The Lies Your Brain Tells You on Holiday About Alcohol

Every year around this time I start hearing the same concerns from people who are either newly sober or considering taking a break from alcohol.

“What about my holiday?”

It’s often one of the first things that comes up. It was the same for me for years, holidays and alcohol were intertwined in my mind. In fact, if I’m honest, I probably couldn’t imagine one without the other. The holiday started the second we left home, continued with drinks by the pool or in the local bar, included wine with dinner and usually ended with me returning home feeling as though I needed another holiday to recover from the first one.

The strange thing is that when I look back now, I don’t think I was actually looking forward to alcohol. I think I was looking forward to how I imagined alcohol would make me feel and that’s a subtle but important difference.

Because when we start romanticising drinking on holiday, we’re rarely picturing ourselves lying awake at three in the morning with a racing heart. We’re not remembering the headaches, the dehydration, the arguments, the anxiety or the feeling of being slightly disappointed in ourselves. Instead, we’re remembering the first sip of a cold drink in the sunshine. We’re remembering the laughter…the sea views and the feeling of switching off. We’re tapping into the feeling of being carefree.

Something I’ve really noticed in sobriety and now I’ve gained distance is that alcohol often takes credit for experiences that were often enjoyable anyway. I had started to realise that drinking at home on the sofa was one thing (and it was worrying me long before I actually stopped). But drinking a glass of wine while overlooking the sea always felt sophisticated to me. It was just what you did. Drinking because I was stressed was one thing but drinking because I was on holiday was entirely different or at least that’s what I told myself.

Looking back, I can see that my body didn’t seem to share that opinion. Alcohol affected me exactly the same way whether I was drinking in Herefordshire, Cornwall or anywhere else in the world. My sleep still suffered, my energy still dropped, I struggled to stay awake mid afternoon and my mood was still affected. The only thing that really changed was the backdrop.

I think that’s one of the first lies our brains tell us on holiday the idea that somehow it doesn’t count. This is what I call the holiday loophole.

It’s as though boarding a plane temporarily suspends reality. Or if you’re staying in the UK then packing up and driving down the motorway switches you into holiday mode and the rules that applied at home no longer apply.

It’s fascinating when you think about it. We don’t apply that logic to anything else. We don’t stop wearing sunscreen because we’re on holiday. We don’t stop taking medication because we’re on holiday. We don’t suddenly decide that consequences have ceased to exist because we’re in a different country or on a break...

Yet when it comes to alcohol, many of us become remarkably skilled at creating exceptions.

I don’t actually think this is because people desperately want alcohol, I think it’s because people want a break from thinking about alcohol. If you’ve spent months or years trying to change your relationship with drinking, there can be a real temptation to simply hand the decision over for a week and that’s the tempting bit. To stop questioning, stop trying, stop analysing and to stop being the person who is doing things differently to everyone else. To forget sobriety just for a bit.

Another holiday favourite is the all-inclusive argument and I purposely won’t even book an all inclusive holiday now for this very reason. I have had my fair share over the years.

I’ve heard it from clients countless times and I’ve thought it myself.

“It’s all inclusive!”

“I’ve paid for it.”

“I may as well.”

When you really stop and examine it, it’s quite funny. Nobody approaches the dessert buffet with that same level of determination to stack their plates high. Nobody insists on eating six puddings because they’re included in the package. Nobody deliberately stays in the sun until they’re burnt because sunshine is free, yet somehow alcohol gets elevated into this category where consuming more of it feels like good value for money. Sod the hangover… we’ve paid for it!

The reality is that the holiday costs exactly the same whether you drink ten cocktails or none at all. The money has already left the bank account so drinking more doesn’t suddenly make the holiday better value. In fact, when I look back honestly at some of my drinking holidays, alcohol often made the holiday worse value.

It meant mornings spent feeling tired and there were often days where I couldn’t quite be bothered. It meant wanting an afternoon nap and falling asleep by the pool instead of exploring somewhere new that I’d paid a fortune to visit. It also meant entire chunks of the holiday revolving around where and when I could drink next.

