The 3 Questions People Always Ask When They Find Out I Don’t Drink

I didn’t get drunk until I was 18, a freshman at University of Miami. I entered uni a social butterfly, making several new friends a day in my classes, in the dorms and at parties. By graduation, I was a shell of myself, anxiety-ridden and constantly on edge. The anxiety and shame I’d felt after a big night had spilled into my everyday. I was consumed by what people thought of me. It's ironic that the only way I could quiet that anxiety was by having a few drinks.

After uni, I moved to Sydney and the drinking continued — and lasted throughout my 20s. I never drank alone, always socially. And one drink didn’t always lead to ‘too many’. Sometimes I’d have just the right amount to feel giddy, have a great night and wake up without regret. There were just those handful of times when I’d have too much, wake up overwhelmed with shame and feel the physical effects of my body detoxing for days after.

In my 30s, there were fewer chances to drink heavily and so my big drinking nights tapered off. Still, though, they would occasionally happen. Once or twice a year, I’d have too much, not knowing what conversations I’d had or if I’d done anything embarrassing, and I’d be filled with shame and anger at myself about that.

Even if I didn’t have too much, my body was taking longer to recover from drinks. Just two or three drinks would make me feel sluggish the next day — craving carbs and, if it was a workday, counting down the hours until it would be appropriate to crawl back into bed. Quitting drinking wasn’t an option. I was already so wrapped up in what people thought, I didn’t want to stand out and open myself up for judgment even more.

All of that led me to January 1, 2023, when I woke after a big night of drinking. My head was throbbing. My mind was racing. I felt desperate to be pulled out of that state, but I knew hours of suffering lay ahead of me. My friend was visiting me from Queensland, leaving that evening. It was a beautiful day, so she went to the beach, returning briefly in the afternoon to check on me. I hadn’t left bed. She flew home that evening.

I thought I’d try to take a month off drinking. I probably couldn't have stomached a drink for the first week after, anyway. While I could've drank in the weeks that followed, and was in many situations where others were drinking, I held fast. I woke up every morning bouncing with energy. I felt confident. Any old hangover fog lifted.

I continued not drinking any alcohol through February, and then kept going in March, April, May and June. Before I knew it, a few months had become three years. I didn’t intend on lasting that long. It just happened. At the start of my no-drinking, I got asked the same questions again and again. So, I thought I’d answer them again here — three years later.

My answer then is still true today: “When the benefits of drinking outweigh those that come from not.” I don’t see that happening anytime soon. Too much good has come into my life from my stopping drinking. My friends say I’ve become a different person. One said she realised I was funny. On TikTok and Instagram, I’m vulnerable, silly and able to poke fun at myself. I never used to be able to do that. I was too caught up in what others would think. I was far too anxious. I’m also more reliable as a friend and family member. And I’m a better worker, always brimming with ideas, firing on all cylinders.

I still feel great, of course, but because I haven’t drank in three years, it’s become my norm. I love being able to enjoy every minute of a day off or weekend. I love never wishing time away, like I used to — keen to leap forward to a time I wasn’t hungover. And I love waking early after an evening social event and getting stuff done. Or just lounging in bed and fully enjoying it. I relish the fact that I get the best of both worlds: the night out and the day after.

My socialising these days has certainly changed, though, part of it is just getting older and with friends being at different life stages. I mostly catch up with people on walks and at dinners out or at one of our homes. All my friends know I don’t drink anymore, so it’s barely a topic of conversation. Incredibly, a couple of friends have told me I’ve inspired them to quit, too.

Also, I consider myself ahead of the trend. A survey published in January 2025 found that 44% of Australians who drink alcohol were keen to drink less or to stop drinking altogether. The main reasons cited included wanting to improve their physical health (75%), improve their mental health (50%), improve their sleep (22%) and because they don’t like the way alcohol makes them feel (22%).

On TikTok, the hashtag 'sober' has 1.7 million tags, while #sobercurious has 152.2k. Kayla Itsines, Phoebe Burgess and Ruby Rose are among many well-known Australians who also don't drink.

Sure, I can have just one drink and be fine that night and the next day. I can sometimes have five or six, have a great time and feel great the next day. But sometimes I can accidentally have too many. I never set out to have too many — it just happens. And since I was 18, I tried to always stop at the sweet spot, but I couldn’t. I could only curb the number of instances it happened. Once or twice a year rather than a handful of times.

I knew that if I continued drinking, it would always be a risk. And I couldn’t live like that anymore. Today, I know one sparkling wine won’t hurt. But that might turn into three another time. Six another. And then too many. Why don’t I just curb it to one drink per occasion then? I could, but why not just simplify it and have none? Eliminate all potential risk?

Since quitting drinking, my life has improved ten-fold. I think back to that 18-year-old uni student who was confident, social and bright-eyed before the anxiety set in. It took me far too many years to realise she never left — she was just buried under layers of shame. Quitting drinking didn’t make me different in a bad way. It made me the person I was always meant to be. I found the version of myself I liked best, and I’m so glad I stopped getting in her way.