Dry January

HAPPY NEW YEAR EVERYONE!

Welcome to a brand new decade. A clean sheet of paper. A fresh start. A chance to be a new you, or to rediscover the old you.

Is your New Year's resolution to do Dry January?

If so, you're not alone. An estimated 5 million people in the UK are taking part in the Dry January challenge in 2020.

Whether you want to quit just for for the next month, or whether you've realised you've got to give it up forever, here is some advice on how to get through the first 31 days.

It's really hard to condense this into just one post, but there's more information on all of this - and very much more - throughout this blog and on the SoberMummy Facebook page.

1. Preparation

Getting your head in the right place is crucial. If you start the month with a sense of dread and deprivation you'll never make it.

You are doing an amazing thing. You are about to change your life for the better. Be excited!

If that last sentence is just incredibly irritating, and you can't imagine feeling anything like excitement right now, then read Jason Vale's book: Kick the Drink, Easily.

In fact, read it anyway. It'll completely change the way you think about drinking, and make the whole process of quitting much easier.

You could also read The Sober Diaries (click here) about my first twelve months off the booze, which will give you a really good idea of all the downs, and the ups, that you can expect, with a few good laughs (and some tears) along the way.

Write down, right now, while you can remember, all the reasons why you want to stop. The big ones (like health concerns) and all the little ones (like being embarrassed about all the empty bottles in your recycling bags).

Over the next few weeks there will be many moments when you will think "why am I doing this?" You'll need that list as a reminder.

2. Know what to expect

The first two or three weeks after quitting drinking can be physically and mentally gruelling, but it's much easier if you know what to expect, and know that it's all perfectly normal. After years of flooding your body with addictive toxins, it's bound to fight back a bit when you quit.

You will probably feel more tired than you can imagine. By mid afternoon you'll want a nap - like a toddler. You'll feel muggy headed, like you're wading through soup, and your concentration levels will be completely shot.

Don't worry - it'll pass. See it as a sign that your body's recuperating.

Ironically, you may find that you also have problems initially in getting to sleep. Again, this is temporary. Soon you'll be sleeping like a baby - better than you have in years. And no more waking up at 3am with the night horrors.

You might get headaches and/or constipation. That's all part of your body detoxing. Drink lots of water, fresh juices and smoothies.

You may be a bit (or a lot) tetchy and snappy. Like a bad case of PMT.  Try to avoid taking on anything too crucial or stressful over the next week or two.

You'll constantly think about drinking. Or not drinking. And, generally, the more you try NOT to think about something, the more you do.

I found that the best thing to do is to indulge the obsession - at least initially. I read endless books, articles and blogs about drinking. My favourite drinking memoirs are Caroline Knapp's Drinking: A Love Story and Sarah Hepola's Blackout. For great drinking fiction read Girl on The Train by Paula Hawkins, or Rachel's Holiday by Marian Keyes.

3. Find Some Friends

It's really difficult to quit drinking on your own. You might be lucky and have someone 'in real life' who's doing it with you. The problem with that, however, is if they cave they're likely to take you down with them. And they might not need to quit as much as you do....

Luckily, there's a huge amount of help online - a whole Soberverse!

Why not sign up to www.soberistas.com where you'll find huge amounts of help and support, or the wonderful Facebook community of Club Soda at www.joinclubsoda.com?

There's a fabulous group of sober people on Instagram too. You can find me @clare_pooley, and check out @soberdave, @soberfishie, @janeyleegrace, @sober_and_social, @thegaysober and many more.

There's also AA. I have to confess that I've still not been myself, but they've helped millions of people and saved endless lives. With AA you get all the help and support you'd get online plus real hugs, not just virtual ones.

4. Be good to yourself

You are doing a phenomenal thing. And it's not easy. So, for the next few weeks at least, don't try to do anything else. Don't worry about dieting, about getting a new job or redecorating the house. Just concentrate, for the moment, on NOT DRINKING!

Give yourself some rewards - you deserve them. And you're saving money! Eat cake. Drink lots of hot chocolate (it has magical properties - you'll see). Have hot baths with bubbles and candles. Book a massage. Whatever makes you feel good.

