The Two Things I’m Giving Up for Lent, And Why It Scares Me

A well-known aspect of Lent is fasting. Often, people associate this with food, but that’s not the kind of fasting I practice anymore. (Incidentally, I don’t think food fasting is always the best choice for women—hormonally, we’re not really wired for it.) Instead, I see fasting as the practice of releasing anything that stands in the way of Christ-likeness or oneness with God. 

It’s not about deprivation for deprivation’s sake. It’s not just a convenient time to try that workout or diet fad you’ve been wanting to experiment with. It’s about creating space, clearing out the noise and distractions so I can hear God more clearly. It’s a sacred opportunity to realign, to shed the things that no longer serve, and to step into something more true. It’s about closeness, removing the obstacles so I can know God on the inside.

I also think it’s beautiful that Lent falls around the spring equinox, a natural time of renewal and rebirth. Just as the Earth begins to thaw and bloom again, we’re invited to do the same. Let things fall away (the beauty of winter) in order to step fully into a fresh start (the beauty of spring). What better time to soften, to break open, to be made new?

What I’m Giving Up and Why

This year for Lent, I am fasting from alcohol and gossip, or any kind of negative talk, but not for the reasons you might think. 

To be clear, I did not choose these because I have a problem with either. I used to be quite the heavyweight drinker, a straight-Jack-Daniels girl, but those days are long behind me. Now, I’ll have a drink if I’m out to dinner or on the occasional night out, but that’s about it. And as for gossip, I don’t have group chats with my girlfriends dissecting people from high school or casually critiquing influencers in Instagram DMs. The people I surround myself with are not the type to bash anyone.

But it still comes up. “So-and-so is driving me crazy.” “I can’t believe what she’s doing.”

It’s a natural and normal part of conversation, but that doesn’t make it right. Honestly, it never bothered me much before. But lately, it hits me like nails on a chalkboard, especially when it’s coming out of my own mouth. And it does.

The truth is, though, this isn’t really about alcohol or gossip at all. 

It’s about something deeper. It’s about my tendency to shape-shift, to accommodate, to be a chameleon in order to maintain connection. It’s about the moments where I abandon the truth of who I am in favor of what feels easier, more acceptable, more seamless. And when I look at my life, these are the two places where I consistently find myself choosing something else over the path I want to walk with Christ. What I mean by that is: when these two things are present, I don’t feel as connected, turned on, or tuned in. Simply, they feel like a personal block between who I am now and the more radiant, graceful, and spiritually connected version of myself that I know I’m called to become.

It’s about the moments where I abandon the truth of who I am in favor of what feels easier, more acceptable, more seamless.

With alcohol, I’m not saying I’ll never drink again. Right now, I don’t feel convicted to give it up forever, and honestly, I probably won’t. Hey, Jesus drank wine, right?

But lately I question whether, when I go to order a drink, it’s because I actually want one or because I feel like that’s what I’m supposed to do. At the end of the day, I don’t want to be living my life that way. I don’t want to make choices just because they’re what’s normal for everyone else or because they’re what I’ve always done in the past. Drinking has been so socialized into so many aspects of life for me that I have to admit—it may be more of an outdated crutch of comfort than something I actually enjoy. And that is the thing I really want to kick. 

Additionally, even though I don't drink often, I notice when I do, I’m far more likely to reach for shallow sources of validation: calling an ex, seeking attention, or chasing a connection that isn’t rooted in truth. And every time I do, I feel worse than if I had just sat with myself and reached for God instead. I don’t want to keep dipping into wells that will never satisfy me when I have access to the only one that can.

As for negative talk, though, I do want to cut it out completely. There’s something about the idea of ‘beautiful speech’ that deeply speaks to me right now. I want my voice to be a source of blessing, not a tool for tearing others down. And just like drinking, negative talk has often felt like a default—a convenient crutch in conversation, something we revert to without even thinking.

I don’t want to keep dipping into wells that will never satisfy me when I have access to the only one that can.

