Grey Area Drinking

As a society, we are very black and white about alcohol addiction. The accepted view is that people fall into one of two categories: 'normal drinker' or 'an alcoholic.'

The science doesn't support this. Alcohol addiction, like any other addiction, is progressive. It's a spectrum of shades of grey (or gray, if you're reading this from the USA).

Medical professionals have, for many years, been moving away from talking about 'alcoholism' to referring to 'alcohol use disorder' which is a sliding scale. And, finally, it looks as if society is starting to catch up.

I first came across the expression 'Grey Area Drinking' in the fabulous TEDx talk by Jolene Park, and yesterday I found an article which I posted on the SoberMummy Facebook page titled 'Am I an Almost Alcoholic?'

There is more and more talk on social media and in the press about those of us who fall somewhere in between the neat categories of 'normal' and 'rock bottom.'

This issue is way more important that just semantics about terminology.

Firstly, the black and white view stops many of us acknowledging that we have a problem.

In my TEDx talk: Making Sober Less Shameful, I tell the story of the evenings I spent Googling 'Am I an Alcoholic' and answering the resulting questionnaires. It would ask things like 'do you drink alone?' (no, I'm with the dog), and 'do you have blackouts?'

Some of those questions I'd answer 'yes' to, but many of them I'd answer 'no'. At which point I'd think 'phew, I'm okay then,' and carry on drinking, despite knowing, in my heart, that I had an issue.

The fear of being branded 'an alcoholic' stopped me from addressing my addiction for many years.

This black and white thinking perpetuates the shame of addiction. It enables the vast majority of people to think 'I'm alright, Jack,' and to look pityingly at those of us who aren't.

The reality is, however, that many, many people lie somewhere on that spectrum of dependency, even those who are only drinking one small glass of wine a day, if that glass is one they absolutely can't do without.

If we started seeing alcohol addiction as a spectrum of shades of grey, then more people would realise that they had a problem, and be encouraged to quit before they slid further down the slippery slope.

Because it is progressive. As with any other drug, your tolerance increases over time and your mind and body start to crave more and more.

The traditional view that you have to 'hit rock bottom' before you can quit is wrong and dangerous. The closer towards rock bottom you slide, the harder it is to stop.

By rock bottom, you're physically more dependant, your habits are more ingrained, and you feel more hopeless.

Once you've lost your job, your family and your home it's difficult to see what you have left to live for. Despair keeps you trapped in the downward spiral of addiction.

Instead of asking ourselves 'am I an alcoholic?' we should be asking questions like 'am I becoming dependant on booze? Is it having a negative impact on my life? Is it gradually becoming more of a problem?'

If your answer to those questions is 'yes', then climb off that slippery slide while it's still relatively easy to do so.

If you'd like to read the story of my first year without booze, The Sober Diaries, then click here (UK). The Kindle version is now back online in USA and Canada! Click here (USA), here (Canada or here (Australia).

There are still places available on the October workshop in London that I'm hosting with World Without Wine. For more information click here.

Love to you all!

SM x

Some Great Listening

Folks, I feel terrible that I haven't posted for a while, nor have I replied to your fabulous comments on recent posts. I'm so sorry.

I have been horribly busy getting the children back to school (I managed to get them there on the right day this time - whoop whoop!) and with my Big Project - announcement to follow on Thursday...

By way of an apology, here are two great radio programmes for you:

The first is a Radio 4 play called The Red by the recovering alcoholic, Marcus Brigstocke.

The hero of the play, Benedict, is given a letter from his father on the day of his father's funeral. His father, a huge wine connoisseur, leaves his alcoholic son a very special bottle of red and asks him to drink it. Benedict has been sober for 25 years. Find out what he does.

Click here to listen.

Huge thanks to 'Just the Tonic' for the brilliant recommendation.

The second programme was also on Radio 4, and is called The Fix. Three teams of bright, creative young people are given the task of looking for ways to get the British population to drink less.

Great to see this topic being covered in mainstream media in such an interesting way.

Click here to listen.

Happy listening, and please drop by on Thursday for the Big News.

Love SM x

Some Great Reading

I'm madly packing this morning for our annual trip to Cornwall. Buckets and spades, surfing and ice-creams, cliff walks and caves. Can't wait!

(The three children aren't being much help on the packing front. They are horribly overexcited about having found a Special K which looks exactly like Ukraine, and are busy posting photos on Instagram).

I thought I'd leave you with some of the best things I've read this week....

The first, sent to me by lovely C, now 7 months sober, is for anyone who was interested in last week's debate on the word 'alcoholic'. It's a fabulous piece from Holly at Hip Sobriety entitled: My name's Holly and I'm not an alcoholic (because no-one is). Click here to read it.

I also have two blog recommendations.

Anyone who hasn't already met Lily at alcoholfree2016.com should check her out here, and here is a fabulous new blog from mommyisaquitter who is currently wading her way through Day 5. Pop on over and give them both a virtual hug.

Finally, I had an e-mail from J, which she said I could share.

J tells a story about accidentally taking a sip of real booze and how much it messes with your head, which I can relate to. I vividly remember getting my Beck's Blue confused with a real beer back in the early days.

Here's J's story:

Dear SM
I just thought I would contact you to recount an event which may be of interest to others on the sober journey : My reaction has  rather staggered me ….

We were last week on a river cruise (40 years married) I had thought through my strategy to resist temptation and to have a fab sober time.

All was going well (harder work that I had expected with lovely elegant wine glasses laid out each lunch and dinner and waiters/waitresses constantly topping up chilled whites and ruby reds:  However they served Becks Blue on request, so that was lunch sorted and Fever Tree Ginger beer with lots of ice was working with dinner.

Part of my strategy was to enjoy a non alcoholic cocktail at the pre dinner drinks - and credit due, there were 4 to chose from.  ‘Virgin Mary’ was very nice (don’t know that the stick of celery added anything :-) ‘Shirley Temple' also very nice.  Then I thought to try a ‘Cucumber Fizz’ - well it took a while to arrive and when it did one sip shouted out GIN!! 

I gave it to my husband to confirm and we sent it back ….. then the strangest thing … I thought ‘Shit I am going to cry’ !!!  I took a walk round the deck really struggling.  I rallied for dinner with the new friends we had made (interestingly no comments had been made that I always had soft drinks and I didn’t say anything either).

The next morning I woke up weepy and was so for the most of the morning and typing this am filling up a bit.  My husband said that one sip didn’t spoil my record of 325 days.  I hadn’t thought of that but was a bit scared the one sip had let the wine witch reassert herself.  However logic told me that the one tiny sip was not enough to let her back. 

So my only conclusion is that some sort of mental switch was thrown - a grieving process??  I don’t know.  I do feel a bit cross that this happened but don’t know if I am cross with the bar staff’s error or my reaction.