5. Watch out for cravings

You're bound to get them, especially at your main trigger points, like 'wine o'clock' or when you're hungry, tired, stressed or bored. Or pretty much anytime, actually.

Remember - THEY WILL PASS. You just need to distract yourself for as long as it takes.

Bake cookies. Or, the more healthy option, do some exercise. Go for a long walk, or a run. Getting away from the fridge or any drinking environment is a good idea.

Have a hot bath. Check out the SoberMummy Facebook page here for daily information and inspiration ('like page' to stay updated). Log onto Soberistas, Club Soda (see above) or your favourite blog. Take up knitting, colouring, the guitar - whatever works.

6. Wait for the miracles to happen

Just take it one day at a time and you will, slowly slowly, start to see the benefits.

You'll sleep better than you have since childhood. Your eyes will be brighter, skin fresher and hair bouncier. You'll look five years younger.

You'll lose the puffy face and the wine belly. You'll feel calmer and happier.

But the best things about being sober don't happen in the first month. They keep on coming, over the weeks, months and years.

So don't just do Dry January. Consider making it forever.

Just think about it....

Good luck to you all!

Clare x

By the way, my novel - The Authenticity Project - is out soon! You can pre-order here (UK), or here (USA)

Original post updated on 1/1/2020

It's my Soberversary!

Yesterday, it was exactly two years since I last had a drink. I can't quite believe it. In fact, I completely forgot about it until lovely J, a reader who's only three weeks behind me, sent me a congratulatory e-mail.

How extraordinary that not long ago I could tell you exactly how many hours it had been since my last drink, and now I even forget the years.

I looked back at the post I wrote on my one year Soberversary (click here).

Year One was all about re-discovering the person I used to be.

I learned what it's like to sleep like a baby again. I rediscovered a sense of wonder, of self respect and self confidence. I, eventually, lost the wine belly, and was reacquainted with all the skinny clothes in my wardrobe.

I re-learned how to deal with fear and anxiety and how to form, and nurture, proper relationships, not just ones built on idle gossip at drinks parties.

Year Two has been very different. It hasn't been hard, in fact it's flown by in the way time only does when you're having a great deal of fun.

I started Year Two feeling like I'd got myself back, but I had this nagging sense of time wasted and opportunities lost. I wanted my life back.

So this was the year when I decided to chase my dreams. The same dreams I'd had at age nineteen, when, more than anything else, I wanted to write. I wanted to be an author.

But I put that dream on hold for decades because I was busy doing other stuff (drinking) and because I was scared of failure. And if you don't try, you can't fail, right?

Only now I realise that the only way you fail is by not trying. After beating the booze, and then cancer, I've lost my sense of fear and I feel pretty invincible.

So I wrote the book proposal and, miraculously, I got the publishing contract. And now I'm being paid to write, which has been my dream for thirty years.

Truthfully, I still miss the booze from time to time. Every once in a while I'd love to be able to blur the edges. I'd love a glass of champagne on a birthday or at Christmas. I still worry, sometimes, that people will think me boring, that maybe I am boring.

But then I remind myself that that one glass is a fantasy. I've never been happy with just one, of anything. And one glass now would just re-awaken that nagging voice that would constantly be asking "am I going to drink tonight? Or maybe tomorrow night? Just one glass? Or maybe two?"

And the very best thing about the last year has been the peace, the simplicity, of never having to ask myself "am I drinking tonight?" or "shall I have another one?" because I don't drink, not one, not two, not anything, and that makes life so much less complicated.

So, if you're still struggling with the early days and thinking why am I doing this? You're doing it to get yourself back. Then, once you've done that, you'll get your life back. And that's awesome.

Love SM x

P.S. Huge congrats to LushNoMore, who's held my hand since the beginning, on her two year Soberversary last week, and to Ang75 on ONE HUNDRED DAYS. Great work, girlfriends.

Post Alcohol Fatigue

If you quit drinking on New Year's Day, then HUGE CONGRATULATIONS on making it through your first Friday night and into Day 6. You are awesome!

Have you had much in the way of withdrawal symptoms?

Despite the fact that I was drinking around ten bottles of wine a week, when I finally quit my issues were mainly psychological rather than physical.

My readers and fellow bloggers often report headaches, mild 'flu like symptoms and difficulty getting to sleep, but the one physical symptom that seems to unite us all and I bet you're grappling with too is...

