“Want a glass of wine?” my friend yelled at me down the hall, yanking a cork out of a wine bottle. My writer’s group had rented a lake house in Vermont this past June on an island in the middle of Lake Champlain, where shorebirds and ducklings paddled past.

The thought of relaxing at the firepit in an Adirondack chair with an ice-cold glass of rosé made me salivate, the way my dog does when I pull the lid off the treat jar. Any other time, I would’ve had a glass (or two), but I was trying out sobriety.

For years, I toyed with the idea but couldn’t ever seem to do it until my drinking started to keep me up at night. I tried natural sleep supplements and acupuncture but neither worked.

At 44, I didn’t drink enough to experience major hangovers like I did when I was a journalist in my 20s living in New York City. And though I imbibed nightly during the initial throes of the COVID pandemic, I’d recently cut way back. When I unexpectedly hit perimenopause in my early 40s, my body began reacting to alcohol differently. Even if I had just one glass of wine, I’d wake up multiple times during the night. I suppose I could have avoided those moonlight bathroom trips with a sleeping pill, but that would have only masked the bigger problem: I wanted to quit drinking and couldn’t.

I wrote about my frustration in my journal. Was a Thursday night Grey Goose martini worth the three cappuccinos I’d need to shake off brain fog on Friday morning?

I was not alone in my sudden questioning of a lifelong habit. Elaine Skoulas, a licensed marriage and family therapist based in L.A. who specializes in addiction, said it’s not uncommon to reevaluate your drinking habits as you age.

“Often I hear how much people’s relationship to alcohol changes at different stages in life,” said Skoulas, who has been sober for 12 years. Whether it’s due to aging or a change in metabolism, many people slow down their alcohol consumption as they get older because the negative effects of drinking worsen over time, she said.

But what would quitting do to my personal life? Alcohol was entwined with some of my biggest life milestones. I met my husband at a bar over a Northern Standard cocktail and then wrote about it for Food & Wine magazine. I received a bottle of Vermont WhistlePig rye for my 40th birthday and a Merry Edwards Russian River Pinot as a wedding present. And I did unabashedly love to drink — Miraval rosé under the summer stars, mezcal margaritas on lazy Saturday afternoons, boozy Bloody Marys with scrambled eggs and croissants on Sunday mornings.

If alcohol hadn’t started affecting my sleep, I probably would have never given it up. I didn’t even stop when my husband and I started fertility treatment in 2020. Ordering a cozy whiskey cocktail at my favorite local bar dulled the disappointment of every IVF failure.

I don’t think anyone would have called me an alcoholic, but I knew I had a problem when I realized how often I was writing in my journal about how crappy wine made me feel.

Then last December, an astrologer told me that my chart suggested I could benefit immensely from giving something up. It made me think about how I was only 7 years old when I stopped eating meat. I’d managed to stick with it my entire life.

Could I give up alcohol too? Christmas was just around the corner. I worried that my friendships would suffer. And what would my husband and I do for fun if we couldn’t go to our favorite bar on the weekend?

I finally reached my breaking point in March when I met two friends out for dinner. We all ordered drinks, then spent most of the meal discussing our not-so-great relationship with alcohol. I slept terribly that night and decided the next morning to try and stop for good.

I was tired of feeling guilty for giving my body something that made it miserable, tired of strategizing and rationalizing my alcohol consumption and tired of trying to get my brain to focus with so little sleep.

My husband was supportive, and so were my friends. I was lucky. Skoulas says having a reliable circle of loved ones can make all the difference in staying sober.

“It creates a sense of accountability because if you’re trying to get through an event on your own and nobody knows, of course it’s easier to reach for alcohol than if you have a friend standing next to you who knows that you weren’t planning to drink for the night,” she said.

I couldn’t have picked a worse time to try out sobriety. One week in, I attended a funeral for a woman in my writer’s group, then went out for dinner later that night, where I kept replaying the events of the day. I was grieving her absence, and I urgently needed a drink to take away some of the sadness. I leaned toward my husband.

“Maybe we could split a drink?” I asked.

“Do you really want one?” he replied.

I did. Anything to take away my emotional pain. But then I thought about the next morning. My sadness would still be there, and even harder to process on poor sleep. By the time we saw our waiter again we had finished our meal, and my wave of wanting had passed.

The following weeks were really hard. I was still waking up in the middle of the night, and it felt like I was competing against my own desires. I drank seltzer at weddings and took my 83-year-old father to stressful doctors’ appointments without later unwinding with a martini. When my friend’s fiancée took his own life, I was surrounded by wine bottles strewn across the kitchen counter, but each time I walked out the door stone-cold sober, I could breathe a sigh of relief.

Steve Kobashigawa, a marriage and family therapist based in L.A., said that when you feel a craving come on, do what you need to do to get into a more positive headspace. Call someone, journal or use a mindful drinking app like Sunnyside. Sometimes avoiding alcohol can seem impossible, but staying sober gets “exponentially easier” over time, he said.

“It’s kind of like a jet airliner: It takes a lot of energy to get it up into the sky, but once you get there, it’s much easier to manage,” said Kobashigawa, who specializes in addiction treatment and has been sober for 25 years.

Skoulas advised staying away from places where you used to drink regularly while you set new, healthful patterns and rewire your brain. If you go back to where you used to drink, even if you don’t have alcohol, your brain still experiences some of the more euphoric parts of drinking, which can be triggering.

“When you walk into familiar places, some of those neurotransmitters start to get released,” she said.

I learned that if I’m going to be around drinkers, it’s best to plan ahead. When I went away with my friends to the lake house, I called my local cocktail bar ahead of time and asked if they could make me a nonalcoholic beverage to-go. I felt silly doing it, but they told me that my order wasn’t all that unusual.

I had a great time that weekend, even though I was the only sober one in the group. Sometimes when people ask why I’m not drinking, it’s easier to say that I’m suffering from insomnia than it is to talk about my complicated relationship with alcohol.

Recently, a friend asked why I wasn’t drinking.

“I’m just taking a break,” I said. She responded with a sly smile — she knew I’d tried IVF before.

“I’m not pregnant,” I said, surprised that I could talk about my infertility without getting upset. That’s when I realized how much alcohol — a depressant — had been affecting my mood. A cocktail could only mask the pain for so long. I eventually had to face reality.

Alcohol provides a surge of dopamine and when that’s taken away, you initially might feel sad, but that usually fades within a few months, Kobashigawa said. Sometimes giving up drinking involves anhedonia, which is an inability to find pleasure in the activities you once enjoyed. But you can help avoid that feeling by keeping active.

“If you’re feeling flat, it’s unfortunately part of the recovery process, but try to take a walk or re-engage in the activities that used to be pleasurable for you,” he said.

In a few months, I’m going to Italy on my honeymoon. I had thought I’d want to spend evenings there imbibing with a Super Tuscan wine, but now I’m not so sure. These days, I feel more like myself. I’ve lost weight and have fewer wrinkles. Sobriety, it turns out, is way cheaper than Botox. It’s hard to imagine going back to how things used to be.

I had always thought that if I gave up my weekend martinis, I’d be imprisoned by the desire to drink, but here I am — sober for almost five months. Aside from the occasional craving, I don’t really think about alcohol. I drink raspberry shrub cocktails when I vacation with my girlfriends and go out for ice cream with my husband on the weekends. I’m less anxious and more present in conversations and in the world around me. In sobriety, I actually feel freer than ever.

Betsy Vereckey’s’ debut memoir is forthcoming next summer from Rootstock Publishing. She lives in Vermont with her husband and four boisterous terriers.