So my reasons for emailing - I guess just to share the event, maybe others have had similar and are just as confused and this 63 year old Granma who is actually thoroughly enjoying every minute of being sober.
Oh well there we have it - onwards and upwards (my younger son is taking me on a trip up the Brighton 360 to celebrate my first year sober) how wonderful is that!!

Huge congratulations to J on 40 years of marriage and on 325 days sober. What incredible achievements. You rock, J.

And so do all of you.

Love SM x

I Don't Want a Fight With AA

I had an old friend round for lunch yesterday.

She's an amazing woman, who has dealt with issues that would break many people, but has come out stronger.

For a few years, L lived with a cocaine addict. She saw, up close and personal, how drugs can destroy the lives of the user and those who love them.

As a result, once she'd found the strength to get away, she re-trained as a psychotherapist and an addiction counsellor.

I am in awe of the people who not only survive their own life traumas, but then use them to help others.

So, a while back, I gave L the name of my blog. She never told me whether she'd read it or what she thought of it.

Then, yesterday, L said "I read your blog."

"Oh yes?" I replied.

"I have to say, I don't like your refusal to use the word 'alcoholic.'" She said.

I imagine she was referring to this post: Am I an alcoholic?

Then she continued, "there are an awful lot of people who feel the same as me."

"I have no issue with anyone using the term 'alcoholic' if they find it helpful," I explained, "it's just that I don't. I think it's one of the reasons why so many people find it difficult to confess to having a problem and asking for help. We're worried about being judged."

But the truth is that anyone who is a member of, or works with, AA feels hugely strongly about the A word, and I'm not sure that I can take them all on. I don't want to have a fight with AA - I think they're an amazing institution doing an incredible job.

But I know that I, and many of my readers, feel strongly about this issue too. I am very happy (well, sort of) to stand up on national television and confess to drinking a bottle of wine a day. I'm happy to confess to being an alcohol addict.

But I'm not happy to say "I am an alcoholic." I don't believe I have a disease. I think I became addicted to an addictive drug, the same way I did to cigarettes, back in the day.

I found it much easier to say 'I have cancer' (when I was diagnosed with breast cancer 18 months ago) than I do 'I am an alcoholic.'

The truth is, people sympathise with cancer victims, but they assume that women who are 'alcoholics' are weak, diseased, and terrible mothers who neglect their children while they pour vodka on their cornflakes.

Surely the words I use are a personal choice?

It seems extraordinary that one word can cause so much trouble. But it will....

Is this really a good idea?

Love SM

Stephen King on Booze

We are in Scotland for the festive period, hunkered down around blazing fires, keeping out storm Brenda who is raging outside.

(Don't you just love the names they pick for storms? Brenda sounds like she'd be more at home in the Bingo Hall or with a knitting circle rather than flooding roads and knocking down power lines).

Whenever I get to take a break from the frenetic Christmas supermarket shopping and last minute present buying and wrapping, I've been reading Stephen King's book: On Writing.

I bought this book because it was about writing. Little did I know, it also covers King's alcoholism, about which he writes brilliantly.

King says that when he first realised that he was an alcoholic his immediate reaction was to be incredibly careful not to let anyone know, otherwise someone would tell him to get control of his drinking.

Telling an alcoholic to control his drinking, he writes, is like telling a guy suffering the world's most cataclysmic case of diarrhoea to control his shitting.

Eew, but we know what he means, don't we?

King says it's been almost twelve years since I took a drink, and I'm still struck by disbelief when I see someone with a half-finished glass of wine near at hand. I want to get up, go over, and yell 'Finish that! Why don't you finish that?' into his or her face. I found the idea of social drinking ludicrous - if you didn't want to get drunk, why not have a Coke?

Well, quite.

But the really fascinating thing about King's story is how his subconscious was crying for help through his writing.

It was, apparently, many years before King realised that the alcoholic writer and ex-schoolteacher who starred in The Shining was actually himself. He had been up to his neck in denial, but somewhere, deep inside his brain, in the part that writes the stories, he knew.

Ten years later, in 1986, he wrote Misery, a title, he says, which accurately described his state of mind. The hero - a writer again - is tortured by a psychotic nurse. The nurse, Annie Wilkes, he says (with the benefit of hindsight) was coke, Annie was booze, and I decided that I was tired of being Annie's pet writer.

The book which followed Misery was Tommyknockers, which King says he wrote with cotton swabs stuck up his nose to stop blood from his cocaine ravaged nostrils dripping all over his typewriter keys.

In this novel, alien creatures get inside your head and start messing about in there. The upside to this alien activity for the host is boundless energy and a superficial intelligence, but in exchange they give their soul. King writes it was the best metaphor for drugs and alcohol my tired, overstressed mind could come up with.

So, if you're tempted tomorrow to have just the one glass of wine with your Christmas lunch, then remember that alcohol is not your best friend, your greatest fan; she is a crazy obsessive with a penchant for amputation (or 'hobbling' in the film version). She will get inside your head and she will steal your soul.

Get the hell out of there before it's too late.

(If you need more motivation, then read this one: Relapse Stories)

Love to you all, and have a very, very merry (but sober) Christmas! It'll be awesome! See you on the other side....

SM x

P.S. I've just been told that the storm is actually Barbara, not Brenda. Still more redolent of home knitted jumpers and self sufficiency than 100mph winds....

AA Gill

AA Gill announced in his Sunday Times restaurant review this weekend that he has cancer.

Not just a little bit of cancer, like I had, but 'an embarrassment of cancer, the full English. There is barely a morsel of offal not included. (He has) a trucker's gut-buster, gimpy, malevolent, meaty malignancy.'

This made me cry. Not because I've ever met AA (Adrian Anthony, not Alcoholics Anonymous, although more on that later), but because he is a genius and the world would be a less interesting and vibrant place without his words.

I can, I hope, make words line up on a stage and take a hesitant bow, but AA can make words do aerial acrobatics and death defying somersaults. His metaphors and analogies make me laugh out loud with their originality and utter rightness.

AA is an alcoholic which is, in my book, another reason to love him. In his early thirties a GP told him that unless he quit drinking he would only live another six months.

'It's not death that terrifies me,' Gill said, 'it's life.' And isn't that just a perfect explanation of why we drink?

Gill dried out, did the steps and was introduced to an editor at Tatler who commissioned him to write an article about his experience in rehab. The rest, as they say, was history.

It's not his years of drinking that caused AA's cancer, but his other addiction - nicotine. Despite having ditched the smokes fifteen years ago he has smoking related lung cancer.

AA says of his future: 'I don't feel I've been cheated of anything....I gave up (alcohol) when I was still young, so it was like being offered the next life. It was the real Willy Wonka golden ticket, I got a really good deal.'

So, if you're still humming and hah-ing about quitting then please just grab that golden ticket while you're still young enough to make the most of it.

And Adrian, if you ever come across this post, then thank you. Thank you for showing us all how words can change the world.

SM x

P.S. If you want to read my blog from the beginning then click here.