EXHAUSTION.

Not just feeling a little bit weary, must put my feet up tiredness, but a bone deep sluggishness, a feeling that every cell in your body has switched to 'go slow'.

It's a weariness that mere sleep can't solve, and it's accompanied by an all encompassing feeling of ennui, of what's it all about anyway?

The only time I had felt anything approaching this was in the early stages of pregnancy, when getting through the day is like wading through pea soup.

So, if that's how you're feeling then DON'T PANIC! It's entirely normal and it will shift.

People often talk about 'the threes' when it comes to addiction and breaking habits.

It takes around three days for all the alcohol to leave your body, then three weeks for the worst of the physical effects to pass, and three months (we tend to talk about 100 days) before the worst of the psychological effects start to recede.

By day 21, or thereabouts, you should be feeling a great deal perkier.

In the meantime, indulge yourself. Think about it like a bout of 'flu. Go to bed early. If you can, have an afternoon nap. Drink hot chocolate, wear cashmere socks, have lots of hot baths with bubbles.

Exercise helps, especially in the fresh air, as does taking a vitamin B complex supplement (alcohol strips us of B vitamins which causes fatigue) and a magnesium supplement before bedtime if you're having problems sleeping.

Eat as well as you can and drink fresh juices and smoothies to replace all the nutrients that alcohol has leeched out of your cells.

If the constant tiredness is getting you down, then remember it's your body healing. If you ever have wobbles about why you're doing this, then the way you're feeling now is evidence you're doing the right thing.

You feel like you've been run over by a bus because you've been filling your body with toxins for years and it's going to take it a while to recover.

Before long you'll be sleeping like a baby and be bouncing out of bed in the mornings like the Duracell Bunny, ready to take on the day.

(See my post from Day 24: Sleep, Glorious Sleep)

Just one word of warning though: as your body recalibrates and your dopamine levels adjust to life without booze, these periods of exhaustion do recur from time to time. It's called Post Acute Withdrawal Syndrome, and you can read more about it here.

Keep on at it - you're doing an amazing thing, and let us know how you are in the comments below.

Love to you all,

SM x

18 MONTHS SOBER!

Time does funny things.

When you first quit drinking, it slows right down. That hour between 6pm and 7pm seems to take a lifetime. Each day you climb a mountain, every week you cross a continent.

But then, one day, you realise that time is speeding up again. You can't keep track of the days any longer, so you start counting in months.

Now I've lost track of even the months. The last six have flown by. It took one of my readers to remind me (thank you, lovely LushNoMore), that for her, and me, this is one and a half years.

I was looking at my children as they're getting ready to start the new school year, and thinking about the lives they have ahead of them.

When you're a child, anything is possible.

It's like standing in a vast hall, surrounded by open doors - hundreds of them circling around you. And, as you look up, you realise that there are many storeys above you, more than you can count, of wide open doors.

Through each door is an adventure. You can become an astronaut, an astronomer, an astrologer. You could find a cure for cancer, be an Olympic cyclist or paint a masterpiece.

Then, as you get older, the doors start to close. You're now too tall to be a ballerina, too old to be a supermodel, too big to be a professional gymnast. You don't have the right A levels for medical school.

One day, around middle age, you look around you and realise that the vast hall of open doors is now a small room with only a few potential exits. It's just too late for a do-over. Every decision you've made in the past has narrowed your options for the future until it's all just more of the same.

No wonder we drink.

And that was me eighteen months ago. Depressed, fat, broke. Sipping on the endless glasses of Chablis while thinking about what might have been if I'd walked through one door rather than another.

And the thought of quitting booze feels like giving up more options, more potential adventures. Not only is life becoming increasingly dull and predictable, but you have to do it all sober. Are you kidding?

But, you know what?

Since I quit drinking, the extraordinary thing is that the room I'm standing in has got bigger and bigger. Every time I look around there are more doors I can walk through.

I've got more energy, more self respect, more time. I've lost that nagging anxiety and fear of failure, replaced by the feeling that anything is possible.

Gradually, all the pounds I've saved by not buying wine have added up, so I'm completely debt free. No credit cards, no overdraft.

