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 more hours than me and I used to listen to the sound of his car in the driveway. If it was winter, we would opt for a good Malbec in front of the fire or, on summer evenings, a Sauvignon Blanc or a Whispering Angel in the garden.

Tom and I met in college almost 20 years ago and have never been what you would call heavy drinkers, at least not since we had our two children, now aged nine and eleven years old. 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 have a sober OctoberI didn’t think much about it. “Good for you,” I said, filling the fridge with groceries. We had been drinking too much during lockdown and I thought it was good for him to take a break from alcohol. I even considered doing it too, but I had a friend’s 40th birthday, so I thought I’d leave it out.

At first, things were pretty much business as usual. Even though I missed our Friday night drinks, I tried to be supportive. I bought some non-alcoholic or low-alcohol wine instead, so we could at least continue the ritual. Tom, an all or nothing type, wouldn’t even try the low alcohol options and I couldn’t find anything else I liked.

Then, when Tom announced he was doing a couch 5K, I once again tried to be encouraging, although I started to criticize him for starting training on Saturday morning when he took our eldest to football. This is my lie-in, I thought.

It was when we were chatting together and after Tom decided to do a triathlon that the problems really started. He said he had to train three evenings a week for swimming, cycling and running, plus another session on Saturday morning.

You’d think all this training would help boost our sex life but it was the opposite. He was so tired that he went to bed before me. He would often become very amorous after a few drinks on Fridays, but that would all stop and it would depress me a lot.

I was also annoyed that he expected me to take over with the kids. I probably should have said something then, but I’m not very good at confrontation, so we never really discussed it.

Looking back, that feeling of resentment was one of the things that separated us. 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 move away from him a little. I spent more time on social media and less time chatting with him in the evenings.

The children started to notice it too. “No dad yet tonight?” my eldest would say. He had gone from helping her with her homework to never being there.

I was angry on behalf of the children. He didn’t just depress me, he did them too.

“Can you at least tell the kids that you won’t be back until later?” » I asked him. He rolled his eyes and made me feel like an executioner. I hated it.

The whole training also had a big impact on our social life. Most of our social lives revolved around drinking. We used to have a dinner or two every month or a get-together in London where we would use one of the grandparents to babysit. When Tom I stopped drinking, it changed the dynamics.

Tom, an accountant, wasn’t exactly the life and soul of the party before and needed a drink or two to unwind. When he got sober, all he wanted to talk about was his training. He discussed at length the pros and cons of protein shakes, and he continued to talk about people I’d never met—middle-aged men who spent their weekends on bikes.

So I started going out without him and quickly realized that it was actually more fun alone. Not only did I save a small fortune on babysitters, but I loved the freedom. Instead of saving the little things of the week to discuss on Friday evening, I would rather talk about them with my sister or my friends. It’s so cliché but we really started to drift apart.

Very quickly, separate parties became separate bedrooms. I realized one evening, as I resentfully waited for Tom to come home, that I couldn’t continue like this. I never imagined we would divorce, did you?

Exactly 14 years and one month after our marriage, I asked Tom for a separation. We had become more roommates than husband and wife, I told him. If I’m completely honest, I guess I wanted him to fight for me and our family, but he seemed to happily accept it. “Do you want me to move out then?” » he asked.

We told the children together. There were a few tears from our youngest but our son seemed very stoic about it. “Are you having a mid-life crisis, Dad?” he asked. Tom just laughed.

How could he laugh when our marriage was over?

Tom moved out last May and we are waiting for our divorce to be finalized. I think his sobriety played a role, but it was probably his later obsession with triathlon training that was the nail in the coffin.

It made me realize how little we had in common. That Friday night drink was the only time a week we sat together and talked – not just about the kids who needed to be picked up from where or what we were going to eat for dinner – but about what had us bored at work that week or how we were feeling in general.

I know they say you shouldn’t use alcohol as a crutch, but without this little ritual, it felt like we lost our connection. At first I felt like I had failed, then I realized it was both of us who stopped trying.

I have I’m single now since for six months and although I miss having someone to snuggle with, I think I’ve done pretty well. Friday night 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’s training for another triathlon and can now drink his protein shakes without interruption. There’s no denying the fact that he looks great, he’s even working on a six pack, but for me the spark and our connection over that shared bottle of wine has sadly faded.

How to Make Sure Quitting or Cutting Down on Drinking Is Good (Not Bad) for Your Relationship

Janey Lee Grace, author, broadcaster and sober coach, says many people worry when making the decision to stop drinking alcohol that it will affect their relationship, but that’s not necessarily the case .

“If you and your partner are ‘drinking buddies,’ it can seem awkward and people worry about losing the emotional connection,” she notes.

The reality, however, is that we put alcohol on a pedestal.

“We think it’s alcohol that makes us feel connected, but in reality it’s just the associations around drinking. It shouldn’t matter what’s in your glass. If you’re vegetarian at a family barbecue, no one cares whether you’re eating a veggie burger or a meat burger. It’s the same with alcohol,” says Lee Grace.

This is not to say that rituals are not important.

“We love to sit and have a ‘drink’ together, so make sure you have a nice drink, just swap the alcohol for something like ‘Nosecco’ (non-alcoholic prosecco), botanical spirits or kombucha. My mantra is: “keep the ritual, change the ingredients”.

Lee Grace recommends not giving up too much and describing what your partner can do to help you.

“Tell your partner you’re taking part in a wellness challenge (it’s not a lie!), so you’ll eat well, focus on self-care, and obviously, you won’t drink. Tell them it would be great if they could give you some support and not try to offer you alcohol or encourage you to go to the pub.

One client, she says, told her partner she wanted to focus on healthy menopause. “She explained that she would eat well, exercise and not drink. There were no more questions after that!

Although many partners may have difficulty accepting things at first, they often reconcile eventually, 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 will have to stop drinking alcohol.

“Stopping alcohol is the best thing you can do for your health and well-being and you should do it for you. You can’t do it for anyone else. It’s about creating a life that you don’t need to escape from.