“Women are often tasked with keeping the household running and taking care of children, more so than their male counterparts, which adds to the load and stress of other responsibilities—like their careers, for example,” says Hilary Sheinbaum, author of The Dry Challenge: How to Lose the Booze for Dry January, Sober October, and Any Other Alcohol-Free Month. “Alcohol is often promoted as the solution to ease these difficult problems. In memes, advertisements, TV shows, movies, and via peers, women are encouraged to open a bottle of wine to relax. So they drink—but the issues aren’t fixed. So they drink more.” 

Knowing that I was in need of a reset—and that my relationship with alcohol is forever a work in progress—I decided to attempt the famous Dry January and give up alcohol for the entire month (with the caveat that I can have a glass of champagne on Inauguration Day). I wanted to feel all the side effects of sobriety: better sleep, clearer skin, pants that fit a little less snugly. I also wanted to make sure that while I was enjoying alcohol for a sense of comfort, I wasn’t actually dependent on it. 

Two weeks in, I do feel physically and mentally healthier, but that doesn’t mean it’s been easy. I didn’t anticipate the attack on the Capitol, my daughter’s daycare closing due to a Covid scare, or my father-in-law gifting us a Bordeaux he’s newly obsessed with. Like a lot of people doing Dry January right now, I’ve experienced boredom, felt isolated, and sometimes wondered, “what’s the point?” At times, I’ve actually found it pretty difficult to find a reason not to drink. In a last-ditch effort to keep the momentum going, I put a call out on Instagram and Twitter for backup and support, and I was overwhelmed with the response. I thought I’d share some of them with you here, in case you’re attempting Dry January, too (or maybe Dry February—it’s a shorter month, after all) and need a little encouragement. We’re in this together, you know? 

“I am happy to tell the tale of a woman in between relationships who has been dealing with this pandemic physically solo and spent all of November and December hungover and polluted,” wrote one woman in her 40s. “I’m in it. Dry January. Let’s do this.”

Another woman said that during shelter-in-place, drinking became something she used to numb her anxiety. “When everything else was out of control, at least I could control my escape,” she wrote. “I was lonely, single, sad, angry, scared—you name it. Dry January is a more socially acceptable way to stop drinking, I guess. The shame isn’t as overwhelming. But I know I’ll have to deal with the shame at some point, because that’s what is at the root of addiction. So I’m taking it one day at a time.”

“I had a somewhat problematic relationship with alcohol even before the pandemic,” another woman wrote to me. “Last year, I had actually managed to start getting sober before Covid hit. Then when that happened, I guess I just didn’t see the point anymore. I went into a total existential tailspin. So I’m not really doing Dry January so much as trying to quit alcohol for 100 days and then reevaluate my relationship with booze altogether.”