Bridget Jones

I got up at dawn yesterday to pack up our rented holiday cottage in Cornwall before the 10am deadline.

By the time the children emerged, bleary eyed and mussy-haired, from their lairs, I'd got all the suitcases and bags shoehorned into the car, leaving them with a change of clothes for the journey, and just enough space to sit in.

(At least #3 didn't have to perch on top of a case of Beck's Blue like she did on the way down).

"MUMMY!" Wails #1. "I HAVEN'T GOT A BRA!"

At this point I lose it.

"YOU'RE NOT EXACTLY DOLLY PARTON ABOUT TO GO JOGGING!" I yell back at #1.

But she fixes me with that baleful, nearly-teenage glare, until I go and unpack her suitcase from the car, like playing Jenga with surfboards, buckets and sundry kitchen items, and retrieve the crucial piece of clothing.

Eventually, we're driving over the A4 flyover into London, and there it is. A giant poster proclaiming that BRIDGET JONES'S BABY is about to hit our cinema screens.

And I'm hit by a wave of nostalgia.

I loved Bridget. I loved her neuroses, her imperfections and her granny knickers.

I loved her humour and the way she cut through all the 'emotional fuckwittery.' And I loved the way she ate like a normal woman, smoked like a chimney and drank like a trooper.

I loved Bridget because I pretty much was Bridget.

So much so, that when the BBC were looking for people to 'star' in a documentary about the 'real life Bridget Joneses' they called me.

I flatly refused, despite a fair amount of arm twisting, to let a camera crew follow me around town for a week, but I did agree to take part in a small segment of the film - a single's dinner party.

I turned up, along with seven other 'singles' at the appointed Chelsea restaurant, and was told that the film crew would be a while setting up, "so do, please, help yourself to free drinks at the bar."

An hour later, nervous and tanked up with booze on empty stomachs, we were all flying. At least, I was.

In a herculean effort to stand up for the rights of women to be single and happy, I waved my wine glass around and proclaimed "Look. I've got a great job, a really cool car, and I own my own flat. Why on earth would I need a man to make myself complete?" Job done. Or so I thought.

I wasn't expecting anyone to actually see the documentary. My friends were all far too busy working and partying to be indoors watching TV on a Thursday night.

(And this was before the days of Sky Plus and Catch Up TV. You actually had to set a timer on your VHS machine, which was far too much hassle).

So, imagine my horror, when ALL WEEK, on prime time TV, the BBC ran a trailer.

There was only one person in the trailer: Me.

There I am, slightly tipsy, saying "Look. I've got a great job, a really cool car, and I own my own flat." Then the serious, male, voiceover cuts in: "So why can't these women find the one thing they really want: A MAN?"

Everyone saw it. Everyone saw me slapping feminism in the face and pronouncing myself un-whole.

But it didn't stop me loving Bridget.

After all, she gave us all an excuse to drink too much. She made downing gallons of Chardonnay with your friends cool. She made drinking home alone, holding a pity party for one, de rigeur.

So, what's Bridget up to now?

More of the same, apparently. Still drinking. Still going to nightclubs. Still looking for a man to make her emotionally stable.

Well that's all just bollocks.

For a start, I know - better than anyone else - that Bridget could not have drunk that amount of Chardonnay for the last twenty years without suffering some pretty major side effects.

One thing's for sure: she would NOT be the size two that Renne Zellweger portrays her as in the movie.

(I presume that Renee flatly refused to 'bulk up' to a normal size this time around).

And would a drunk, forty-something Bridget still be funny and endearing, or just a bit....sad?

I like to think that lovely Bridget would have learned something over the past two decades.

I think she'd be a brilliant, funny, imperfect mother. I think she'd have a not-always-perfect, but kind and forgiving marriage.

And I think she'd be sober. (Let's face it, moderation would never be Bridget's thing).

Love to all you proper Bridgets out there.

SM x

P.S. That was my 400th blog post. If you'd like to read from post #1 then click here.

Nina is not OK

I didn't drink dangerously as a teenager.

Don't get me wrong - I loved drinking. I loved the buzz it gave me at parties, the way it made me feel more. More beautiful, more interesting, more naughty.

I loved sharing a bottle of carefully chosen wine over dinner with a date, or while setting the world to rights late at night with a girlfriend.

But I didn't like the feeling of being really drunk - feeling sick or out of control. So, when I'd had a few glasses I just.... stopped. Simples.

It wasn't until my mid thirties that my drinking started to morph from 'social' to 'hazardous'. Because by then I could drink a whole bottle of vino without feeling particularly drunk.

And by the time I hit my mid forties I was drinking a bottle of wine every single day. More sometimes. (Often).

Knowing what I know now about alcohol addiction, I worry about my children, and how they'll cope when they start playing with booze.

So, when I read a review of a new young adult novel by Shappi Khorsandi called Nina is not OK, I knew I had to buy it.

Nina is seventeen and, like all her friends, loves to party, and to drink. But she has no off switch.

Nina is gorgeous, funny and clever. She has a five year old sister who she loves passionately, and desperately wants to protect. And yet, after a few drinks she changes. Her eyes go dead, and it's as if Nina has left the building.

Every time she gets drunk and does something awful she swears she'll never touch booze again, but by about 5pm the next day her resolve falters.

Drinking makes her life increasingly unmanageable, but the more difficult it becomes, the more she relies on the booze to deal with all the emotions it's unleashed.

Sound familiar?

Then combine all that with the hormones, insecurity and recklessness that come with being a teenager, and chuck in an omnipresent and judgemental social media, and you end up with an incredibly disturbing (but scarily believable) tale.

Please read it.

And if you have a teenage daughter, then rather than sitting her down for one of those 'talks' about the dangers of drugs and alcohol that they dread as much as we do, just give her a copy of Shappi's novel.

It's a far better cautionary tale than either you or I could ever tell, and you won't have to endure all the eye rolling.

Love SM x

Falling Off the Wagon

I've had a number of e-mails and comments on the blog recently from people who've recently fallen off the wagon. Sometimes after just a few days, sometimes after months or years.

If that's you, and you're thinking aarrrgghhhh! Now what do I do? Then this post is for you....

A dive off the sober wagon generally starts with the same thought process. It goes something like this:

It's really not fair that everyone else is drinking and I'm not. It's summer/Christmas/my birthday/a funeral (delete as appropriate). I really deserve to be able to celebrate/commiserate/de-stress (delete as appropriate).

It's been AGES since I had a drink. By now I'll have 'reset' my relationship with booze. I'll be able to moderate! It's not as if I was a 'proper' alcoholic. I'll just have one, then stop. I'm older and wiser now. I know the dangers.....

Sound familiar?

So you have that one drink.

Now there are two ways that this can go. The end result is the same, but the path there is different.

Scenario One

You have that one drink and it's like coming home.

You think hello, old friend. I've missed you. 