And, now I'm twenty six pounds (12 kilos) lighter, even my fashion options have expanded. I no longer have to stick to black, stretchy and forgiving.

My life is totally unrecognisable.

So please don't worry that putting down the glass will make your life smaller. It's going to open up possibilities you never imagined.

Soren Kierkegaard says it much better than I ever could:

If I were to wish for anything, I should not wish for wealth and power, but for the passionate sense of the potential, for the eye which, ever young and ardent, sees the possible. Pleasure disappoints, possibility never. And what wine is so sparkling, what so fragrant, what so intoxicating as possibility!

Love to you all,

SM x

SM's Guide to Sober Summer Holidays

The British summer holidays are officially here, as evidenced by the fifteen hour traffic jams outside the ferry port of Dover this weekend.

We enthusiastic drinkers often fret a lot about doing a summer holiday sober.

Summer holidays are totally connected in our minds with images of sipping (did I say sipping? Who am I kidding?) glasses of chilled white wine outside a Greek Taverna, drinking cocktails while dancing to dodgy holiday tunes, or rediscovering the romance over a shared bottle of champagne.

Aaarrrggghhhh!

And the thing we really loved about summer holidays was the Summer Holiday Rules which, in my case, went something like this:

1. It's fine to drink as much as you want every evening because you're on holiday!

2. It's okay if you get drunk and behave really badly, because you can run away in a week or two leaving all those memories behind you.

3. It doesn't matter if you wake up with a terrible hangover, and are unable to do anything much for most of the day, because there's nothing you have to do anyway.

4. It's fine to drink at lunch time (every day), because that's totally normal behaviour in the Mediterranean.

5. It doesn't matter if 'lunch time' starts at about 11am, because you're on 'holiday time'.

So, summer holidays are dangerous times.

It's really easy to fall off the waggon because the wily old wine witch starts saying something like this:

Oh for f***s sake, you're on HOLIDAY! You deserve a drink or two. You've done so well! You proved you can do it, so you can do it again. Just drink while you're away. What goes on tour stays on tour, right? I won't tell anyone if you don't. You can quit THE MOMENT you leave. Or maybe the moment you get back (a drink or two on the 'plane would be nice ;-)).

Please don't listen. Because it won't work like that. You won't give up the minute you get back because it'll be too hard.

You'll feel down because of all the booze, and because you're back to reality, holiday over. You'll put it off for another few days, then another, then another.

Chances are it'll take a few months before you manage to re-gather all the strength and determination you need to quit again, and this time it'll be harder. It always is. Been there, done that, got the t-shirt.

The truth is that summer holidays without booze can be way better. Honestly.

Think about it. What are holidays really for?

They're for recharging the batteries, physically and emotionally, exploring new places, doing new things and reconnecting with family and/or friends. Right?

And all of those things are much easier to do sober than when you're endlessly drinking.

So, here are my top tips for having a fabulous, sober summer holiday:

1. Prepare.

Write a list of all the things you want to get out of your holiday, and remind yourself why they'll be easier to do sober.

Often the 'getting there' is the most stressful part of the holiday, so make sure you have your favourite alcohol free drink to hand for when you arrive.

(I always take a stash of Beck's Blue with me, but last year arrived at our rented cottage to discover there was no bottle opener. I ran around like a mad thing bashing my bottle over rocks, trying to dislodge the cap. This year I'm taking my own).

2. Love the mornings

Waking up in a beautiful place with no hangover, full of energy, and with no work to do is awesome!

So I go to bed pretty early on holiday and wake up shortly after dawn. The world is sleeping, it's just you and the birds, and that's the time when magic happens....

3. Look after yourself

Sober holidays are a great time to really recharge your body and soul.

Eat wonderful fresh food from the market. Get lots of exercise and fresh air. Take up yoga and/or meditation. You'll come home feeling (and looking) a million dollars, not all toxic and depressed.

(Try the yoga videos on YouTube, and the Headspace App for meditation. You'll feel much less of a pillock going all New Agey on a beach than you do in your kitchen at home).

4. Coping with cravings

The hardest times are when you're in a situation when you'd usually be drinking - like sitting outside a café, watching the sun set without a glass of wine.

So, if you get hit by a major craving, take yourself off as soon as you can, and do something that you do not associate with booze. Go swimming. Take a walk. Do that yoga. Have a nap. It'll pass....

