I Spent My First Sober Christmas Alone. It Was The Best One I Ever Had.

The author spent his first holidays sober my himself.

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• In 2019, after relapsing multiple times, I stopped drinking.
• I was discharged and decided to treat Christmas Day as any other day, not to be pressured.
• I didn't have the urge to drink, and it was exactly what I needed.

November 10th, 2019, could have been my gravestone date, but it became my sobriety date instead.

It was my fourth and final detox from alcohol addiction; I had been caught in a cycle of repeated relapse for several years — this time, I had to make it work.

During my hospital admission, I naturally thought about the future and the next steps in my recovery. At that moment, the thought of Christmas filled me with dread.

The reality is that alcoholism makes you more and more insular, and I was desperately clinging on to the few people I had left. Knowing I was going to be spending Christmas alone for the first time felt like a punishment. It was the opposite.

The previous year, I blacked out

The previous Christmas Eve, I had been in the same hospital for a mental health crisis. While there's no question my drinking significantly exacerbated my mental state, at the time, I wasn't thinking about sobriety.

When I had been discharged earlier on Christmas Day, I went home and slept through the day. It had become routine: I would be kept overnight and discharged the following day after being seen by a psychiatric nurse. I woke up at about 7 p.m. to drink just enough to prevent having withdrawals and went back to bed. Truth be told, I don't remember anything between Christmas and New Year's Day, and it was the longest I'd ever blacked out.

Courtesy of the author

This time around, I was discharged after an eight-day admission for detox, and my first priority was getting through my coming holiday without any alcohol.

I treated the day like a normal one

Two days before Christmas Day, I decided to treat it like any other day but make it extra special. I bought a chicken to roast, vegetables, and an extra nice dessert.

Because I was no longer drinking alcohol, my biggest dilemma was what I should drink. So I bought fizzy grape juice — like wine but without the alcohol. Every time I felt my anxieties rise about the big day, I told myself: "It's only a day, and it will be over before you know it."

What surprised me was that no one really asked me what I was doing for Christmas, which actually made it easier. In previous years, before my epic relapse, I was invited to my friend's house. His mother would come over from Paris; he'd cook pheasant and all the trimmings. However, this year, he and his mother were going to Switzerland for a skiing trip, leaving me out in the cold.

In my teens and 20s, I would go to my dad's place, which often involved him being drunk and passing out in the afternoon. This was not something I wanted to do, and it only served as a reminder of why I needed to stay sober.

Christmas can be anything you want

I realized that there was no "right way" to do Christmas. That was where a lot of the pressure came from — the traditions, the presents, the goodwill, and the expectations that come with it.

On the big day itself, I decided to do exactly what I wanted to do. I'd earned it after all the work I'd put into my sobriety the previous few weeks. I cooked my roast chicken with unconventional herbs and spices and had my gluten-free dessert and sparkling grape juice. I allowed myself to watch trash TV, which reminded me why I never habitually watched anything.

Unlike Christmases gone by, I didn't have to get up to go anywhere or even get dressed. Knowing there were no people involved eased my anxieties. There were no awkward conversations around the dinner table with relatives I only see at Christmas, big birthdays, or funerals. Nor did I have to down a bottle of wine to ensure there was enough alcohol in my system to get me through the day. This was my Christmas, and I did it my way. It turned out to be bliss.

Many people think the idea of spending Christmas on their own sounds lonely and unappealing. For me, spending Christmas alone is about taking responsibility. The alternative is that I would re-expose myself to triggers that contributed to my complex PTSD, which underpinned my alcohol addiction.

Now approaching my sixth sober solo Christmas, I'm looking forward to it.