But one isn't enough. It's just a teasing reminder of what you were looking for. A peak-a-boo from behind the fingers. So you have another. And another.

Before you know it you're on a bender. You wake up in the morning feeling terrible - physically destroyed and emotionally distraught. You know there's only one thing that can fix this terrible black hole: more booze....

Scenario Two

You have that one drink and you don't even enjoy it that much.

It tastes a bit like vinegar. Mouldy socks.

You think blimey, was that what all the fuss was about? Then you think yay! I'm cured! I don't even like booze much any more!

So, a week later, at another party, you feel confident enough to have another one. Actually, two this time.

Before too long you're drinking a glass or two most nights, and a bottle at weekends. Before much longer you're back to exactly where you started, dazed and bemused and thinking how on earth did I let that happen?

I know you'll be reading this thinking ah, but I'm different. We ALL think that we are different. Yet the main thing I've learned from this blog is how spookily similar we all are, despite our variations in ages, locations, nationalities and backgrounds.

So, if you've just fallen off the wagon, then here's what to do next...

Pick yourself off the highway, grab onto the chassis with both hands and haul yourself back up as quickly as you can.

The problem is that even one little drink kick starts the wine witch right back into action. After days, weeks, months or even years of training her to stay in her box and keep quiet, she's back with a vengeance.

In scenario one, she's saying: oopsy daisy. You've really blown it now. Never mind, you might as well go for it for a day or two and quit again next week when you've re-gathered your strength. You know you can quit again - you've done it before. Easy peasy!

In scenario two, she's saying: see! I told you so! You can moderate! You're a 'normal drinker'. Woo hoo. Carry on baby!

But the truth is the longer you carry on drinking, the stronger the wine witch gets, until before long quitting seems just as impossible a task as it did last time.

In fact, this time it's even harder to gather up the enthusiasm, the energy, the excitement. You know it's going to be tough and you just don't think you can face it right now.

(And now there's this little inner voice saying: you failed. You're useless. You'll never do this).

Perhaps next month, when things are a bit easier....

But if you climb right back on, as quickly as you can, you can treat it as a bump in the road, a cautionary tale, a salutary reminder. It'll be hard for a few days, maybe even a few weeks, but you won't be back at square one, not by a long shot.

Check out the comments below, for relapse stories from lots of my readers. Do please add your own.

Onwards and upwards (and sometimes a little bit sideways),

SM x

P.S If you're a serial falling-off-the-wagoner, and can't get past the first few weeks, then please, please read this post: The Obstacle Course

The Sober Diaries, the warts and all story of my first year sober, is now out in paperback! Click here.

Liz Jones

Liz Jones is a fashion editor and newspaper columnist who has, over the last twenty years, written in painfully honest detail about the ups and downs of her life.

When I come across a Liz Jones column, I have the same feeling I have when I'm driving down the motorway and notice a car crash on the other side of the road: I know I really shouldn't slow down to look, I know it's only going to make me miserable and that there's nothing I can do to help, but even so I find my foot hovering over the brake.

Then, at the weekend, I came across this headline from Liz:

LIZ JONES: I've finally got a friend I can rely on - a bottle of wine a day.

Here's an abridged version of what Liz had to say:

I'm not writing about 'wine o'clock' and one too many glasses of a really nice Chablis to wind down. I drink to escape my life, not toast it.

I don't want to get tiddly - I want to be comatose, to escape the awful pressing problems of today. I don't care two hoots about tomorrow.

I had my first drink on Millennium Eve, thinking it might cure my crippling shyness, help me get a date. That was Trigger Number One - loneliness, insecurity.

A glass of wine didn't cure my diffidence, not really, but it gave me something to do in the evening, something to hold....

....last year, faced with financial ruin, I drank half a bottle in one go. That was a first. I felt better - ooh, another first. This is nice. Wow. I can sleep. Yay. Who cares that I have no money?....

....of course, I woke up, depressed, at 3am, my body craving more booze. A cycle had been set in motion....

Now? The bottle is my only friend. It's so festive with its bubbles, so merry. The pop makes you feel you're at a party of one. It's not that without it, life just doesn't seem worth living. Without it, life is impossible.

Now, we know how that feels, don't we?

And we know it's a vicious circle: you drink because life is difficult. The drink makes life more difficult. You drink because life is difficult. Ad infinitum.

So, whatever you may think about Liz Jones, I say WELL DONE, and THANK YOU. For being so honest about an issue few women will admit to their closest friends, let alone the whole country.

I had a look at the comments posted online to see how Liz's article had been received. There were 1,400 of them before the website stopped taking any more.

The worst rated comments were along the lines of this one: "Hopefully she'll drink herself to death. Sad old soak."

But here's an example of one of the best rated comments: "I'm sure that there will be people who will criticise you for writing this Liz, but for every one of them there will be many, many more who identify with what you've said and now feel less alone. Thank you for your bravery."

And so say all of us.

I do hope that rather than just printing her article, and enjoying the attention it receives, Liz's editor makes sure she gets help.

I've put Liz's name in the title of this post in the hope that she Googles herself and comes across this blog, because one thing is clear - she needs friends.

(To read Liz's full article, and the reader's comments click here).

Love SM x

Partners Who Drink

One of the questions I get asked most by e-mail is How can I quit drinking if my partner still drinks?

If you wait until you reach rock bottom before you try to quit, your partner, friends and loved ones (if they're still talking to you) are generally begging you to stop. It's obvious to everyone that you're slowly killing yourself.

However, if you - very wisely - decide to stop drinking well before you get to that point, you're more likely to be met with bemusement, antipathy, maybe even hostility.

I know that Mr SM thought I drank too much, as did my mother. Both of them had mentioned it, gently, once or twice. BUT neither of them expected me to actually quit. They wanted me to cut down. Moderate (ha ha). Be more like them.

Now I'm able to look at things with the benefit of hindsight, I thought it might be worth going through all the things we're scared of so I might be able to reassure you a little, if you are now where I was then.

1. He will not support me

The big question here is does he have a drink problem too?

If your partner is a 'normie' then you will probably find he is way more supportive than you expect. 'Fess up. Sit him down and tell him how bad the drink is making you feel. I bet he's been worried about you, or - if not - he will be by the time you've had that conversation!

Plus, here's an amazing thing you discover when you get sober - other people are WAY less bothered by alcohol than we are. 

For us, the idea of having a partner who DOESN'T DRINK was horrifying! No partner in crime - yikes! However, for them, drinking - or not drinking - is much more of a non-issue. A case of 'whatever.'

Even if your partner is a little apprehensive at first, they may well come to see the benefits. Mr SM loves the fact that he now drinks a lot less - he's slimmer, healthier and happier now that I'm not cajoling him into drinking half a bottle of wine every night.

HOWEVER, if your partner also has a drink problem, he will not like the idea of you quitting AT ALL. This will inevitably make your life a lot harder, as you'll probably have to deal with him trying to persuade you to 'just have the one', as well as the wine witch.