5. Know the wine witch

You know what she's going to say (see above) at some point, or at several points during your vacation, so be prepared. Know what to say back. Know it's all lies.

But, the main thing, is to have a wonderful time. You've truly earned it.

Love SM x

Clearing the Decks

We overly enthusiastic imbibers tend to be masters of procrastination. Never do something today that can be put off until tomorrow.

This is partly because drinking (and the after effects of) takes up so much time, but it's also because we get so used to medicating away any inconvenient feelings - like anger, fear and boredom - that we start to avoid any inconvenient tasks as well.

I keep a running list on iPhone notes of things I have to do. It gets longer and shorter, but never entirely goes away. And I've realised that the problem with it is the number of really old tasks that I've become adept at ignoring.

Some of these I avoid because they are really hard. They'll take a long time (like the tax return), or a lot of courage (like sending the book to agents). But some are tiny little easy peasy ones that I've just taken an irrational dislike to.

The problem with all these ancient items clogging up the to do list is that they start to fester, to go toxic. It's like when a toddler drops a half eaten egg sandwich between the back seats of the car. After a while everything starts to smell.

You see, procrastination isn't just the thief of time - it's the stealer of serenity. Those tough jobs that you never get around to tackling are the ones that keep you awake in the small hours of the night, jeering at you.

So I have a new system. I used to make myself tackle at least three things on the list every day. But, obviously, I'd always do the easy ones.

Now I still do three a day, but one of them has to be a tricky bugger. Something from the dusty, cobwebby section of the list.

So slowly, slowly, one day at a time, just like quitting the booze, I'm clearing away all the toxic waste.

Which is why I found myself yesterday having a smear test (pap smear to you Americans).

That one had been on the list for nearly a whole year.

I hate smear tests. They're so undignified.  There you are, naked from the waist down, legs akimbo while the nurse - rootling around down there - starts making polite conversation about the weather (so British).

Plus, I'm aware that most men and women under the age of thirty five are totally unfamiliar with the concept of female pubic hair which they wax and bully into extinction.

I'm always terrified that the nurse will take one look at my neatly trimmed lady garden and run screaming from the examination room in horror.

But now it's done. All over. Expunged from the list. And it's like another little weight being removed from the shoulders.

If you've only just quit then don't worry about The List. Just wallow in a box set and eat cake. You're doing enough. But if you're out the other side then start clearing the decks. It's awesome.

Love SM x

Drunk Visitors

Last night a friend of mine was throwing a big drinks party for her birthday.

A few days ago, another old friend, S, (who lives in the country) called to ask if she could stay the night after the event.

Now, S and I go back a long way. We're old drinking buddies. Many a night we'd sit cackling on a sofa at some party or other like a pair of old crones. She is Godmother to one of my children, and I am Godmother to one of hers.

I know that she is not very happy about me not drinking, so I was a bit nervous about her coming to stay.

I find drinks parties the most difficult situation to navigate sober. I still feel less sparkling, less witty, less interesting in that scenario than I used to (although it is, slowly, getting easier). I handily forget how utterly boring I could be after a few too many drinks.

Despite that scratchiness, I loved the party, loved parking right outside, loved catching up with old friends, loved the fact that they served virgin mojitos.

BUT by 11.30pm the crowd had thinned out massively and I was ready to head home.

Not my guest, however, so Mr SM gave her his keys and she said she'd follow on in a cab a little later.

We were woken up shortly after we'd fallen asleep by S who was having problems making the keys work in the lock (remember that feeling, anyone?).

Mr SM let her in and she stayed up a little longer for a nightcap and a cigarette while we went back to sleep.

We had to get up early this morning as it's a school day. Mr SM walked out of the bedroom first and I heard him yell "Oh my God, what's happened here?!"

"What?!?" I replied, suddenly wide awake.

"You'd better come and look."

There was a five foot hole in our staircase, and three of the carved, wooden bannisters were lying on the landing in pieces.

It turned out that S had staggered up the stairs to bed, tripped over her bell bottomed trousers and all six foot two of her had hurtled back down the stairs, like a giant redwood being felled in a forest, and through our bannisters.

