Lent kicked off last week and while it doesn't loom as large as it did when you were a kid with your Trocaire box and a dream Irish people still tend towards giving something up for the 40 days and nights, except for Paddy's Day. Or Sundays. Or your birthday.
So wether or not you managed to get yizzer ashes last Wednesday or not what you choose to give up for this time of restraint says a lot more about you than you might think. Here’s our completely scientific breakdown:
You’ve been threatening to delete them for months. Or you've been deleting and then re-downloading in shameful secret every time you hit that 3rd glass of wine or you can't stand the new map on Warfare. Lent is finally giving you the excuse to break free from the cursed carousel of Grindr/Tinder/Bumble/Hinge openers and ghosting cycles. You tell yourself you want to “meet people in real life,” but really, you just need some enforced boundaries before your screen time hits ‘full-time job’ levels. Your friends are placing bets on how long it takes before you ‘just check’ to see if you got any good matches since. You've signed up for the singles run club, hiking group or speed dating in Mc Gowans. Who knows. Maybe this time? By Easter Sunday you'll either be locked down or emotionally renewed and ready to be disappointed all over again.
You started vaping as a ‘healthier alternative’ to smoking, but here we are: you haven’t touched a cigarette in years, yet you’re hitting your Lost Mary harder than a teen in a shopping centre car park. Now, with bans on the horizon and new studies suggesting your lungs might be coated in mystery bubblegum mist, you’re finally calling it quits. But let’s be real—by Easter, you’ll be ‘just holding it for a mate’ outside a pub, and we’ll all watch you take a massive pull, followed by an exhale so big it could set off the fire alarm.
You’ve taken the moral high ground, and you want everyone to know it. You aced Dry Jan and you need that high again, or at least the high horse. You bring it up in every conversation: “Yeah, I’m off the booze for Lent,” followed by a self-satisfied smile.
Your Insta content full of kombucha and saunas. We get it. Your liver gets it. We hope you’re happy with yourself cos no one else cares.
This was your first introduction to Lent when you were seven, and you’ve stuck with it ever since. You still buy an Easter egg for yourself on April 1st and inhale it in under 20 minutes. You tell yourself you’re doing it for discipline, but really, you just want to feel like you're being virtuous by choosing the plain digestives over chocolate fingers with your tea.
Some people are savoury snackers. You're likely mad into picky bits, mammy salads, and small plates. Yes you've sworn off Tayto, but suddenly, you’re eating a lot of popcorn. Or salted nuts. Or cheese and onion rice cakes. You haven’t really quit anything, you’ve just rebranded. If you work in an office, you have absolutely made a PowerPoint slide about ‘alternative snack options’ and sent it around in an email that nobody asked for. You're definitely eating more chipper this month than usual so you get that potato fix.
This is less a Lenten sacrifice and more an overdue intervention. You opened your banking app, saw the app transactions stacked up like a food pyramid of shame, and thought, “Maybe it’s time.” Do chairde are watching your journey with bated breath. We’re rooting for you, but we have a feeling you’ll break by the weekend. If you don't you'll definitely manage to book that trip to Berlin you never seem to be able to save up for.
You have a full life, congratulations. You’re not posting about your sacrifice because you’re too busy actually living. You have plans, hobbies, possibly a fulfilling relationship. You probably didn’t even know Pancake Tuesday had happened until you saw a rogue crepe on someone’s story.
You’re a performative anti-establishment warrior. You think Lent is “a relic of outdated Catholic guilt,” and you say this, loudly, in a pub where everyone else is quietly ordering Guinness and rolling their eyes at you when you suggest 'splitting the G'. You probably have a podcast, or have been planning to start one for three years but never get round to it. You have a bad manicure in a way you think is cute and alternative but actually looks like you never moved on from Skins. You always bring up
The hygienist read you to filth at your last check-up, and this is your half-hearted attempt to show some responsibility. You have such a chronic sweet tooth literally everyone notices when you don't have a bag of jellies in your hand. You however white knuckle your way through it because you are desperate to avoid another appointment where you get shamed over the state of your molars. Plus you know deep in your soul that this is over due.
Look, we’re all praying for you, because this is the one that actually matters. Your friends are watching closely, hoping you make it past the two-week mark. But we all know how this ends: one ‘cheeky drag’ at 2am outside a club, followed by a bummed smoke on Paddy’s Day, followed by a full relapse by the end of March. Godspeed.
You’re the person who derails every lighthearted conversation in the pub with “But have you considered the wider political implications?” You treat TikTok drama like a courtroom battle. Your WhatsApp voice notes are five minutes long, minimum. This Lent, you’ve realised that maybe—just maybe—the world doesn’t need your hot takes 24/7. We thank you for your service, but also, good luck with the withdrawal shakes.
You’re not giving up, you’re ‘adding in.’ You’ve decided to do daily gratitude journaling, or cold showers, or some obscure form of medieval fasting. You’re halfway to selling a lifestyle subscription box. Your friends are exhausted. You’ll be unbearable by Easter, but at least you’ll have glowing skin.
You can’t cope with it, you can’t cope without it, and frankly, it’s a nightmare for everyone around you. By day three, your colleagues are avoiding eye contact. By day five, your local barista has put out a missing person’s alert. You’re playing a dangerous game, mainlining tea or mushroom coffee substitutes for the first few days. Then convincing yourself decaff doesn’t count before allowing yourself “Just one oat flat white.”
