Why I Gave Up Giving Up
Lent's Battle Against My Vices
Everyone has a vice - an indulgence that refuses to be tamed. Problem being, we only overdo the things we really, really like. Vices are fun, which is precisely why they’re so hard to resist. No-one lies awake at night, wracked with guilt cos they’re eating too much kale.
Me? My name’s Sharon, and I spend too much time on my mobile phone (those dog videos aren’t going to watch themselves), drink more than I probably should, and will wrestle anyone for a cheesy Wotsit.
But with Lent upon us (for the heathens among you, that’s the season of self-denial, or at least a performance of willpower) we're expected to prove our restraint by giving up something we enjoy for 40 days. If, like me, you grew up in an Irish Catholic household, you probably spent that time treating chocolate digestives as the ultimate enemy - an easy win, of course, since the fine print never actually banned Cadbury Buttons or the occasional sneaky Rich Tea biscuit.
That said, I do admire anyone with the willpower to quit a bad habit. Back in the ‘80s, my mum gave up smoking. No nicotine patches, no detestable vapes - just sheer stubbornness and cold, hard turkey. That same year, I heroically gave up sugar in my tea - yes, I know, hardly Gandhi’s salt march, but a condiment step in the right direction, nonetheless.
Not that I haven’t displayed remarkable restraint in the past. Take the time I went on a diet. To give you some context: I clung to my childhood puppy fat well into my teens. Food was everything. During breakfast, I planned lunch. At lunch, I dreamt of what Mum was cooking for dinner. And during dinner… Well, you get the idea.
I will soon write a post dedicated to my relationship with food, but for now, I’ll just say this - when I finished secondary school, I made a concerted effort to diet. And I was good at it. Too good. The weight fell off, thanks to Lean Cuisine and a daily dose of Mad Lizzie. By the time I started Sixth Form Centre, I was unrecognisable. But did I stop obsessing over food? Quite the opposite. In fact, I became fixated on not eating, constantly calculating calories, measuring portions, and feeling guilty when I strayed from my routine. What started as a way to take control over my body turned into a mental game, where the obsession over my food choices replaced the need for balance or enjoyment.
And that’s why, when it comes to cutting out alcohol or other indulgences, I have to be cautious. Because if I gave up one thing, I’d likely replace it with something else. I’d become hyper-focused, convinced that anything less than perfection was a failure. That’s not freedom; that’s just another way of setting myself up for a different kind of obsession.
Which is exactly why I refuse to jump on the latest bandwagon encouraging us all to turn against drinking. Sure, abstinence sounds appealing - a noble, healthy exercise in self-restraint, but for someone like me, it's the road to endless mind games. I'd rather acknowledge that I enjoy my indulgences, flaws and all, than set myself up for another cycle of guilt and excess.
My husband, on the other hand, has taken a more measured approach. After completing Dry January, he’s cut back significantly and feels better for it. We both drank like everyone else did back in the day - bingeing without a second thought. While we're far from heavy drinkers now, I admit to the compelling health benefits of moderation, but go teetotal? Nahh. Not because I don’t see the appeal, but because I take umbrage with the way abstinence is being nudged upon us.1
In my humble opinion, Governments and public health bodies aren’t just advising people to drink less; they’re methodically engineering an environment where alcohol is becoming inconvenient, expensive, and increasingly frowned upon.
Drinking less might be good for our health, but it comes at a cost - fewer venues for live music,2 fewer places to gather, and a gradual erosion of the social fabric that once thrived in pubs and gig spaces. Which is why I REFUSE to give up booze for Lent, and why I will continue to support the pub3 and gig trade…. So, what of other vices?
I recently read
’s wonderful piece on breaking her smartphone addiction. Her success made me reflect on my mobile habits. Living as I do in Australia, I’m heavily reliant on WhatsApp to keep in touch with family and friends back in Blightly. Plus, like most of us on this platform, I have become addicted to Substack, and whereas I am slowly weaning myself off the passive aggressive sandpit that is Facebook, Instagram is harder - I can waste valuable hours watching dogs talking, cats looking evil, or donkeys playing with inflatable balls.