She's fine. Just a little bruised and embarrassed.

Our staircase isn't.

Now, had I been drunk or hungover when this all came to light we may well have had the sort of row that would ruin an old friendship.

But I'm sober. I am zen. I've been to yoga twice this week. My chakras (whatever they may be) are aligned. I am, according to my oncologist, currently cancer free.

(And it was a welcome reminder that parties may be a little bit harder sober than drunk, but at least I'm not careering round the country destroying other people's property).

So I got the kid's UHU out of the craft box, found a roll of Sellotape, and did a temporary patch job, before sitting down with a hungover S for a debrief on the party.

"Sorry about your stairs," she mumbled over her breakfast of strong coffee and Marlboro.

"That's okay," I replied, passing her two of the extra strong ibuprofen I'd been given after they removed a sizeable chunk of my left boob, "but don't expect me not to tell anyone. It'll make a great dinner party story. That's the quid pro quo. You may not be a perfect guest, but you're a fabulous anecdote."

What she doesn't know is that I'm sharing it as a cautionary tale with thousands of my friends on the internet too...

Love SM x

Coping Strategies

I was reading an article in the papers this weekend where a doctor was talking about addictions.

Rather than discussing 'alcoholism' and 'disease', he referred to all addictions as maladaptive coping strategies.

This was a bit of a lightbulb moment for me.

The theory is that we human beings are not very good at dealing with the stresses and anxieties of every day life, and - as a result - we find various ways of coping, many of which are not healthy, and can turn into addictions.

This totally sums up how I used alcohol - as a handy little anaesthetic whenever I felt I needed a short away break from reality.

It also makes me feel less alone, because even those people who drink 'normally' often have their own maladaptive coping strategies - overeating, self harming, shopping, pornography, gambling, extra marital affairs, smoking, illegal, prescription or over the counter drugs, etcetera.

In fact, I'm sure there are very few people who don't have some bad habit that they turn to as a stress release.

The maladaptive coping strategy theory also explains why quitting booze is so much more complex a process than we expect, and why we so often fail.

I imagined that my life would go on pretty much as normal, just without the booze. Then I realised that not drinking is actually the easy bit. The tough bit was dealing with all the emotions that were suddenly exposed to the light, as if I'd brutally ripped off a sticking plaster.

If we don't find new coping strategies we will, inevitably, pick up the drink again.

Initially we tend to turn to strategies that mimic the one we're used to: drinking.

I used (and still do, to a lesser extent) alcohol free beer as a way of coping. And cake. It's part of the reason why many of us don't lose weight initially, despite dropping all those booze calories.

Over time, though, we find healthier coping strategies. Running, walking, mindfulness and meditation, hot baths, arts and crafts, reading, writing - whatever works.

This is, I believe, the proper definition of growing up: being able to cope with whatever life throws at you without looking immediately for a fire exit.

One coping strategy that many sober people rely on is yoga.

Now, I've done a bit of yoga over the years, with varying degrees of success and embarrassment (anyone else feel the urge to fart during a sun salutation?), but, strangely, not since I quit drinking.

Then I realised that, over the last few months, with all the stress of the cancer thing, all my muscles have become tighter and tighter. Everything is clenched.

One thing I miss about drinking isn't just the mental relaxation of those first few sips (gulps!) of wine at the end of the day, but the way you could feel your muscles relaxing - your jaw unclenching, teeth stop grinding, shoulders unwinding.

It struck me that I needed to find another way of doing that - of physically ironing out all those knots.

So I went to a yoga class. What took me so long?

Admittedly I felt like a pillock. I did a lot of wobbling. Falling over. Going left when everyone else was going right. And admiring everyone else's handstands from a sitting position.

BUT it's a wonderful way to stay in the moment and take your mind off any worries, and you come out feeling like you've been massaged for hours. Everything feels looser.

Tomorrow I have a check up with my oncologist. He does blood tests to check for cancer markers. I am horribly aware, that however unlikely it may be, there is a possibility that tomorrow's appointment could totally ruin the life I've so painstakingly put back together....

....so today I'm going to a yoga class.

Onwards, upwards and downward dogs.

SM x

Being Square

One of the big things you have to do when you get sober is to re-adjust the image you have of yourself.

