I remember how much I loved the Friday night ritual of opening a bottle of wine with my ex, Tom*, after he got home from work. He worked longer than me and I always listened to the sound of his car in the driveway. If it were winter, we would opt for a nice Malbec in front of the fire or, on summer evenings, a Sauvignon Blanc or Whispering Angel in the garden.
Tom and I met in college almost twenty years ago and we were never what you’d call big drinkers, at least not since we had our two children, now nine and eleven. But there was something about that sense of camaraderie of sharing a drink together that united us.
When he announced in September 2021 that he was Sober OctoberI didn’t think much about it. “Good job,” I said, as I loaded the refrigerator with groceries. We’d had too much to drink during lockdown and I thought it was a good thing he was taking a break from booze. I even thought about doing it too, but I had a friend’s 40th birthday coming up so I thought I would miss it.
At first, things were pretty much the same as normal. Even though I missed our Friday night drinks together, I tried to be supportive. Instead, I bought low or no alcoholic wine, so that we could at least continue the ritual. However, Tom, an all or nothing kind of guy, didn’t even want to try the low alcohol options and I couldn’t find anything else I liked.
When Tom announced he was going to do a bench to 5K, I again tried to be encouraging, although I was beginning to begrudge the fact that he started training on Saturday mornings when he used to take our eldest to football. There goes my lie, I thought.
It was when we were socializing together and after Tom decided he was going to do a triathlon that the problems really started. He said he has to train three nights a week for swimming, cycling and running, plus another session on Saturday mornings.
You’d think all that training would help boost our sex life it was the opposite. He was so tired that he went to bed before me. Often on Fridays he would fall quite in love after a few drinks, but that would all stop and I would feel very down.
I also felt annoyed that he expected me to pick up the slack with the kids. I probably should have said something then, but I’m not very good at confrontation, so we never really talked about it.
Looking back, that feeling of resentment was one of the things that drove us apart. It felt like spending time with me and the kids wasn’t enough for Tom anymore. I took it personally – how could anyone not? I also started to withdraw from him a little. I spent more time on social media and less time talking to him in the evenings.
The kids started to notice too. “No daddy again tonight?” my oldest would say. He had never stopped helping with his homework.
I was angry on behalf of the children. Not only did he make me feel down, he did it to them too.
“Can you at least tell the kids you won’t be back until later?” I asked him. He rolled his eyes at me and made me feel like a whiner. I hated that.
All the training also had a big impact on our social life. Most of our social life revolved around drinking. Usually every month we would have a dinner or two, or a meeting in London, where we would ask one of the grandparents to babysit. When Tom stopped drinking, it changed the dynamics.
Tom, an accountant, wasn’t exactly the life of the party before and needed a drink or two to relax. When he got sober, all he wanted to talk about was his education. He discussed the pros and cons of protein shakes at length and kept talking about people I had never met: middle-aged men who spent their weekends cycling.
So I started going out without him and quickly realized it was actually more fun on my own. Not only did I save a small fortune on babysitters, I also loved the freedom. Instead of saving little things from the week for Friday night chats, I would tell my sister or friends instead. It’s such a cliché, but we really started to drift apart.
Soon, separate nights out became separate bedrooms. One evening, as I waited resentfully for Tom to come home, I realized I couldn’t go on like this any longer. I never thought we’d divorce, right?
Exactly 14 years and a month after we got married, I asked Tom to separate. We had become more roommates than husband and wife, I told him. If I’m completely honest, I think I wanted him to fight for me and for our family, but he just seemed to happily accept it. “Do you want me to move then?” he asked.
We told it to the children together. There were a few tears from our youngest, but our son seemed very stoic about it. “Are you having a midlife crisis, Dad?” he asked. Tom just laughed.
How could he laugh when our marriage was over?
Tom moved away last May and we are awaiting our divorce. I think his sobriety played a role, but it was probably his subsequent obsession with triathlon training that was the nail in the coffin.
It made me realize how little we actually had in common. That Friday evening drink was the only time during the week that we really sat down to talk together – not just about the children who had to be picked up where or what we were going to eat – but about what had irritated us at work that week or how we were doing in the generally felt.
I know they say you shouldn’t use alcohol as a crutch, but without that little ritual it was like we lost our connection. At first I felt like I had failed, but then I realized that we had both stopped trying.
I have am single now I think I’ve handled it pretty well, although I miss having someone to cuddle with. Friday evening drinks with Tom have been replaced by a trip to the pub with my sister or dinner with friends while he has the kids.
As for Tom, he is training for a new triathlon and can now drink his protein shakes undisturbed. There’s no denying that he looks great, he’s even working on a six-pack, but for me, the spark and our connection beyond that shared bottle of wine has unfortunately disappeared.
How to make sure quitting or cutting back on alcohol is good (not bad) for your relationship
Janey Lee Grace, an author, broadcaster and sober coach, says many people worry when they make the decision to quit alcohol that it will affect their relationship, but that doesn’t have to be the case.
“If you and your partner are ‘drinking buddies,’ it can be awkward and people worry that they will lose the emotional connection,” she notes.
However, the reality is that we put alcohol on a pedestal.
“We believe it’s the drink that makes us feel connected, but it’s really just the associations around drinking. It shouldn’t matter one iota what’s in your glass. If you’re a vegetarian at a family barbecue, no one cares whether you’re eating a veggie burger or a meat burger. The same goes for alcohol,” says Lee Grace.
That doesn’t mean that rituals aren’t important.
“We like to have a ‘drink’ together, so make sure you have a nice glass, just exchange the alcohol for, for example, ‘Nosecco’ (alcohol-free prosecco), botanical spirits or kombucha. My mantra is: ‘keep the ritual, change the ingredients.’”
Lee Grace recommends not giving up too much and outlining what your partner can do to help support you.
“Tell your partner you’re doing a wellness challenge (it’s not a lie!) so you eat right, focus on self-care and, of course, don’t drink. Tell them it would be great if they could support you a little and not try to offer you drinks or entice you to go to the pub.’
One client, she says, told her partner she wanted to focus on a healthy menopause. “She explained that she would eat well, exercise and not drink. After that there were no more questions!”
Although many partners have trouble accepting things at first, they often come around, says Lee Grace. “Sometimes I think male partners in particular can feel a little threatened when a woman really starts to grow and blossom and they don’t know if they can keep up.”
Ultimately, however, you have to quit alcohol for yourself.
“Quitting booze is the best thing you’ll ever do for your health and well-being, and you should do it for yourself too. You can’t do it for someone else. It’s about creating a life that you don’t have to escape from.”
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