All I can advise here is that you stay strong. Remember why he's being unsupportive. It's not because he doesn't love you, it's because you're making him confront his own demons.

Remind yourself that you're doing this for yourself, and that, in doing so, you may also help him. The best way to persuade someone else to quit drinking isn't by nagging (as we all know, only too well) but by showing them that it's not only possible, but miraculous.

2. How can I quit when there's booze in the house?

I never emptied the booze cupboard or the wine racks. I also never asked Mr SM to stop drinking in front of me. I figured that the world is full of alcohol and of people drinking. We can't change that, so we might as well get used to it.

Plus I was worried that if I asked Mr SM to majorly change his own lifestyle he'd be less supportive.

Actually, within a pretty short space of time, Mr SM cut down on his own drinking and discovered a love of Becks Blue (I can get quite aggressive if I discover that he's drunk my stash), so he only drinks at home now a couple of times a week.

HOWEVER, if it is too tricky for you to deal with alcohol in the house, and being drunk under your nose, then I'd suggest asking your partner to not drink at home for a defined period of time. Maybe 100 days.

Setting a time limit makes it less of a scary imposition for them, and you may find that they are a LOT more sympathetic to you when they realise how tricky not drinking can be! Once the 100 days are up they may decide to join you, or - at least - to cut down significantly.

3. Will he still love me?

This was my biggest fear. A month into not drinking I wrote this post: Not the Girl he Married. I was terrified that I'd totally wreck our relationship by turning myself into someone different.

Looking back now I find that all rather ironic. Think about it. If you're still drinking (too much), are you really now the girl you were back then?

After a decade of abusing booze I was two stone heavier than the girl Mr SM married. I wasn't the go getting, energetic, enthusiastic bon viveur of those days. I was depressed, stuck in a rut, and a social liability.

Who was I kidding?

I am now, after fifteen months of not drinking, way more like the girl he married than I was by the end of the Drinking Days. An older, wiser and more wrinkled version perhaps, but still the same girl at heart. The girl that, for a long time, I'd lost.

4. Can we still enjoy the same things?

Yes! Although in the early days you may need to make some changes.

Initially I accepted fewer invitations. I also avoided going out for dinner a deux - it just didn't feel right without drinking. I ate early with the children, rather than sharing long, boozy dinners with the husband.

BUT those things come back. Gradually, and when you're ready. And you find that there are many new things that you enjoy doing together - without booze.

When I did start doing more parties, dinners etc, I found fake booze really helpful - for me and the husband.

He feels much more comfortable drinking a mojito if I'm drinking a virgin one, or having a beer if I'm drinking Becks Blue. It gives the illusion of us both being on the same wavelength, and that makes a big difference.

So, please don't let worrying about the people you love stop you stop drinking. You're doing the best thing for you, for them, and for your relationship.

JUST DO IT!

Love SM x

A Simple Way to Break a Bad Habit

That's the title of a TED talk by Judson Brewer. You can see why I was interested....

(Here's the link to the talk).

Judson talks about quitting smoking and stress eating, but his techniques are just as useful for quitting booze.

Here's my take on what he has to say:

It's all about mindfulness.

Brewer (he really should be a drinker with that name, don't you think?) talks about how bad habits arise.

We're programmed, at a deep subconscious level, to repeat behaviour that gives our brains a reward. It's how we learn to find food, water, reproduce etc. Trigger. Behaviour. Reward. Repeat.

The problem is that, in the modern age, some of the things that reward our brains - like alcohol - are not at all good for us.

Our conscious brains know this, but our subconscious brains are too simple, too hard wired, to get it.

(The problem is exacerbated when we're stressed, as stress causes the logical bit of our brain to short circuit, leaving us to rely on our more primal instincts. The ones that have been engrained with the habit.)

When we try to quit drinking, our conscious minds try really, really hard to not think about drinking. But the harder you try to not think about something, the more you do.

Your subconscious basically throws a big hissy fit and bombards you with instructions revolving around drinking more booze.

Brewer says the key to dealing with these cravings, these brain tantrums (my words, not his!) is curiosity.

Don't fight those thoughts. Definitely don't give into them. Don't try to make them go away. Study them, like a scientist. Be mindful about what they're saying and how your body is reacting.

Oh, here we go again. Primal brain throwing big strop. Jaw clenching, shoulders tightening up, starting to feel like a kettle reaching the boil. I wonder how long this one's going to last before it gets back in its box.

Once you start attacking cravings with curiosity they lose all their power. And you realise that they are separate from you, and that each of the small effects of that craving are manageable, and temporary.

And gradually, over time, like trying to train a really stupid dog (and, as the owner of a really stupid dog, I say that with love), the subconscious gets the message and stops seeing booze as the solution to every issue.

Try it. It works.

Love SM x

All or Nothing

Regular readers will know that I hate the word 'alcoholic,' and refuse to describe myself as one.

This is not, you understand, because I am in denial. I happily admit to being an alcohol addict. And I (fairly) happily accept that I can never drink again.

BUT I will never happily say "My name's SM and I'm an alcoholic."

(I yelled at Mr SM when he used the word 'alcoholic' in relation to me the other day. Poor thing just looked confused and went back to the Financial Times).

So why the animosity to the A word? Surely it's just an innocent little adjective?

Well, actually, I think the A word does a huge amount of damage.

Because it's become loaded with such terrible baggage. It has an awful image, particularly when it comes to mothers...

If a mother is described as 'an alcoholic' you immediately picture a woman passed out in her own vomit while her grubby, neglected children forage for stale biscuits in the cupboards. Or, at least, that's what I imagine.

The implications of being an 'alcoholic' are so frightening that no-one wants to join the club.

We spend hours, days, Googling 'am I an alcoholic?' and, luckily, the definitions are so vague that we can easily convince ourselves that we are not.

So, instead of addressing the issue of our alcohol addiction (which we secretly know is there) we wrap ourselves happily in the cashmere soft cloak of denial and pour another drink.

The term 'alcoholic' is too black and white: you are one, or you're not. Whereas, actually, alcohol addiction is all about darkening shades of grey. A slippery slope. And one that it's best to get off at the top, before it gets harder.

By the time things are so awful that you'll happily accept the alcoholic badge, you've lost everything, including all self respect, making giving up terribly, terribly difficult.

But that leaves the question what terminology do we use instead?

I like to talk about 'alcohol addiction', because it makes it clear that alcohol is a drug like any other - like nicotine, heroin, cocaine. And, as a result, anyone can get addicted. Not just the unlucky few, born with some genetic disease called Alcoholism.

Then, this weekend I was reading an interview with Fearne Cotton, married to Jesse Wood, son of Ronnie the Rolling Stone.