And that’s perhaps one of the biggest things sobriety has shown me. Alcohol has an extraordinary ability to become the main event while convincing us it’s merely an accessory.

I remember years ago believing that alcohol made me more sociable on holiday. I would always have tales of talking until the small hours with another couple. In fact I’d sit and chat for hours and once we started motorhoming that sociable element increased even more. There is always someone happy to hand you a beer while they talk about their home on wheels. That was something Dale loved to do… I could lose him for hours on a campsite. But I did it too and alcohol seemed to mean that I’d laugh more and I’d feel more relaxed. Looking back, though, I think I was confusing alcohol with the environment. I was on holiday so I wasn’t relaxed because of the wine… I was relaxed because I wasn’t working. I wasn’t laughing because of the cocktails, I was laughing because I was spending time with people I loved.

Alcohol was standing in the middle of the experience collecting credit for things it hadn’t actually created. And that’s something I’ve noticed a hell of a lot since going sober at all times of the year, not just holidays.

I think that’s why the “everyone else is doing it” argument can feel so powerful too.

You look around a resort and it appears as though everybody has a drink in their hand because very often they do. They’re following that same script that you’re told you should.

For years I looked at other people and assumed they had a relationship with alcohol that I didn’t with envy. I wanted to be a ‘take or leave it’ drinker that could have one occasionally. I thought that all these other people had somehow mastered something that I hadn’t.

The longer I’ve worked in this field and the more conversations I’ve had, the more I’ve realised how little we actually know about other people’s experiences. We don’t see the truth because people don’t often talk about their internal reality and they’re often not even honest with themselves. We see a cocktail in somebody’s hand and create an entire narrative around it. We assume they’re carefree, happy and having this glorious time.

What we don’t see is the anxiety they might wake up with at three in the morning and we don’t see the arguments or the regrets. We don’t see the promises they make to themselves after the third glass or the mental gymnastics taking place behind the scenes in their head. We’re comparing our internal reality to this projection of what we imagine and the truth is we can never know. Maybe this is their reality or maybe it isn’t. But we mustn’t let it sway us because that’s rarely a fair comparison.

Another one of the thoughts that catches a lot of people out is the idea that a holiday should feel special.

It’s such a deeply ingrained belief that we hardly question it. Somewhere along the line many of us absorbed the message that special occasions require alcohol. Birthdays require alcohol. Weddings require alcohol. Christmas requires alcohol. Holidays require alcohol.

As though all these beautiful experiences somehow needs enhancing and I believed that for years too. What I’ve discovered since getting sober is that the holiday was already special.

The sea doesn’t become more beautiful because I had a glass of wine in my hand, the sunset isn’t improved by alcohol and the conversation isn’t improved by alcohol. In fact all of those things become soft focus and a bit messy.

In many ways, sobriety has allowed me to experience those things more fully because my attention isn’t constantly being pulled towards alcohol. I’m not wondering whether I should have another drink. I’m not thinking about where the next one is coming from. I’m not negotiating with myself. My attention is where it should be, which is on the holiday itself.

About Louisa

Louisa Evans is a UK-based practitioner specialising in behaviour change and helping people change their relationship with alcohol. With a background in Cognitive Behavioural Hypnotherapy and a Master’s degree in Psychology, she combines psychological understanding with practical, compassionate support to help people build self-trust, develop healthier habits and create lasting change.

Her work is informed by psychology, cognitive behavioural approaches and hypnotherapy, with a focus on making complex ideas accessible and practical. Alongside her one-to-one work, Louisa is the creator of online courses, a podcast and educational resources designed to help people understand themselves better and make meaningful, sustainable changes in their lives.

She is a Graduate Member of the British Psychological Society (BPS), a Senior Member and Registered Supervisor with the ACCPH, and a registered member of the General Hypnotherapy Register (GHR). Through her clinical work, writing and teaching, she has supported thousands of people to build confidence, strengthen resilience and create lasting change.

You can find out more at www.louisaevans.com.