These are lame excuses, I know. I could delete social media, and use the phone for calls and texts only. I KNOW. But I won’t. I’m just too weak. May God have mercy on my soul.
That leaves us with crisps. Let me try and explain to you what these devilishly moreish snacks mean to me.
Crisps are EVERYTHING. From a young age, I was a Golden Wonder girl, shovelling packet after packet into my mouth as fast as my chubby little fingers could carry them. No moment was ever truly complete without a bag in hand. Case in point: I recently flicked through my old Mandy annuals and found empty crisp wrappers - mostly Sainsbury’s multipack - tucked between the pages. My poor mother, faced with the impossible task of funding my habit, eventually made me downgrade to supermarket own brand – failing that, find a second job.
Wotsits played a starring role too. Still do. In fact, their absence in Australia nearly made me reconsider the entire move. Frazzles, Skips, Hula Hoops, Monster Munch, Quavers - I devoured them all. The only exception? Chipsticks. To this day, I remain steadfastly opposed to Salt & Vinegar flavour.
Some people hold chocolate in high regard, but I can take it or leave it. Chocolate depends on your mood, your day, and crucially, must be accompanied by a cup of tea. Crisps, however, are the ultimate 24/7 snack - always ready to satisfy your salty cravings, no conditions attached.
As I got older, the King of Irish crisps, Tayto, reigned supreme, although the now discontinued Brannigan’s Beef & Mustard held an honourable second place.
I’ve gone on a bit, haven’t I?
Some might call it an obsession. Not that I haven’t tried to quit. Two years ago, I loudly declared to anyone who would listen that I was giving up crisps for Lent. I lasted three days. In my defence, I don’t class tortilla chips as crisps (nor should you), but apparently, they were deemed structurally too similar, and I was swiftly excommunicated from the Lenten martyr group.
The world might tell us to exercise willpower, to make better choices - but those indulgences, whether they’re a cheeky drink, a dog video binge, or a salty snack, are what make us human. They’re our little rebellions, our escape, and our way of keeping things interesting in an otherwise ordered (and uncertain) world.
I may not be joining the latest wave of abstainers, but I’m fine with that. After all, if we don’t allow ourselves a few pleasures, big or small, what’s the point?
Thanks to those who read and enjoyed a love letter to my tatty old sofa, below;
And I’m especially grateful to those who reached out after reading my tribute to Glynis. My much loved, much missed hen.
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https://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/pii/S0277953619303818#:~:text=Examples%20of%20these%20nudges%20include,evidence%20for%20effectiveness%20is%20presented.
https://www.theguardian.com/music/2024/may/01/the-zoo-brisbane-live-music-venue-closing-fortitude-valley-stranded
https://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/2025/02/04/leave-booze-alone-keir-all-we-have-left-pubs-hospitality/
A fun read, Sharon. There's something in the air today. Maybe because it's Lent, which hadn't occurred to me till you mentioned it! I've just written about my teenage/early 20s food obsession. Look forward to reading more about yours.
Everything in moderation. If you can DO moderation!
Well, that's the second Substack I've read today about food and obsessions with it. Re Lent, I haven't given up anything for many years, but felt slight Catholic guilt as I finished up yesterday's pancake battle for breakfast. On Ash Wednesday! Gluten-free and lactose-free for me, as a coeliac, only diagnosed 4 years, suffering symptoms for 20 years. Lately, I've been told my cholesterol is high, and have been told to cut down on carbs. I have become obsessed with it, reserving treats for weekends (and pancake day, and Ash Wednesday breakfast) and it's rather miserable. My diet is restricted enough already. I also have to keep my calcium intake high, as coeliacs have a high risk of osteoporosis. So lower your cholesterol and eat lots of cheese, milk and yogurt (lactose-free)? What's a girl to do?