Dry January Didn’t Change My Life. Ninety Days Did.

People get weird in January. Suddenly everything needs fixing. Drinking, spending, eating, productivity, personality. The pressure to reset has been packaged, branded, and sold back to us as self-improvement.

I’m not anti better choices. I’m anti pretending that January is the only month where change is allowed.

If it’s not Dry January, it’s No-Buy January. Veganuary. New Year, New You. And don’t get me started on the goal posters.

Anyway. I’m here with some Dry January wisdom. It’s okay if you already quit. It’s great if you keep going. And just like my skincare advice, this comes from experience. Also just like skincare, we’re all different. What worked for me may not work for you.

For years, I put pressure on myself to stop drinking. I’m an all-or-nothing person. Very black and white. Too much so, honestly. I used to be a smoker. Hard to believe, but I smoked a pack and a half a day for fifteen years. I quit cold turkey because I was over it. I also had the flu and stayed in bed long enough to realize it had been more than 48 hours since my last cigarette. That accidental break did it. That was over a decade ago. I don’t remember the exact date, only that it was the first week of February. I haven’t had a single puff since.

So. Drinking.

I randomly stopped last year. Not January 1st. September 2nd, actually. Had I known it would be my last glass of “the driest white you have,” I would’ve gone somewhere nicer. But also, no regrets.

Everyone has different reasons for cutting back or stopping. Not to get too personal, but I didn’t like looking bloated all the time. In your twenties, de-bloating takes two days. In your forties, try two months. I also found out I had type 2 diabetes in 2020 and still managed to drink wine every single day. A lot of wine. Some days, two bottles. Other days, two and a half.

It was fun. I’d sip and write posts, edit photos, mask, obsess over looking bloated, promise myself I wouldn’t drink the next day, then repeat.

I also wasn’t a loud or angry drunk. I’d get passionate. I knew when to leave. No one can say I was bad company or embarrassing. If anything, we made new friends. And as strange as it sounds, no matter how drunk I was, I had to shower before bed. Possibly Polish Catholic guilt. Possibly just lifelong cleansing habits.

Here’s what I noticed after I stopped drinking.

Very little happened in the first 30 days. I know that sounds crazy, but if Dry January feels underwhelming, you’re not alone. I maybe lost a couple pounds. I didn’t sleep better. I still felt bloated. My blood work barely changed.

What kept me going was the self-satisfaction of being strong-willed.

And then everything changed after 90 days.

I don’t know if this is an omgbart exclusive, but for me, 90 days was the answer. I lost close to 20 pounds in three months. I ate whatever I wanted. That’s the wild part. I stopped denying myself carbs because alcohol wasn’t taking up that space anymore. I had developed mild anxiety since the first lockdown, especially around sleep. That shifted too.

Rested. Lighter. Less anxious. More productive. I felt great on the wagon.

What made this stick was not putting pressure on myself. I’ve always hated sober content on Instagram. The tracking apps. The daily devotional bullshit. Hard pass. I’m typing this on day 510 of not drinking. I didn’t plan on counting past a year, but it’s oddly satisfying to see I can do this without feeling deprived or like I’m missing out.

What helped wasn’t some replacement ritual or productivity glow-up. It was less dramatic than it sounds. I read more. I wrote more. I walked. A lot. I let boredom exist without immediately fixing it. I had a supportive partner who never made my choice a thing, and still doesn’t ask if I plan on starting again. None of it felt virtuous or particularly impressive. It just filled the space alcohol used to take up.

The most awkward moments happened in the first three months. I skipped catch-ups because I didn’t want to order a Coke and field questions. I didn’t have some dramatic diagnosis, and casually quitting when you’re known as the life of the party looks suspicious. Lunches at my favorite spots were brutal while I relearned how to enjoy food without wine.

We all have “I need a drink” triggers. A fun lunch. A party where you don’t know anyone. A stressful phone call. For me, it was flying. I’m an incredibly nervous flier and used to get bombed before boarding. Then I’d do an in-flight skincare routine. Because, balance.

In the past year and a half, I’ve taken at least a dozen flights. We moved to Spain with three cats, which was a lot. My mom died of cancer two weeks before Christmas. If you count mid-level inconveniences, the list never ends. 

I did all of that sober.

Living in Madrid, booze is everywhere. It’s cultural. Civilized, but constant. My husband’s glass of wine at dinner is often cheaper than my Coke Zero. I still find that fascinating.

The unexpected side effect is my sweet tooth has completely gone off the rails. I cannot stop. Luckily, baked goods and candy bars here are far superior to what I was used to in the US. Guilt aside, I’m still 25 pounds down while indulging more than ever. I’ve stopped trying to explain it.

What do I drink now? It depends.

Some nights, I navigate mocktails. I’ll be honest, most are overpriced and aggressively sweet. I learned quickly to ask for a zero-proof mojito and to request it less sweet. Same goes for a Moscow mule. Bartender reactions vary, but it works more often than not. One place in Madrid (Fismuler) makes an incredible virgina Paloma.

At home and most nights out, I’m fully committed to Coke Zero Zero. Since moving to Europe, it’s become an obsession. In my opinion, it’s the best-tasting Coke available. No sugar, no caffeine. Which means I can have one in the evening without lying awake, replaying my entire life at 3 a.m.

Just to be clear, this isn’t a boast or faux modesty. I’m writing this in case parts of it ring true for you. No matter your circumstances, pressure is not the move. Don’t make a list. Don’t prep a start date. The day will come, and you’ll wake up knowing.

You can do it. And you’ll be great.