-hate relationship with Christmas. When surrounded by what you are trying to stay away from, Christmas can feel lonely and cruel – a stark juxtaposition to the cosy mulled wine and merriment experience we are sold. But in reality, of course, many people face the festive season sober.

And the other side of that is that I can now learn how to enjoy this time of the year. I no longer have to simply endure it. Christmas feels more spiritual to me than ever before. I love getting to a carol service of some kind.

Christmas is a time when booze is in our faces and if, like me, you have some rather thirsty friends and family it is hard to escape it even in the safety of your own home

The adage “fail to prepare, prepare to fail” is my key to surviving the festive season. There is a large number of things I do differently now to ensure I feel part of the fun, while also knowing my limits. For any alcoholic, anyone with a drinking problem, or just anyone who doesn’t want to overdo it, Christmas is a good moment to be kind to yourself. Cease trying to be all things to all people at all times. It is a pressuring time and many obligations have to be met at once: pressure to look pretty, pressure to be coupled up (and this year I am very much single), pressure to spend money and to be happy and fun. All of this makes it an overwhelming time of year for many people.

The key with Christmas and staying sober for me, especially in my early days, was to remember that this is all temporary. Granny’s glass of sherry at 10am – temporary. Uncle asleep in the boot room on St Stephen’s day – funny and temporary. Indulging in six boxes of Celebrations over six days – entirely temporary behaviour. I, too, can have the turkey sandwiches for breakfast and Pavlova for dinner and return in the new year to eating soups and salads. I often bring a slab of Coca-Cola to parties.

But with alcohol, it is a different story, and that is what I must remember. Christmas is a time when booze is in our faces and if, like me, you have some rather thirsty friends and family it is hard to escape it even in the safety of your own home.

The word “no” is going to be your friend over the next few weeks. Boundaries are required. This is the season of many invites, and you do not need to attend them all. Staying in control of my diary means everything to me. I need to review my week and RSVP “yes” or “no” depending on my energy levels. Plans are essential now. Going to a glittery drinks party feeling utterly exhausted is not a good idea and will just leave me feeling vulnerable. Exhausted me won’t arrive at a suitable time, will be terribly self-conscious and out of chat and banter. I am not a good guest when I am sapped.

Ensure you have an independent exit route from every boozy affair, whether you drive to and from the pub roast lunch, or you book a cab for 10pm on the dot. Don’t fret, because people won’t recall what time you left.

Getting ready for an evening out is a ritual to me now, and if I have time I take a bath and have a coffee first. Looking well is an important part of my sobriety – only secondary to feeling well. During my drinking days, I might go out looking reasonable but I would return with lipstick on my forehead from the blind drunk application. That was the best-case scenario. The worst case scenario was that I wouldn’t return home at all.

Be honest, and let the people closest to you know and how they can support you. Try to find an accountability buddy, someone also doing a sober Christmas. You can send daily updates and voice notes to each other. Get out in the fresh air. 10 quiet minutes away from the table can reset your entire day.

For whatever reason you have decided on a booze-free Christmas, be proud of the leap you are taking. Go for a swim, read a book, try that boxset you haven’t found time for, cosy up in front of the fire, buy yourself something nice, visit someone else who you think could do with company, take a bath and eat chocolate for breakfast. Being sober is daunting in a drunk world, but it can be magical too.

Mary-Kate Harrington is a 26-year-old recovering alcoholic, writer, and recovery advocate who grew up in west Cork and now lives in London