Fearne talks about how Jesse and Ronnie got sober together: 'an incredible bonding experience.' BUT she doesn't describe her husband as an alcoholic. She says:

Like his dad, Jesse's an all-or-nothing guy, and with a growing family he felt that he'd prefer to not drink alcohol, so it's tea and fruit cake all the way, round at Ronnie's.

HURRAH for the all-or-nothing tribe!

Now that's a label I'm happy to admit to, a club I'll accept membership of.

(And I'm sure thousands more women, currently still home alone, drowning their sorrows and convincing themselves that it's 'normal' to drink a bottle of wine a day, would do the same).

My name's SM, and I'm an all-or-nothing girl. I did decades of all, and I've done 14 months of nothing. And it's great.

The 'all-or-nothing' label makes it clear that our relationship with alcohol is intrinsically tied up with who we are, and, therefore, that drinking again isn't an option, BUT it also portrays the positive side of the coin.

With that descriptor, you don't picture the slovenly mother having her children taken into care, you picture the wild, funny, party girl who's reached the age where she's had to throw in the sequinned towel.

And that, my friends, is me. Not an alcoholic, but an alcoholic addict and all-or-nothing girl.

Love SM x

Sunday Mornings

Sunday mornings are our reward for white knuckling it through all those Friday evenings, and facing all the Saturday drinks parties where the only non alcoholic beverage on offer is warm, sticky orange juice.

Aren't they just the best?

In six days time I am doing the Moonwalk with #1. The Moonwalk is a twenty six mile walk through the centre of London overnight, in aid of breast cancer charities. Thousands of women do it (and some men) all dressed in wildly decorated bras.

#1 is pretty fit. She plays two hours of sport every day. She breezed through our last training walk, propelled by a stream of non stop chatter. Me - not so much.

So, today I set my alarm for 6am. I left the rest of the family sleeping, wrote a note saying 'Gone walking', and set out on a ten mile training walk with the terrier.

It was a glorious sunny day, and I set the iPhone to the unashamedly nostalgic Magic FM.

As London started waking up I walked through Earl's Court, and past the flat where Mr SM proposed (to me, obvs), and where we celebrated with bottles of champagne.

I walked into South Kensington, and down Cornwall Gardens, where I lived in my university holidays and held wild student parties.

Then round the church on Southwell Gardens where two male friends of mine were arrested one night for climbing onto the roof, during one of said parties.

(When they used their one 'phone call to call me from the police station, all I wanted to know was what had happened to the vodka we'd sent them out to purchase).

I walked through Kensington Gardens, passing the bandstand where I threw massive Pimms parties in my twenties, and into Hyde Park.

Round the playground where I pushed my children on the swings for hours when they were toddlers, and alongside the Serpentine where we'd meet friends for long, boozy picnics.

I looked back on it all fondly, but it didn't make me sad.

If I'd still been drinking I'd never be up at that time on a Sunday (unless I hadn't yet gone to bed).

There's no way I'd voluntarily do a ten mile walk. I'd have been hiding under the duvet, sweating booze through every pore and trying to work out how to make it through till lunch time.

I would have missed out on the most magical morning.

I walked past a couple of drunks, sleeping it off on park benches, and was hit by the smell of stale booze and despair.

And I thought back to the days when I agonised over and over about whether or not I should, or could, quit for ever.

I tried to remember what I was so scared of. And I just couldn't....

Happy Mother's Day to all my American friends!

SM x

Memory Loss

On the very many occasions when I would, usually on a hungover Sunday morning, ask myself Am I an Alcoholic? one of the pieces of evidence of 'normality' that I would cling to like a life raft was this: I never had a blackout.

I was terrified by the idea of a blackout; the fact that you could walk, talk, dance, have sex - all seemingly consciously - yet have no recall of any of it, even when prompted.

Imagine the humiliation of having to call friends to find out what happened between, say, being at a restaurant and waking up in a stranger's bed.

Sarah Hepola, in her wonderful memoir - Blackout - describes it lyrically:

If you're like me, you know the thunderbolt of waking up to discover a blank space where pivotal scenes should be. My evenings came with trap doors....

....A curtain falling in the middle of the act, leaving minutes and sometimes hours in the dark. But anyone watching me wouldn't notice. They'd simply see a woman on her way to somewhere else, with no idea her memory just snapped in half.

The cause of blackouts is that, at a certain blood-alcohol content - around 0.3%, the hippocampus (the part of the brain responsible for making long term memories) shuts down.

Your short term memory still functions, but it can only retain detail for around two minutes, which is why people in a blackout often repeat themselves, like a talking goldfish.

The scary thing is that as those memories have never been stored, they can never be recalled, so even when your friends tell you what you did the night before, it doesn't help you to remember.

(This was central to the plot of the bestseller 'Girl on the Train' by Paula Hawkins. If you haven't read it, then do. A great page turner about an alcoholic - what's not to like?)

I was thinking about all of this in light of my post yesterday on the documentary 'Drinking to Oblivion,' where I'd concluded that there is no black and white to alcoholism, just ever darkening shades of grey.

That's when it struck me that I may not have had blackouts, but I'd definitely, and with increasing frequency, had memory 'issues'.

Because a blackout requires a certain level of blood saturation, you are most likely to have one if you drink strong alcohol, particularly quickly, and on an empty stomach.

(Women, with their lower body weights and higher fat ratios, are more at risk than men).

I only drank wine. Buckets of it, admittedly, but sipped over long periods, and I'd usually eat at some point. That's probably how I avoided the problem.

But, at a lower level of blood saturation (around 0.2%) you can experience 'fragmentary blackouts,' sometimes called 'brownouts.'

These are more like a light flickering on and off in your brain - you remember many details, but not all of them.

And that was me. Not often, but occasionally.

For example, I would go to a party and stay until 4am, and yet the period of time between, say, 1am and 4am would be a bit of a blur. I'd think back over all the people I talked to and conversations I'd had and I'd remember a fair bit, but only about one hour's worth.

Where did all the time go? I'd ask myself.

I thought maybe it was just the fact that time seemed to speed up when you were 'having fun.' But it never happens to me now.... (And I am still having fun, honestly!)

The other sign that I was heading down that slippery slope towards rock bottom was 'handbag panic.'

Several times over the last year or two of my love affair with booze, I would wake up, as per usual, at 3am, sweating alcohol and hating myself.

I would, after a bit of rummaging around in the memory banks, be able to remember how I got home, but I'd have a total panic about what I did with my handbag.

I have a beautiful Chanel clutch which Mr SM bought me on my fortieth birthday, and I would hyperventilate with fear that I'd left it at the party, or in a taxi.

At this point I would roam the house and my bedroom, using the torch on my iPhone, so as not to wake anyone, until I located the bag (which I always did). Then I'd toss and turn until past dawn.

It's only now I realise that those were 'brownouts.' My memory was flicking on and off, so I would get fragments of conversations, of a taxi journey, and so on, but some details (like where I put my bag) just disappeared through the trapdoor.