I have a history of feeling desperate to fit in, and I learned young that this was a way to do it. You can make fast friends bonding over the person or thing you both don't like. Fitting in isn’t my highest priority anymore. Looking like everybody else isn’t my highest priority. Though of course, I’m capable of coming up with negative things to say all by myself, and I do, I mostly get stuck here when it’s in conversation with others, when my chameleon comes out. So what would it be like to not join in? Yes, I may stand out. Yes, I probably will feel weird. But what’s on the other side of that?

I don’t know that I can fully step into my highest capacity as a source of beauty and blessing if I also allow negativity to flow from my mouth. And if I truly believe that, I can’t keep compromising on it just because it’s easy, socially acceptable, or a convenient way to connect.

Why This Feels Scary

To put it plainly, I don't know about you, but in my social circles and how I grew up: drinking and talking about other people have always been the norm. It's all in the name of good fun; it's how we relate to each other, how we bond, how we feel a sense of belonging. And honestly, I like to join in on the fun, and I definitely never want to come across as "holier than thou". But the reality is, these things just aren’t fun for me anymore.

But what if it changes how I relate to people? What if it separates me from others?

Or worse, what if I make someone else uncomfortable? 

To be honest, this may well be a reality. I’ve been in situations where I choose not to engage in gossip, and there’s an awkward pause. Or I decide not to drink, and I can see the little flicker of discomfort in someone’s eyes as they hesitate to order their own. These are the moments I’ve been avoiding, the moments where my choice subtly disrupts the unspoken social contract.

But here’s the truth: our perception of what is “accommodating” often reveals an unfair belief about others. In reality, most people would never give push back in response to either of these objectively good decisions. And even if there is that moment of discomfort, we have to give the people in our lives the opportunity to rise—and trust that they will. I don’t actually believe that anyone I care about would say, If you’re not drinking, I don’t want to hang out with you, or If you won’t join in this negative talk, I don’t want to talk to you. And if they did? I’d be grateful to know, because I would seriously question whether that friendship is aligned in the first place.

Lent isn’t just about giving something up, it’s about making space for something greater.

Further, if someone feels uncomfortable having a drink because I’m not, or feels thrown off when I don’t join in on negative talk, that reaction itself is something worth leaning into. Why do we feel uneasy drinking alone? Why do we feel weird when gossip isn’t reciprocated? Those moments of discomfort are invitations for reflection—and I want to stop robbing myself and others of the chance to step into something better.

So in the end, this isn’t really about alcohol or gossip at all. It’s about whether I’m willing to stand in the truth of who I am, even when it feels uncomfortable. It’s about whether I can trust that I will be loved as I am, without needing to bend, mold, or accommodate just to keep the peace. Because I don’t want to live my life blending in—I want to live in a way that reflects the fullness of who God made me to be.

An Invitation to Union

Letting go of these things isn’t easy, especially when they’ve long been woven into social norms. It means sitting in the discomfort of change, risking moments of awkwardness, and trusting that my relationships will adjust, that I will adjust. I’d rather face that discomfort than continue habits that don’t align with the woman I know I’m meant to be.

At the heart of this, Lent isn’t just about giving something up, it’s about making space for something greater. I don’t want my words to carry judgment; I want them to carry blessing. I don’t want my actions to be driven by validation-seeking; I want them to be rooted in the Truth of who I am: an embodiment of our loving God. And I don’t want to keep reaching for what’s familiar when I know I’m being called to something higher.

Maybe you’re not giving up alcohol or gossip, but if you were to take a step back and ask, What is standing in the way of who God made me to be?—what would your answer be?

Because the most beautiful thing about Lent is that it’s not about perfection. It’s about the willingness to try. And you’re not doing it alone. This is a holy season, and the Holy Spirit within you is ready to meet your intention with grace. You set the intention, and God supplies the strength to usher in the change. Transformation isn’t something we force, it’s something we surrender to.

Disclaimer: This is an opinion piece based on the writer's personal journey.