I've always seen myself as a rebel. A bit naughty. Slightly wild. Ever since I first started smoking behind the bike sheds at school, playing practical jokes on the teachers and 'customising' my school uniform.

Last night we were staying with lovely friends in the country. There were twelve of us for dinner. We got through twenty three bottles of wine.

Or, rather, they did. I drank water. Which didn't bother me. I'm pretty used to that now.

Shortly after midnight, as it started getting a bit raucous, I decided to slink unobtrusively off to bed.

Sadly, slinking unobtrusively is not my forte, and one of my friends yelled out "Goodnight, SM!" at which point they all turned round to stare at me. The first one to leave the party.

I woke up at 3am. The lack of snoring and alcohol fumes alerted me to the fact that Mr SM was not there. I walked down the corridor to the bathroom and could hear laughter and voices from the dining room two floors down.

And I felt sad. And square. And boring.

I don't want to be the good one, the reliable one, the predictable one. I still want to walk on the wild side.

This morning did, as you can imagine, make up for it. I felt great, while everyone around me was crumbling.

We all went out for a big Sunday roast (back at the Soho Farmhouse), and I didn't have to have the customary stand off with Mr SM about who was going to drink and who was going to drive back to London. Because I was going to drive. Obviously.

Good old, boring old, reliable old SM.

I had a lovely weekend. I really didn't want to drink. I had great fun with great friends and all our children. But I'm feeling sad.

I have to remember that, given the huge proportion of people who drink, I'm actually still the rebel. Still zigging while others zag. Still breaking the rules.

And if I want to shock people a little, make sure no-one sees me as boring or predictable, all I have to do is publish this blog. That would put the cat among the pigeons...

HAPPY SOBERVERSARY to fabulous Silver Birch! Awesome work, girlfriend :-)

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

The Little Things

There are lots of major advantages that come with quitting booze, but there are also a number of little things. Things that crop up from time to time and give you a welcome boost, reminding you that you're doing the right thing.

I had two such lovely moments in the last week.

The first one came courtesy of the ice cream man.

There's an ice cream van which, much to the chagrin of all the mothers, parks right outside the children's school, arriving with the first signs of spring, and staying through to middle of Autumn.

I run the gamut of the van, dragging protesting children, every day of the week, except for Friday, which has been renamed ice cream Friday.

Now it's the summer term, the ice cream man is back (even though it still seems to be snowing from time to time).

So, last Friday I ordered two Ninety-nines (one with additional strawberry sauce), and the ice cream man did a comedy double take.

"Hope you don't mind me asking," he says, "but have you lost, like, loads of weight?"

"Err, yes, I have actually," I replied.

"How did you do that?" he asks, by which point everyone in the queue is listening.

"I quit booze," I said.

"Just that?" he asks, somewhat incredulously. "No diet or anything?"

"Nope. Just the alcohol. Goes to show how much Chablis I was drinking. Ha! Ha!"

"Ha! Ha! Ha!" goes everyone else in the queue. If only they knew....

(For more on alcohol and weight loss, see my post: Reasons to Quit Drinking, #1: Weight Loss)

Then, last night, I was at a dinner, sitting next to a friend's charming new boyfriend, who I'd never met. Somehow we ended up talking about our University days.

He mentioned his student loan, to which I replied "We didn't have student loans in my day."

(In fact, I vividly remember going on the anti-loan march - Maggie, Maggie, Maggie! Out, Out, Out! -  a whirlwind of idealism in a mini skirt, duffel coat and leg warmers, swathed in cigarette smoke.)

"That can't be right", he said. "You're way younger than me."

"I think not," I replied. "How old are you?"

"Forty two." he says.

"Well, I'm forty seven."

Now, admittedly, he may be a great actor. He was, obviously, a charmer. But he did look genuinely shocked.

And, I promise you, a year ago he would not have been at all surprised to discover my age. (And, actually, he probably wouldn't have bothered with the charm offensive).

I apologise that this all sounds rather superficial, but - let's face it - quitting alcohol is hard when the whole world is awash with the damn stuff, so we deserve a few perks from time to time, don't you think?

Love to you all,

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

Self Sabotage

Lovely J - reader, e-mail friend, and fellow breast cancer survivor, sent me this fabulous article by Martha Beck on self sabotage (click here).