You see, it's really not black and white - just shades of grey (or brown).

And now I never lose time, or handbags, or my mind. Hurrah for that.

Love SM x

Drinking to Oblivion

That was the title of a Louis Theroux documentary on the BBC last night.

(If you missed it then do try to catch it on iPlayer).

Louis spent weeks following four alcoholics at the Kings College liver unit. All were gradually killing themselves. Some were closer to death than others.

It was a brilliant, but harrowing, programme.

It would be so easy to look at those people and think that's just not me, but, actually, I found - terrifyingly - that the similarities were, in many ways, greater than the differences.

The popular view of 'alcoholism' is that a small proportion of people have an illness which makes drinking 'normally' impossible for them. For everyone else, drinking is relatively harmless.

This documentary just re-enforced, for me, that this is just not the case. The difference between the heavy drinking 'wine connoisseur' and the low bottom drunk is actually paper thin.

There is no black and white to alcohol addiction, just shades of grey. The one certainty is that it only gets worse, and if you don't quit before it's too late, the Kings College liver unit (or similar) is where you end up.

Louis met Stuart, who was told he had around three months to live, due to cirrhosis of the liver. We saw him having ten litres of vile fluid drained from his distended belly.

Then we saw Joe, who was only thirty two (I think), and was going through a seven day medically supervised detox. Several days in and he still couldn't walk, and was shaking terribly.

Any toxin that can totally destroy people physically in that way cannot possibly be harmless in any quantities.

Another really frightening aspect of the documentary was the way it showed how, little by little, alcohol strips you of everything.

Joe had had a girlfriend, a lively social life, a good job and a lovely flat. He'd lost all of them. He was completely isolated, homeless and unemployed.

But, as their lives became emptier and emptier, there was always something there to fill the gaps - the booze.

Until, eventually, alcohol became their only friend, like the gargantuan cuckoo that pushes everything else out of the nest. And then, the idea of losing the only thing they have left becomes unthinkable.

As one lady said, she'd rather die. And she will.

I watched all of this thinking, sure, that isn't me. But I can see how it could have been.

I didn't have incurable cirrhosis, but I was two stone overweight with a malignant breast tumour.

I didn't need a seven day medical detox to quit, but quitting was still one of the hardest things I've ever done.

I didn't lose my friends, my home  and my job, but my life was gradually becoming emptier and emptier, with booze insidiously filling in all the cracks left behind.

I wasn't there, but I was on the way.

The one thing you really don't want to do is to look at the rock bottom alcoholic and think that's not me, using that as reassurance to carry on (as I'm sure many, many viewers did yesterday as they quaffed their bucket sized glasses of chardonnay).

Because, once you're addicted, it's the way you're heading, and the closer you get, the scarier it is, the more damage you're doing to yourself and your life, and the harder it is to stop.

And here's a salutary tale: lovely Joe had been alcohol free for four and a half years. He said he thought he was older and wiser now. He didn't want to go back to drinking vast amounts, he just wanted to have a glass or two of wine with dinner....

.....but we all know that you don't spend years going gradually back downhill; all it takes is a few drinks and whoompf, you're teleported back to just where you left off, or worse. And within weeks Joe was back in A&E in a poorer state than ever.

(See my post: Relapse Stories)

Interestingly, Louis Theroux, in his interviews with the media about the documentary, confessed to drinking two gin and tonics and three glasses of wine every night.  He also said that at weekends he could easily drink two bottles of wine after lunch.

Now, presuming that those were three fairly large glasses of vino, he's drinking exactly the amount that I was before I quit. And I know that that is not healthy. Mentally or physically.

So please, next time you fancy a quick drink, watch that documentary and - I promise - you won't want to any more...

(On a cheerier note, the new series of Game of Thrones starts tonight! I am beyond excited).

Love SM x

Get Out of Jail Free

There are a series of milestones we pass when quit drinking.

The first is just getting through a day without drinking. Sometime later, much later, we manage to get through a day without thinking about drinking.

Then there are all the firsts: first sober party, first sober holiday, sober Christmas, sober birthday etcetera.

Eventually, after much bitching and moaning, and some experimentation, we come to terms with the fact that we're never going to be able to moderate - to be a 'normal' drinker.

The biggie, the giant enchilada of milestones, is the one chiselled with the words 'FOREVER.'

(Can you chisel an enchilada? Sounds messy. You'd need to wear an apron. Note to self: try not to mix metaphors).

It took me at least six months to even think about forever.

But now, I don't find the idea of forever scary at all. Instead, I find the idea of going back to the dark days totally terrifying.

So, I was thinking, have I reached the Final Milestone? Is that it?

And it was playing a game of Monopoly that made me realise it's not.

(Monopoly is a serious business in the SM household. It involves lots of extra rules around passing Go, landing on Free Parking and going to jail. Plus, often the players use more than one piece simultaneously. And #2 cheats).

I realised that you haven't reached the Final Milestone until you've ditched the Get Out Of Jail Free card. The card that allows you an immediate exit in an emergency - without payment or guilt.

When I quit smoking, it didn't take me long to know that I didn't want to be a thirty a day smoker for the rest of my life. It took me a good while longer to reconcile myself to the fact that I couldn't just be a 'social smoker,' but - after a few tumbles from the smoke free waggon - I got there.

However, for many years I clung onto my Get Out of Jail Free Card.

I knew that I would never smoke again unless I had to attend the funeral of a very close friend or relative. I just could not imagine that scenario without me having a cigarette in my hand.

Likewise, I decided that I could, and would have to, play the card if I was diagnosed with a terminal illness. If you're going to die anyway, then why the hell not? And how could anyone get through that kind of situation without a lorry load of fags?

(1980s English slang alert! Fag = cigarette, not a derogatory term for a gay guy. Having said that, a lorry load of fit gay guys is probably just the thing in those circumstances).

But, at some point over the years that followed, I ditched the Get Out of Jail Free Card. The annoying thing is I can't remember when, as the whole point is that by then I'd stopped thinking about cigarettes at all. Ever.

Now, if I was diagnosed with a terminal illness, the last thing on earth I'd want to do is to start smoking! Yeuck! Why in the world would I tarnish my last days with noxious, smelly, stupidly expensive smoke? Madness!

BUT, when it comes to alcohol, I'm still clutching onto my Get Out of Jail Free card. I'm still thinking if my cancer came back (terminal), or if one of the children was seriously ill, or Mr SM died, then I'd have to drink. Not my fault. Just life.

I have no idea whether I'd ever actually play the card. I like to think that I'd have the courage to just leave it face down on the table. But I'd know it was there.

I also know that one day it won't be.

One day I'll realise that even if I only had twenty four hours before a meteor struck and obliterated the planet I would not drink. Not because I couldn't, but because I genuinely wouldn't see the point.

And that is, I believe, the Final Milestone.

