Alcohol was my friend and my go to when I needed to feel more fun, to figure anything out, to relax, to tap into my well hidden confidence and give me that sense that I was enough and so was the life I was living. Fizz Fridays were booked in my mind’s weekly diary and the double pint emoji was my most used, ahead of a love heart and the one slapping their own forehead. Drinking alcohol and I were in it together, accompanied each other on holiday, to festivals, on girlie nights in and those very much out out. We were there for each other through the high flying days and the depths of despair nights - never did I have a spark of interest of breaking up with something so pivotal to many a day, evening, weekend or holiday. No way.

 

Until, the harsh reality of my highly dependent and very much one-sided relationship started to hurt. The spark was lit and began to crackle and I became slowly more and more aware of myself, who I was and what I wanted. I couldn’t really remember details of nights out, which was always hilarious in my 20’s as friends and I would piece each others memories back together the (late) morning after the night before whilst watching the Hollyoaks omnibus with toast praying not to throw up. It even raised a smile when out, ‘blowing away the cobwebs,’ from the afternoon before spent in the pub garden / the evening out for dinner that turned into expensive taxi rides to wherever was open / night in binge watching bloody prison break. Yes, I could watch the whole of season one easily again to fill in the many gaps!

 

Travelling and working in gyms took up most of those 20 something years of mine and many of my memories are filled in thanks to pre-social media photos stuck into photo albums. I was a personal trainer, a spinning instructor, runner and yoga enthusiast and thrived on early mornings after late nights. I’d ‘sweat out,’ the alcohol on a treadmill and pray I could manage inverting in a downward dog without passing out. I saw beautiful sunsets and walked along incredible beaches. I ate in spectacular cafe’s and swam in many a rooftop pool. I met wonderfully interesting people and had the coolest jobs (yachts are very cool!). I know I did all these things as I was there, I’ve seen the photos and described the scenes. My body was in these places, doing these things, having fun at work, learning Spanish, being everything to everyone. But my mind, breath and heart just weren’t connecting with my body and each other. I was many separate, moving parts with a buzzy brain and self-worth completely reliant upon what others thought about how I looked, how I behaved and what I bought to the table. 

 

My 30’s looked different. I got a ‘proper’ job as a school teacher, had 2 incredible little humans and bought a house. Grown up and sorted. Drinking came with me into this new decade and our bond became even stronger and tighter through a heart squashing break up and entering a whole new world of single Mum-ness. Not in my plan. Thirty Six with two girls under 4, a big house to ‘keep on top of’ and a body and mind that I had very little connection to. Sad and lonely yet wanting those around me to think I would be better than ever. I seemed to skip the whole healing part of a break up and stuck myself into survival mode to get through and alcohol was once again there for me, my ever reliable wing woman to power through & show me good times were there to be had. A haze of hangovers, drinking, total mum frustration and guilt, part time school teacher life, late nights and foggy mornings ensued but I was absolutely fine. I was fine because balancing out the blurry, achy everyday life were good times too and I’m so grateful to those times and those people being a part of them to give me a little stability. I was a ‘good’ drinker, fun and friendly. The instigator and the yes person, so when I realised that I had had one hangover too many, didn’t want the headaches or the shame inducing message scrolling ready to apologise or deny knowledge of any drunken chats or actions, I didn’t tell anyone. 

 

I failed twice at stopping drinking. Once just after turning 40 (now a yoga teacher) and another a year later. I had no one telling me to stop or suggesting I may be happier without drink. I actually had people I felt I would be letting down if I didn’t drink anymore. I stopped and I started until I flew back from a mini holiday. One that had required extreme logistical planning to get my girls looked after. Landing home feeling awful and regretful that I had the potential to have the very best of experiences, in stunning locations but I was either drunk, felt sick or had a banging headache. I posted happy photos and shared my travel insights and wonder at the places I got to practice yoga in. It was a Wednesday morning right in the middle of October that turned out to be the day I would count my sober days from. That was two years ago. Two years of healing the hurt that I raced through with the help of Prosecco, Pinot Grigio, Hendricks and Peroni. Hurt from my teenage years all the way through to that break up and becoming a single Mum. I’d love to say that eliminating alcohol from my days, nights and thoughts lifted it all at speed and gave me back that connection, hope, joy, health and happiness that I didn’t even really realise I’d lost. I’d love to share how giving up alcohol made total sense and I never looked back but that would be a bit pink clouds of me. I missed it, I missed who I was with it, I missed the (false) confidence it filled me with and I missed the experiences with friends and family that happened under the influence. Like all toxic relationships that end, it takes time, friends, self-care, harsh truths, rest and self-love to get over it. Apps that tracked my dry days helped, being honest with those around me helped, alcohol free drinks helped and replacing drinking experiences with new ones without a fizz Friday in sight, helped. As did the knowledge and trust that I didn’t need to be the last one at any party or event to prove I was still fun without alcohol, I learnt that I’d be more tired without the alcohol buzz so could just leave. In fact, I didn’t need to go to stuff I didn’t want to go to in the first place. I could wake up with a clear head, some motivation and get to that yoga class, spin session, tea in the garden with my loves or to my journal. I began to breathe. Properly breathe.

 

It’s only on reflection typing into my laptop looking out at my lovely little garden, with my two girls at school and the love of life on his way to meet me for a gym session and sauna that these words are flowing freely. Two years after that decision stuck, I know who I am. I am clear and aligned with myself. I love my everyday life. Love it with all my heart and in all its mess and imperfections. I love it on the desperately hard days and in the easy breezy days. I love early nights, brunches that aren’t bottomless and time writing my heart and soul out. I know when I’m tired or grumpy and I lean into it. I am an influencer - to my two girls who get to have my attention, my time and my proper real and messy love. I learnt alcohol was a thing in my world that I couldn’t moderate. It wasn’t about anyone else and their relationship with alcohol. I called all or nothing on alcohol and chose nothing without justification or apology.

 

That go to, up for anything friend of alcohol took my breath away for years. It stole from me and the return wasn’t enough anymore, that friendship was over. Now I have my breath back and it’s everything. Forty five years into my time getting to live and I’m sat smiling at the fact I am now a breathing coach, 2 years sober, in love for the very first time and fully in and engaged in my mum life and all it brings. Stopping drinking may not have been the switch that turned my life on and woke me up into it, but it dialled life up, taught me to breathe and showed me how to love all that’s me. Without question, it was worth it all.

 

With Love xx