What happened when I gave up coffee
Coffee is the first thing I think about in the morning. It fuels my creativity and offers a welcome sense of normalcy when everything else goes haywire—hi, global pandemic. Of all the things I could consider giving up, that morning routine isn’t one of them. And it includes coffee. It just does.
I have never related to a GIF more. Besides, without coffee, I get headaches. Big ones.
So when the well-intentioned health advice of a friend attempting to soothe my sleepless nights and frequent anxiety came along, I balked at even the thought of giving up my daily ritual—and the challenge of getting through even a day without it. But one morning after tossing and turning (read: worrying) all night, I decided to go cold turkey—that is, green tea instead.
For an entire week, I swapped that dark, bitter, wonderful pour-over for a watery (but admittedly, kind of nice) cup of Trader Joe’s Green & Mint tea.
At first, the difference wasn’t obvious—still a hot drink the AM, a steaming companion to tackle the daily journal, the inbox, the to-do list, the finance check and the news (gulp). With about 26 milligrams of caffeine versus coffee’s cool 150, I survived my first few hours with almost no complaint.
Then came the headaches. What started as a dull sensation around lunchtime became dizzying by 4PM. By five, I was out of commission. By eight, it was lights-out, sleep mask on, headphones in—dozing off to an audiobook or podcast to distract from the discomfort.
But something amazing happened: I slept all night, soundly and more deeply than I had in years. That sleep helped me stick with my no-coffee goal for an entire week.
In terms of our mental health, sleep can be its closest companion—and its most brutal enemy. While there’s still a great deal to learn about the connection, according to Harvard Health: “…neuroimaging and neurochemistry studies suggest that a good night's sleep helps foster both mental and emotional resilience, while chronic sleep deprivation sets the stage for negative thinking and emotional vulnerability.” It makes sense: a lot of mental healing happens when your head hits the pillow.
My coffee habit began during the most difficult time of my life. I was 20 years old, living alone in New York City, dancing at Alvin Ailey as a scholarship student (where you have to re-audition every semester to keep your spot), working the various side jobs that come along with dancing (mine were nannying, hostessing and teaching dance), completing my Bachelor’s at night, and dealing with some tough family drama that proved perilous to my mental health. Studying late into the night and waking up with a 45-minute commute into the dance studio, caffeine became my best friend.
Around that time I became somewhat of a self-help enthusiast while reading The Miracle Morning by Hal Elrod. It’s about making time for those self-help practices that all our loftiest intentions tell us we’ll do “sometime”—like journaling, meditating, exercising, affirmations and visualization. Elrod advises that these practices are perhaps even more important than sleep, because of the tremendous positive impact they have on your life when you do them every day; to which the compelling counter-argument is, of course, so does a good night’s sleep.
Still, that book had a profound effect on my mental health. By meditating, journaling and sticking to those activities every morning, I had a toolbox for dealing with even the lowest of lows—accompanied by a cup of coffee, of course. It was a game-changer. I talked about the morning routine to anyone who’d listen, preferably over a second cup of joe. That’s how my wellbeing, my identity and my morning coffee became so intrinsically linked, and maybe why it took a global pandemic to dismantle it.
I encountered all of these feelings during my week of headaches, and as they lessened and I brought a little matcha into my mornings (more caffeine than regular tea, less of a buzz and crash than a cup of coffee). Bringing coffee back wasn’t nearly as satisfying—now, if I drink two cups, the jitters are unwelcome and irritating. But I’ll have a cup in moderation some mornings, and am grateful for that too.
That feeling of self-awareness is a powerful one. Knowing what works for my body, noticing what works and what doesn’t, and acting accordingly—that’s the real picture of health in my book. While I might not always get it right, it’s the awareness that counts. What I learned: sometimes switching it up might be uncomfortable, but your body pays you back tenfold.