Just say "nyet!" 1950s Soviet propaganda via papusha_elena @ Flickr
I quit drinking for good three years ago. I don’t miss it. I’m not an alcoholic—although several of my family members are. I’m not pregnant. I’m not Muslim or Mormon—in fact, my religion wholeheartedly supports getting toasted on Friday nights. I quit because I didn’t like the way alcohol made me feel. Ever since I first started drinking in college, my body never took well to alcohol. Just two or three drinks were enough to give me tortured, 9th Ring of Hell hangovers. Eating a big meal first, Advil before bed, B vitamins and oceans of Gatorade, nothing truly helped. In my late twenties, the effect was only magnified, the point where one drink could leave me dry-mouthed and queasy. Apparently my family’s alcoholic gene skipped me, because by my thirtieth birthday, I had no tolerance left at all.
So I stopped. I ordered sodas and passed up open bars. That’s when the trouble actually started. I live in New York City and work in a business that revolves around cocktails. Passing up a few drinks at a working lunch—or, God forbid—ordering soda on a night out is met with outright suspicion. My polite, “no, thanks” was often met with nosy disbelief. Was I pregnant? No. On some kind of medication? No. Mind your own fucking business. I became increasingly intimidated—and irritated—by the rolled eyes and “Really?” I dreaded going to parties where I’d have to turn down liquor because I knew it would lead to another round of “You’re kidding! Seriously? Why not?”
One night, I met a colleague and two other friends for after-work drinks. I ordered a soda and some fries, and when I came back to the table, my fries awaited me…alongside a shot of bourbon. My colleague winked at me and said, “Come on…don’t make me drink alone.” Peer pressure! I was smack in the middle of a 1980s after-school special. Several months of irritation boiled over and I found myself ranting at him through clenched teeth. I didn’t want to drink! How dare he try to push it on me! He didn’t want to drink alone? Get the fuck over it! This wasn’t about him!
And that’s when it hit me. None of the peer pressure or the nosy curiosity really had anything to do with me. I had felt like people were judging me, but it turned out people felt I was judging them. In their minds, I was the snide guest who refuses dessert and looks pointedly at the host’s waistline. I discovered, when I started asking, that I’d hit a nerve without meaning to. It turned out that a lot of my friends were so laden with uncertainty or even guilt about their drinking habits that when someone—not just me—refused to drink with them they felt criticized, or shamed.
This was brought home even more starkly this past fall, when a member of my immediate family came out of her second stint in rehab for alcoholism. For a couple of years, she was absolutely flattened by booze—emotionally, physically, spiritually. The sheer, soul-sucking misery she endured was one of the most painful things I have ever witnessed. For her, not drinking is an act of intense, agonized willpower, eked out minute by minute, hour after hour, one day at a time. To be surrounded by the same intrusive questions or peer pressure that I encountered isn’t merely irritating, it threatened to upset the delicate balance of her sobriety and dump her back into the hell of alcoholism. And yet, the same holds true for her as for me: when people who don’t know her reasons question her decision not to drink, it’s almost always because they have deeper issues about their own reasons for drinking.
Not long ago, I went to a reception at a wine bar in Jerusalem, with beautiful local wines being poured left and right. I stood for a long time talking with a delightful and charming old man who was Israel’s premier wine critic and author of several books on the subject. When the waiters brought around glasses of red and white I felt guilty turning one down in front of such an expert, and began stammering about why I had ordered Pellegrino instead.
“My dear,” he said with a generous wave of his hand, “You should never have to explain to anyone why you don’t want a drink.”
And dammit, he’s right. For the record, y’all, it’s not you, it’s me. I promise. I’ll take that soda now, thanks.
I hardly drink, mainly because when I’m worried/stressed drinking gives me panic attacks, followed by hours of uncontrollable spasms which are bloody awful. So I avoid going out if it’s not going to be somewhere I feel safe, with my friends who will get me back home/into a bed as soon as I need to.
I’m just not that interested in it, knowing how awful it’ll make me feel, but I’m only twenty, and a uni student, so there’s a lot of partying going on around me.
Usually I don’t bother explaining, even if asked, because it’s no-one’s business, but if I tell people I have spasmophilia they tend to leeave me alone.
I live in France, which has a totally different drinking culture from the US or the UK, and I’m extremely grateful for it.
My parents drink wine at dinner when they feel like it, which is very French of them (neither one is French); my dad was only able to start drinking again a few years ago, since he had hepetitis for twelve years, and his father is an alcoholic, so I’ve always been pretty wary of alcohol in general. And I hate beer, which amazes people, since I’m British, and we’re supposed to love it, which in all honesty has been pretty much evidenced by every other Brit I’ve ever known, save for my mother and my brother.
I don’t think people feel judged by my not drinking, since everyone drinks; i’m more of an anomaly, which is why I tend to have a glass of wine and nurse that, and i’m perfectly happy like that. I definitely feel like the odd one out when everyone’s completely drunk at a big party, but I have just as much fun sober as they do drunk, so it’s no loss for me. It’s just tiring always being the one everyoen knows isn’t going to be drunk at the end of the night, like I’m a control freak or have a problem. I suppose I do, in some way, but I’m happy like that. At least I know my liver is in excellent condition
my lungs aren’t, but that’s a whole different story.
As to veg*ns, well i know a few vegetarians, no vegans, and I can’t say I’ve ever felt judged for eating meat, or judged them for not eating it. But this is France, and things are different I guess^^ especially as vegetables are wonderful things
I drink plenty. But, I also come from a family of alcoholics and am, unfortunately, well aware of what alcohol addiction can do to someone.
Joking about it, saying ‘oh, I’m so drunk, etc…’ isn’t cute to someone who’s had to care for alcoholics. I find that sort of behavior more suspect than anything else. The bragging nature of boozing it up shouldn’t be an anecdote.
Have I had too much wine at dinner? Had shots with friends out? Sure. However, I am not an alcoholic, enjoy drinking and don’t give a flying fuck what people’s drinking preferences are.
Fact is, we all spend far too much time worrying about other people’s behaviors, and judging them. Which isn’t to say we shouldn’t be mindful of someone abusing alcohol, but there’s isn’t a need, on either side, for people to get their panties in a bunch over what they do or don’t do.
i just want to tell you that your blog has helped me considerably. my 21st birthday is coming up soon and i’ve never had a drink in my entire life. i’m actually nervous about going to the bars with my friends because they just want to get me and my twin sister wasted. but both of us don’t want to. flat out. we don’t need it and we don’t want it. and i think it’s fine to just say “no thanks” and smile and get on with life
Please be careful, amandaR! It’s YOUR birthday; YOU should be the one who decides how to celebrate. Happy birthday!
Happy Birthday, Amanda! I second what SarahMC said…if you and your sis would rather not go bar hopping, or want to stick to just one beer (which is what I did on my 21st birthday b/c I had a final the next morning), that’s totally up to you, and any real friend will respect that. No one says you have to get completely obliterated to celebrate in style!
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[...] Sharper over at The Pursuit of Harpyness nails it pretty succinctly in her short article “I Don’t Drink (And Why You Shouldn’t Care)” when she relates a story about being at a fancy reception with a renowned wine critic and [...]