I quit my six-a-day coffee habit. Then my life began to fall apart

2 months ago 16

Opinion

December 28, 2025 — 5.05am

I made a resolution last New Year’s Eve to give up coffee. I only did it because my family had dared me. They are not kill-joys – they said my consumption was excessive and “bad for my health”. The word addiction was bandied about. I thought that was a bit much, maybe there was the odd cup or two that I didn’t need but, overall, I was in control. I could stop any time.

“You will put the coffee bean wholesale market in freefall,” said my son, Andy. The other son, Sam, said my eyes twinkled when I had a cup in hand, but was positive that going cold turkey would be a good move. “What will ignite you now?” my wife Alice asked. “It’s your conversation starter.”

They all agreed I couldn’t stop. I will show them, I thought.

Coffee is one of life’s joys. Could I live without it?

My family may have gotten me in a weak moment; laced by once-a-year champagne. Perhaps excessive pride and trust in my mental faculties may have contributed. The next morning I was the same jolly fellow, I think, to my sons and wife but privately my brain and I had a few conversations. Something like “... you are going to give up coffee, really?” We kept that to ourselves as we watched my family all enjoying large coffees at breakfast. That was mean, I thought.

Prior to my resolution, I drank as much coffee as I could. My day would start with an engine-starting strong espresso and then a strong latte with breakfast. Mid-morning I would have an espresso; then another with lunch, and a latte with dinner. If I was out with friends or family and was asked if I wanted a cup, I would quickly accept the kind offer. I was having five or six cups a day; sometimes more, sometimes less.

Experts often advise no more than about five cups a day, but I wasn’t convinced I was suffering negative effects from all that coffee. I’ve always been a poor sleeper anyway. Some people say too much coffee can make you a bit hyped up, yet I’ve always been a helter-skelter sort of guy. My sons often say there isn’t a moment I wouldn’t be doing something at speed: going up the ladder to check tiles on the roof, cleaning the garage, walking around the block four times at pace, speed reading the paper etc. I just make good use of my time. Chit-chat with the neighbours was quick, my mind buzzing, what’s next?

If you subconsciously label coffee’s effects as anxiety, you might reinforce the trauma.

I love coffee. The smell is intoxicating, almost better than the taste. That first sip. It delights the mouth and leaves you with an “all is good with the world feeling,” however long that lasts.

The first week was difficult. Drinking anything is just a habit I told my family, but my body had more to say about this. The headaches started and became worse as the days dragged on. And they did drag on. A day without coffee seemed like more than 24 hours. I was taking more paracetamol than ever before, I became quite insular, and I was even bad-tempered some of the time. Moi? Andy said I whinged about everything.

A 32-year study of more than 47,000 women has found a link between drinking coffee and healthy ageing.

I began making my opinion known about everything: politics, grocery prices, the driving habits of others, the parking habits of those who reverse into car spaces. A neighbour whistling was driving me bonkers. In a fog I may have said that Tim Winton and Richard Flanagan couldn’t write and that AI wasn’t too bad. The house needed repairs that I didn’t have the time or drive to do.

On January 20, Alice and I were out walking along the local strip. I was hoping I could ignore the cafes full of people happily conversing with a simmering latte or a magic to hand. I wanted my life back – to be part of this coffee culture – while Sam and Andy had told me that morning that living at home had become a nightmare and they wanted their lives back. But I had my pride.

We walked past two cafes but it was the third, Kat’s, that got me. A friend waved me over to his street side table to discuss the latest cricket news. I failed to hear a word he said. A beautiful aroma was wafting through the takeaway window and I may have begun to drool. The sirens had won. I approached the counter and the girl seemed to understand perfectly, welcoming me with “What can I get you?” in a caring way. I reckoned she had seen all this before in the days after New Year’s Eve. Shaky souls seeking release from their demons.

My voice quivering, I delivered the wonderful sentence I’d been waiting 20 days and 20 nights for.

“Could I have double-shot latte, please? Large, three-quarter full.”

The aftermath was better than any perceived failure of not meeting my commitment. Bliss.

I had failed with my resolution but realised that I needed to start listening to health advice if I was to see 70. I’ve since scaled back to three espressos a day and the family seem pleased. Perhaps my experience was the breakthrough I needed.

No more resolutions for me, though. If you have one, I wish you all the best. Just don’t even think about giving up coffee.

Warren Duncan is a Melbourne writer.

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