Do I Drink Too Much If My Life Still Looks Fine?
For years, one of the main reasons I thought my drinking was normal was simple.
I was just like the other guys from the pub.
We would drink all night. Eight pints or more was nothing unusual. Weekends could disappear into drinking.
Some of those men were married.
I was a single dad.
So in my head, this was just what men like us did.
I still worked.
I still paid my bills.
I still saw my daughter.
From the outside, life carried on.
And that became my evidence that I was basically fine.
The problem was that I was measuring the wrong thing.
I thought functioning meant I was okay
People often use the obvious disasters as the line.
I haven’t lost my job.
My relationship is still intact.
I’m still getting the kids where they need to be.
Nobody has sat me down and told me I need help.
Therefore, I must be fine.
I understand that thinking because I used it myself.
But eventually there were moments that did not fit the story I was telling myself.
One Sunday I was meeting my boss in a pub near work.
I had already been drinking.
As I walked in, I stumbled and knocked into a table.
There were other occasions when I blacked out.
Once, I was found in the middle of the road.
That one shook me.
But even before those moments, alcohol had already been taking things from me.
The quieter things were probably more important.
I was with my daughter, but I wasn't really with her
One of the hardest things for me to look back on is the time I had with my daughter.
I could technically say I was spending time with her.
But there were times when I would be lying on the sofa watching the clock.
I wasn't playing with her.
I wasn't really interested in doing anything.
I was waiting.
Waiting until it was time for her to be collected.
Because once she had gone, I was free to go to the pub.
That is what alcohol was costing me.
Not whether I could still call myself a functioning dad.
It was taking the actual time I had with my daughter and turning part of it into a waiting room for my next drink.
That matters to me far more now than whether I managed to turn up for work the next morning.
How much of your day is spent thinking about drinking?
This is one of the questions I would ask someone now.
Not:
Do you want a drink all day?
That isn't what I mean.
I mean:
How often are you discussing drinking with yourself?
Will I drink tonight?
I've had a good day, so haven't I earned one?
I've had a terrible day, so surely I deserve one?
I had too many last night, so maybe I shouldn't tonight.
But it is Friday.
Or somebody is coming round.
Or there is football on.
Or I will start again on Monday.
People can spend a huge amount of time negotiating with themselves like this while still appearing completely functional.
That was part of my life too.
And when that argument is running regularly in your head, alcohol is already taking something from you.
It is taking headspace.
Looking fine and feeling fine are not the same thing
You don't need to wait until your life collapses before you question something that is making your life smaller.
For me, alcohol was taking time with my daughter.
It was taking ambition.
It was taking self-respect.
It was taking evenings and mornings.
And eventually my world had become incredibly small.
Work.
Pub.
Sleep.
Repeat.
Yet for a long time I could still point to all the things I was managing to do and say:
See? I'm fine.
I wasn't.
I was existing more than I was living.
Try a different test
If you are questioning your drinking but keep reassuring yourself because life still looks okay, don't rush to give yourself a label.
You don't need one.
But you might ask yourself some better questions.
How much do I think about drinking?
How many promises have I made to myself about cutting back?
How often does a good day or a bad day somehow end with the same answer?
What am I rushing through so I can get to the drink?
What am I no longer doing properly because part of me is waiting for drinking time?
And if I removed alcohol for long enough to properly find out, what might come back?
Those questions told me far more than whether I could still turn up for work.
You don't have to decide about forever
Press Pause 90 isn't built around asking you to make some huge declaration about the rest of your life.
It is 90 days.
Long enough to get alcohol out of the daily argument and find out what changes.
What happens to your evenings?
Your mornings?
Your patience?
Your relationships?
Your energy?
Your self-respect?
You might discover that alcohol wasn't destroying your life.
It was simply taking far more from it than you realised.
And that is enough of a reason to find out what happens without it.
