Content note: this article contains references to alcohol abuse that readers may find upsetting.

My relationship with alcohol started when I was 14, or probably before. But my early to mid-teens was certainly when it became a regular feature in my life. The relationship has been a difficult one ever since.

What started out as teenage rebellion became a way to cope with stress. Over the years, I’ve tried to stop countless times – never getting past day six. 

In 2019, I underwent a medical detox, which meant being sedated for a week while the alcohol left my system and I got over the worst of the withdrawals. I was treated with Librium – a benzodiazepine, which basically knocked me out – to lessen my risk of potentially life-threatening seizures. It worked for a while, but then I started sneakily drinking again when times got tough. 

It didn’t take long to be back at square one. 

I went to great lengths to hide it from everyone around me, including my husband. I had failed and I was so ashamed. I would walk to the supermarket, buy some vodka and drink it before I got home. Sometimes I would put it in a drinks bottle and pretend I was having water. I hid empty bottles all over the house. 

Things came to a head after a boozy night out. I had put away two bottles of wine and a 70cl bottle of vodka before I’d even left home. Then I spent £65 at the bar, still wanting more after closing time. During my drinking frenzy, I had gone out with no tights, the wrong shoes and had forgotten to do my dress up at the back. Yet I thought I looked great as I danced the night away, two double rum and Cokes in hand.

I had also called and texted people while drunk, including work colleagues and my boss, and said some very inappropriate things. I’d also stolen four of the pub’s glasses. These things I didn’t realise until the next day. I woke up to pictures of me in my drunken state on Facebook. Not a good look.

Facing up to the reality of my behaviour the next morning wasn’t the only shock to the system. Realising I felt perfectly fine after putting away more than 70 units of alcohol was scary. Something had to give, or it was going to kill me.  

Deciding to stop is the easy bit. Recovery is an ongoing process, and staying on the wagon is tough. Alcohol is everywhere. And when something has been such a huge part of your life for so long, it’s hard to break the habit.

I had tried everything – the detox, counselling, recovery groups, self-help books and journals. I had even considered rehab. I had sought out countless psychologists and counsellors to try to get to the bottom of why I was drinking. Every hour I had spent talking with professionals and peers about drink and all the reasons why I shouldn’t – and wasn’t allowed to – just had me heading for the nearest off-licence as soon as the sessions were over. 

I’d read about alcohol’s carcinogenic properties and how it increases the risk of mouth, throat, stomach, pancreatic, liver and bowel cancer. I certainly considered this when I next had a drink: cancer is a sobering thought. Instead of tasting the dark fruit, liquorice and vanilla notes of my favourite shiraz, I tasted alcohol. And yet, it didn’t stop me. 

I knew that alcohol is a highly addictive drug, affecting record numbers of people. I challenged my own excuses for drinking: stress, anxiety, not feeling confident in social situations, wanting to have fun at a party. But I wouldn’t hand my children a can of beer if they felt stressed or anxious, yet I continued to normalise it by telling myself that it’s part of adulthood – it’s acceptable, it’s sophisticated.

But, trust me, there’s nothing sophisticated about hiding hangovers and empty wine bottles. 

I was in turmoil. I felt like nothing could stop me from drinking. I would calm down for a while then return to my old ways. I was filled with anxiety – about my health, about my finances, about my family and not being there for their future. The only thing that would take that feeling away was another drink.

I couldn’t sleep without it. And I felt like I couldn’t cope or function without it. Yet I had screwed up countless jobs and relationships because of it. 

Then something clicked.

I finally made the connection: the key was self-love. I didn’t love myself enough to stop. I wasn’t practising self-care. I had been using alcohol to beat myself up – a form of self-harm. I had to love myself and my life so much that I didn’t want to drink. 

I followed a few sobriety influencers on Instagram to find out how they got dry. I let all their motivational quotes and stories sink in. I wasn’t alone in this. I started to believe in the hashtag #WeDoRecover.

I began to focus on what I wanted my life to look like and how I wanted to feel. Instead of looking to the future, I started to concentrate on one day at a time. The thought of never drinking again can seem overwhelming; not drinking today feels much more manageable.

Feeling good and becoming my own best friend became a priority. I had to allow myself the same compassion I had for other people. I had to forgive myself.

So, I sat with my feelings and I let them go. I started to take care of myself – really take care of myself. I started to do things just for me: I ate well, I read fiction rather than self-help books and I took pride in my appearance. I exercised and created a space where I could really relax. I repaired relationships with my family and I finally found peace within myself. 

I will always be in recovery but, for now, I’m enjoying life without alcohol – one day at a time. 

Frame Of Mind is Stylist’s home for all things mental health and the mind. From expert advice on the small changes you can make to improve your wellbeing to first-person essays and features on topics ranging from autism to antidepressants, we’ll be exploring mental health in all its forms. You can check out the series home page to get started.

Images: courtesy of Lynda Hamilton