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19/08/2025
Dry July has always been a concept I was vaguely aware of. As a teenager, I thought of it as a mid-year wellness challenge where you cut out alcohol and reset for the second half of the year. It wasn’t until a few years ago that I realised its deeper purpose: raising funds for cancer research.
A friend of mine, who had lost her Mum to cancer, took part first. That inspired me. Last year, I decided to give it a go, since sadly my Dad had been diagnosed with brain cancer the previous September. Dry July felt meaningful — a way to care for my own health while supporting families going through similar heartache. Dry July can be about so much more than giving up alcohol. It’s a way to honour loved ones, support those in need, address personal challenges, conduct experiments and reflect on what truly matters.
Beyond personal health, Dry July is about fundraising, and that’s where the impact really hit home for me. My initial goal was $500, which I met before July even began. Feeling ambitious, I bumped it up to $1,000 — and thanks to a special match day from the Dry July Foundation, donations were doubled. I ended up raising $1,358, surpassing my initial goal and last year’s total of $866.
Choosing the Mark Hughes Foundation as my focus added extra meaning. Their support for brain cancer patients and families, from psychological care to navigating daily challenges, mirrored the kind of help my family needed. Contributing in this way felt deeply satisfying, a way to turn a personal challenge into something that mattered to others.
Socially, Dry July was a mixed bag. There were nights when I felt left out. At one party, everyone else was merrily drinking, and I was on my third can of Diet Coke. I ended up leaving early, feeling the familiar FOMO on the shared fun.
Other times, it was easier. A dinner with school friends was relaxed as some were drinking, some weren’t, and having a mocktail didn’t feel isolating. Context mattered. Casual dinners, family meals, or small gatherings were surprisingly simple, whereas big, celebratory parties were tougher to navigate.
As a singer and actor, I frequently star in shows and productions. Therefore I was also curious about the potential effects on my voice. I was in a vocally demanding musical showing at the end of July, and conventional wisdom constantly reminds you that alcohol is bad for vocal health. There’s a long list of supposed culprits like cold water, coffee and dairy, but I wanted to test it for myself.
I booked in for Dry July partly as an experiment. Would abstaining help my vocal performance? The short answer: not really. By the last week of July, I got sick, and my vocal health was no better or worse than usual. It seems the benefits of avoiding alcohol are more immediate — like not drinking the day before a performance. Dehydration and social shouting do strain your vocal cords, so skipping a night out before performing does help, but a whole month of Dry July didn’t make a noticeable difference in my case.
Dry July taught me more than I expected. Abstaining from alcohol doesn’t magically transform your vocal cords, and social events still present tricky moments. But it does offer perspective - a chance to reflect on habits, push comfort zones, and engage with a cause bigger than yourself.
It’s also shown me the power of community. People who donate, friends who cheer you on, and the family support networks for cancer patients remind you that you’re not alone. Even a small action such as saying yes to Dry July, can ripple out in meaningful ways.
I’ve realised that Dry July isn’t just a one-month challenge; it’s a lesson in ongoing mindfulness. It’s about making choices, supporting causes, and noticing how little changes can impact your well-being and those around you. For me, it became a personal checkpoint, a way to navigate life with intention, and a reminder that even small acts of care towards yourself or others are often worth celebrating.
This year, I’m looking forward to building on those lessons, staying mindful of my habits, and continuing to support causes close to my heart. Dry July may end, but the impact, both personal and communal, lasts far longer.
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