But the bizarre thing is, once I've made it there, I won't be able to celebrate, because, like smoking, I just won't be thinking about it any longer.

Until some time in the distant future, maybe over a game of Monopoly with the future grandchildren, I'll pick up a Get Out of Jail Free card, and I'll remember, and smile a little (toothless) smile to myself, as I sip on my camomile tea.

Are any of you there yet?

Love SM x

Relapse Stories

I get many heart breaking e-mails from people who've quit booze for months, even years, at a time, but then are lured by the dream of 'moderation' back into drinking.

Within weeks they're back to square one.

I've been there too, and yet - even now, after thirteen months of not drinking, I still get haunted by that false promise.

In fact, in some ways it gets harder as, with time, the bad memories fade, and you're only left with the rose tinted ones.

It goes like this: You're overreacting! You were never a 'proper alcoholic'. Now you've 'reset' your relationship with booze and you can drink 'normally'. You're aware now, you know more. You'll never let yourself get into that position again....

I find that what helps me the most when I start thinking like this, is to hear the stories of people who've listened to the wine witch and picked up a drink after a good, long sober stretch.

Because it's never pretty. There's never a happy ending.

So, I'm hoping that any of you who've been there, done that, can comment below, so that all of us who need an extra boost once in a while can read those cautionary tales and find strength in them.

(If you're having problems commenting, then go to Blogger.com and set up a user profile. It's completely anonymous, and can be under any name you like. Then you can comment on any Blogger websites, and even set up your own blog).

To kick things off, here's mine:

My only other long sober stretch was about three years ago. I was getting increasingly troubled by my relationship with booze, and how it seemed to be dominating my life. I desperately wanted to cut down. So I read Jason Vale.

By the end of the book I'd completely changed my view of alcohol. I realised that cutting down wasn't going to work for me - it never had in the past - and that I really could go alcohol free.

So I quit. For nearly two months. I joined Soberistas.com, but that was really the extent of my involvement in the sober world.

Then I had a bad day. I drove for a solid nine hours to Scotland with three squabbling children and a cooped up terrier.

When I, finally, arrived, I thought I really deserved just one glass of wine. After all, I'd reset my relationship with booze now. I knew how dangerous it was. I'd be cautious. Aware.

Within an hour or two I'd drunk the whole bottle! And after two months sober the after effects were ghastly.

Still, I wasn't worried. It was a good lesson. And, indeed, I didn't drink again for a whole week. When I had two glasses. See! Moderation in action!

Suffice to say, that within a month I was back to drinking just as much as before. And the amount kept creeping up, millilitre by millilitre.

It took two whole years for me to find the resolve to quit again. And this time it was harder. Much harder.

So, I know that it's just not worth it. I know that I'd only end up back at the beginning, and that from there the trajectory is in one direction: down.

And yet, sometimes I still hear that voice saying after more than a year you really must have cracked it....

Which is why I'm asking you to share your stories too. Because stories really do have the power to change the world.

Love SM x

FOMO

I was reading Angie's blog this morning (My quest for an alcohol free life).

I've been following Angie, a lovely Australian nurse, for over a year. She got as far as 100 days once, but then disappeared. We all missed her terribly. Then she came back. Back at Day One.

But this time she sounds different. She's got to around four months, and I honestly think she's cracked it. Go Angie!

Angie was talking about a wonderful day out with her husband and son, picnicking by the river, and how she was overwhelmed with sadness, because it would have been perfect if they'd been able to share a bottle of wine.

Fear of missing out (or, as my children would say, FOMO) is a big problem for we newly sober people. Even after thirteen months I still get hit by it from time to time.

There you are, having a blast, when out of nowhere a voice pipes up it'd be better with a glass of vino, wouldn't it? You're really missing out.

Now we're not very good at missing out. If we were, then we would probably be good at moderation *rolls on floor laughing*.

When FOMO hits me I remind myself that the picture of me calmly, and happily, sipping one glass of wine is a myth.

Because one glass of wine doesn't really do anything, does it? You might as well drink a glass of elderflower cordial.

All one glass of wine does is make you want more. It doesn't leave you feeling better, it leaves you feeling dissatisfied.

So, you wouldn't be sitting there drinking one glass, you'd be sharing a bottle. And all the while you'd be trying to make sure that you were getting at least your fair share of that bottle.

And, when the bottle was gone, you'd rearrange whatever plans you had had to ensure that you could carry on drinking.

And by the end of the evening you'd be tetchy, or morose, or boring, or embarrassing, or something you didn't want to be.

So, you're not really missing out at all, because that one glass is a total fantasy.

What you are missing out on is waking up in the middle of the night, tossing and turning and sweating booze.

You're missing out on wasting the morning feeling yucky and regretful.

You're missing out on telling yourself yet again that this is the day you'll start being sensible and drink mindfully and moderately, only at weekends, and never more than two glasses.

So, next time you get an attack of the FOMOs, remind yourself what you really are missing.

Love to you all,

SM x

Getting to 100 Days

If you quit drinking around New Year, then right about now you should be getting to 100 days!

Huge congratulations to SFM, Justonemore, Dr C and my e-mail friend CB for doing just that. Awesome work, my friends.

I looked back at the post I wrote on my own centenary (click here).

The reason 100 days is so significant is not just because it's a pretty number with three digits. It's a massive achievement.

One hundred one-days-at-a-time. Hundreds of battles with the wine witch. Endless sitting on your hands, gritting your teeth and mainlining hot chocolate.

The other reason it's so significant, is that for many of us, the 100 day mark was about when it started getting easier.

There's no immediate change. Everything on this journey happens slowly, slowly. BUT there will come a day, around that point, when you realise that you're not thinking about booze any more.

It's like being stuck in a cell for years, then discovering a window you've never spotted before and, through it, glimpsing freedom.

There will still be cravings. There will still be dark days. There will be episodes of PAWS. BUT you start to realise what it's all been for.

Leonard Cohen wrote:

Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack in everything
That's how the light gets in.

And that, for me, is how 100 days feels.

(By the way, here's what Leonard Cohen said about drugs: The recreational, the obsessional and the pharmaceutical - I've tried them all. I would be enthusiastically promoting any one of them if they worked.)

You've spent more than three months discovering all the cracks that you used to fill by pouring booze into them (not realising that it was only running out the bottom). You become painfully aware of how imperfect you are....

...but then, around day 100, the light starts to get in. And it all makes sense.

And you realise that without the preceding darkness, you'd never have appreciated the simple beauty of those shafts of light.

And you find that your cracks, your imperfections, are what make you strong and beautiful. They give you wisdom, resilience and empathy.

Once that light gets in, you never want to go back to the endless, oppressive gloom. And that makes the next 100 days so much easier.

So, welcome to the field of bunnies, all you wonderful, strong 100 dayers.

(If you've not heard of the field of bunnies, and want to know how to get there, then click here).

You rock. All of you. Whether you're on Day 100, or Day 1.

SM x

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