As I usually don’t drink a lot when I have alcohol, I’ll often describe myself as being “not a big drinker” if someone asks why I’m not having another. We have the term “big drinker” for those who knock it back but we don’t really have an equivalent for those who prefer to drink less. A moderate drinker? Whatever it is, that’s what I am.
I’ll drink a bit more once in a while when I’m going out out, but otherwise I don’t enjoy feeling ropey on a random Wednesday morning or drinking just for the sake of it. But we’re coming up to the holiday season, a time when many people’s alcohol intake goes up. There’s nothing like a public holiday to embolden heavy drinking in the UK. I love mulled wine but usually during Christmas week I drink little, if at all. I’ve always been that way. I prefer to drink out and about rather than at home. I seem to be in the minority here. Over lockdown, when many friends were drinking at home together, I ended up being sober for those few months. I remember the only time I’ve consumed alcohol alone at home — it was after a bar shift, just before graduating university, after the bar manager gave me a bottle of rose to take home. As the tingling, intoxicated feeling bubbled over me while I lay back on my single bed, I felt like I’d done a taboo thing that was kind of funny. Then I wanted to go out, and my being drunk felt like a waste. Now, in my late 20s, when I am out socialising (as I will be often in the lead-up to the festive period), hitting a level of gentle tipsiness is usually enough and where I like to leave it. I will also go completely without it some weeks, consciously deciding to give myself a short break.
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I’m not sober and have no plans to become sober or take part in Dry January (it’s always struck me as a bit pointless if your drinking is in check, especially if February is then boozy as a “reward” for the four weeks prior). But I’m a moderate drinker and I live in Britain, the land of “big drinkers”. It’s a place where the definition of binge drinking doesn’t seem to be quite understood as more of us than we realise fall into this category every time we drink. (Binge drinking for women means having more than six units of alcohol in one go, which is approximately two large glasses of wine.)
People who move to the UK often remark on the drinking culture. There aren’t many places in the world where getting pissed on a Monday night is laughed off. Don’t get me wrong, even I laugh at my friends and jokingly praise them for getting wrecked on a random weeknight. It’s ingrained in our mindset to see drinking as a very unserious thing. I’m glad lots of work has gone into destigmatising those who are sober, sober-curious or mindful drinkers, although there’s still more work to do there (for a start, pubs could improve their low and no-alcohol offerings). However, the conversation hasn’t looked so much at people who drink consistently — but not massively — throughout the year. People who don’t think deeply about their drinking, like the mindful drinking movement promotes, but rather just don’t have much of a desire to drink large amounts in one go or to do it all that often.
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You’re a moderate drinker if the idea of doing rounds with a large group raises a minor alarm in you. I don’t want to buy a round of seven drinks when I’m going to stop at two small glasses of wine. You’re a moderate drinker if you sip your drink slowly while your friends move onto the next one. You’re a moderate drinker if you turn up to the pub to see your friends and stop after one single vodka lemonade as you also want to be up and active the next morning. You’re a moderate drinker if you can be the least drunk person in a group (knowing even before arriving that you would be) and still enjoy yourself. You’re a moderate drinker if you can go to a club and have fun tipsy, not drunk. Maybe you even do it sober on occasion.
My friends are good with me drinking less than them. They don’t pressure me to drink more, and if they ask me whether I want another, it’s never in an intense way. I’m extremely grateful for this. My guy friends also recognise they’re larger than me and so if we drank the same amount, I’d be wasted (men can consume eight units of alcohol before it’s considered binge drinking). I also have a couple of “moderate drinker” friends. Every so often though, I encounter someone who takes issue with me either not wanting to drink at all (e.g. if I drank the night before) or only having one. “Oh, well I can’t have one if you’re not!” is usually the response to me saying no to booze. “Why not?” I’ll protest. Then I’ll make a mental note to make sure the next meet-up happens during the day so that coffee is all we naturally go for. One time I went to the bar to get a lemonade and when I came back I lied that there was vodka in my glass too, just to get someone off my case.
Don’t let my not drinking affect your night. When it’s the other way around and someone who’s battered leans on their soberish friend for support, no one worries whether the soberish friend’s night has been impacted by the presence of excessive booze. But for some reason, in certain contexts, some big drinkers will sulk about moderate drinkers and see someone who’s not drinking much as a problem. I’ll happily have a non-alcoholic drink while you have your gin and tonic — it’s no bother to me, but please don’t make me feel guilty for not wanting to match your level.
I should say, I like getting drunk when I decide that’s what I want to do. But I enjoy being a moderate drinker. I worry about the impact of a heavy night on my liver and general health, and I like being able to dip in and out of all the social events without massive repercussions the next day. My bank balance thanks me, too. If you’re a moderate drinker, announce it this holiday season. Just like we aren’t judging the “big drinkers”, we don’t deserve to be judged for being moderate drinkers.
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