Like most years, I was planning to do Dry July in 2020 – the annual feel-good challenge of quitting booze for a month and raising a few dollars to help those with cancer along the way.

What I wasn’t expecting was my mother to die on June 29.

On Friday, Genevieve Quigley watches the sun rise in Maroubra as she marks one year off the booze. Credit:Janie Barrett

As my brain was taken hostage by the grief, shock and trauma that came with her death, I couldn’t even think about drinking. The idea I could drown my sorrows seemed ridiculous. There was nothing that could sink the sadness buoyed by her absence.

In the weeks that followed, just getting out of bed in the morning was difficult, and I knew a cocktail of grief and a hangover would make it even harder. Dry July had come at the perfect time.

Unlike previous years, when I reached the end of the month I didn’t immediately pour a glass of pinot to “reward” myself. Physically, I felt worse than I had in years. I spoke to my sister and said I felt like I was wading through treacle. We agreed it was the manifestation of grief, but when I found myself having to use both hands to lift my legs to get out of a chair, I began to worry.

I went to my doctor and she arranged full blood tests. The results showed my liver was, to paraphrase the medical terminology, pretty crook. My concerned doctor asked about my drinking habits and I honestly told her I hadn’t had a sip in over a month. She looked at me suspiciously, suggested I stay on the wagon, and we’d test again in a month.

The truth was I’d never been what I’d consider a heavy drinker. I would have alcohol-free nights a few times a week or just one glass of wine with dinner. But there were plenty of other times when I had more than a few too many.

Some of those nights make for funny stories. Like the time at a primary school art auction when I downed too many plastic cups filled with cheap merlot and drunkenly bid $750 on my six-year-old’s class project: an original Texta on cardboard masterpiece. The only thing that would have made it more cringe-worthy would have been if I’d outbid my own husband. (Surely she didn’t? Yes, she did).

But of course, there were also plenty of boozy nights that don’t make for knee-slapping tales. Arguments. Accidents. Regrets. They don’t deserve an airing. Neither do the hangovers that followed.

These were the nights (and next days) I reminded myself of during those first few months of not drinking. They gave me a sense that I wasn’t missing out, or more accurately, I was missing out on the downsides.

Then around the three-month mark, something magical happened: I didn’t want to drink. Clarification: I wanted to not drink. Physically, I felt better than I had in years. My second round of blood test results came back. My liver was as good as new. Magical.

This new-found sobriety occurred during various COVID-19 restrictions. While many would assume this made it more of a challenge, if anything it made it less hard. There were far fewer social events where I’d feel the need, or the pressure, to drink. It’s easier to not feel like an outsider when you’re not even allowed outside.

By the time the silly season came around, I was six months sober. It was just prior to Sydney’s Avalon outbreak and socialising was back to normal. I found myself invited to three separate Christmas lunches in the space of one week.

What I discovered by sticking to sparkling water at these catch-ups is that for years, alcohol had been unduly given the credit for these good times. The accolades really should go to my friends who are intoxicatingly clever, engaging and wickedly funny.

I’m eternally grateful that family and friends have been supportive of my decision to go booze-free. There have been very few occasions when anyone has tried to make me drink, only the odd “not even one?” coupled with a half-pleading look. I have no doubt that some have found my no-grog stance a bit strange. I know this because it would be my thought if the glass was in the other hand.

But if I’m perfectly honest, I’ve been a little surprised there have been so few “well dones”. Maybe by saying it’s a good thing to quit booze, there’s a hidden assertion that drinking is bad. Yes, for some it is, but for many it’s not.

I have plenty of happy drinking memories. There’s no denying that booze is a social lubricant and probably sealed friendships I wouldn’t have today if it wasn’t for shared drunken nights.

Would I have flirted with my now husband if it hadn’t been for the vodka jelly shots on the night I met him? (Don’t judge, it was the early 2000s.)

Besides the ubiquitous questions, such as “Don’t you miss it?” or simply “Why?”, most reactions to my abstinence have been people expressing their own feelings about sobriety. “Life’s too short” or “I’d be so bored”.

One thing the past 12 months has not been is boring. Despite lockdowns, restrictions and the slow release out of grief’s grip, not drinking has given me more time and energy to do things I’ve never done before.

First, I began walking. Then I did the Bloody Long Walk, spending a day chatting with friends while we hiked 35 kilometres from the city to Manly beach. I completed Sydney’s spectacular 7 Bridges Walk. A day made most memorable by me using my hiking whistle to alert my fellow walkers ahead of a wrong turn and startling a nearby jogger, instead. I would like to take this chance to publicly apologise. Sorry, Nicole Kidman.

Despite lockdowns, restrictions and the slow release out of grief’s grip, not drinking has given me more time and energy to do things I’ve never done before.

I enrolled and completed a course I’d been thinking about doing for years. I bought a bicycle and rode to the beach to watch the sunrise more times than I can count. I am now one of those mad women who swims in the ocean in the middle of winter.

I can remember with complete clarity every social event I’ve attended in the last year. And none of these occasions have led to arguments, accidents or regrets on my part. I haven’t had a single hangover.

All these upsides have helped me stay on the wagon. What has also assisted is alcohol-free beer. I’m aware it’s often not recommended for those with alcohol dependency issues. But for me, it has provided a grown-up taste and something to hold without attracting too many unwanted questions at social gatherings. (Top recommendation: Heaps Normal).

But the No.1 thing that has helped, and I know how lucky I am in this regard, is that my husband has also kicked the booze. He’d completed Dry July along with me, before following it with what we now refer to as “Very Wet August”. It wasn’t a good time for either of us. I never asked him to stop drinking, but he saw how much better I was without it and could no longer deny how rotten he felt.

I joke that if he were to drink again, even at 45 years of age, he would need to have his ID on hand. He’s lost about 20 kilograms and the boyish charm I fell for over vodka jelly shots all those years ago has returned to his face.

Will I ever drink again? Maybe. I don’t have a fear of having one beer and my life spiralling out of control. I still quite like the idea of celebrating a special occasion with a glass of French champagne or enjoying a cabernet sauvignon with a fillet steak. What I don’t like is the thought of being wasted. Or wasting a day due to a hangover. Or my liver packing up on me. Moderation is an option but for now, I find abstinence less complicated.

In many ways, my main reason for staying off the grog is strangely similar to those who don’t want to give it up: Life’s too short. My last drink was the day before my mother lost hers. I want to embrace every moment of the one she gave me.

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