Martha's thinking is based on the famous 'rat park' experiment.

(Johann Hari's TEDD talk on addiction was inspired by the same game changing rodents. If you haven't seen it yet, go to my post: Everything You Think You Know About Addiction is Wrong).

Rat park was an experiment designed by a Canadian called Bruce Alexander.

He looked at the myriad of studies into heroin and opiate addiction, where rats, given the opportunity, would drug themselves into oblivion.

Eventually they'd ignore all the food and water until, pretty quickly, they died. Game over. Ex rats.

Alexander noticed something significant: in all these experiments the rats were on their own in small, featureless cages.

So, Alexander designed Rat Park, a rat nirvana. He put lots of rats in it with loads of fun stuff to do, and gave them a choice of water or morphine.

Most of them chose the water.

(I suspect that if I'd been in that cage, however much fun I was having, I still would have wanted to party with the morphine from time to time. I would have been rebel rat).

Reading about this experiment was Martha Beck's lightbulb moment. She says:

The Rat Park studies profoundly influenced my view of what many people call self-sabotage. I believe that most of us live in cages of our own creation.

Ignoring our actual desires, we try to do what we think is right (or good or healthy or admirable—pick your poison). Sometimes this arrangement works. Sometimes it doesn't.  

Martha reckons that we fall back on our bad habits (drinking, smoking, overeating, shopping, whatever) when our conscious self is fighting against our inner desires.

In effect, we're sticking our rat-self in a cage and not letting it near the rat park. All this does is make our inner rat rebel and dive for our bad habit of choice, as a sort of ratty f**k you.

So, for us, the greater the divergence of our actual lives from our perfect rat park, the more likely we are to reach for the booze.

I get this. I also think it becomes a vicious circle, because the more we drink, the less likely we are to create a stimulating and varied rat park. Over time, our cage becomes increasingly dull and empty.

Instead of doing anything constructive about the situation, we shrug our shoulders, feel a bit sorry for ourselves and pour another drink, just like the self destructing rats with the morphine water in the original experiments.

So, how does Martha suggest we break the cycle of self sabotage? How do we get out of the cage and into the park?

She says the key is to make yourself aware of your inherent desires, and when you're disallowing them.

So, sit down with a pen and paper, and write down all the things you're planning to do tomorrow, big and small.

Then, think about drinking, and what triggers the addict voice in your head.

Read through the list carefully, think about performing each activity, and how much it makes you want to self sabotage.

If it doesn't make you want to drink at all, give it a zero. If it immediately makes you want to dash to the nearest wine shop and drown in booze, give it a ten.

This exercise will reveal some scary, and helpful, truths.

You may find, for example, that your evening bubble bath and your yoga class are zeros, but calling your ex-husband, and meeting your friend Chloe, are tens.

Martha suggest that you take each self-sabotaging item on the list and think:

1. In a perfect life, would I do this thing at all?

2. If so, what would I change to make it more enjoyable?

3. If not, what would I rather do?   

Let your imagination run wild. Dream. Be adventurous. Create your perfect Rat Park in your mind.

Then keep that amazing place in view, and make as many tiny changes as you can over time to get yourself closer to it.

Do more of the zeros, and jettison the tens, or adapt them to make them more manageable.

Because, as Martha says, If you cease to betray yourself, the self-sabotage in your life simply stops.

Simples?

Happy, sober Sunday to you all,

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

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

Doing the Early Days

One of the most common questions I get via e-mail is how do I get through the first few days sober?

So, here's SoberMummy's guide for doing Days 1-5.

It might also help if you've hit a patch of the PAWS (see my post on Post Acute Withdrawal Syndrome) which can make you feel (temporarily!) like you're back at Day 1.

1. Preparation

If possible, clear the house (and that includes the garage, basement and attic - no cheating!) of alcohol. It's more difficult to give into a craving if you have to leave the house to find some booze.

Get your reading material ready. Jason Vale's Kick the Drink is a must, even if you've read it before. Read it a day or two before your Day 1.

For more reading ideas have a look at this: SoberMummy's Book List.

Write down, somewhere safe, all the reasons why you want to quit. The more honest and gruesome the better.

You'll need that list later down the line when you start thinking you've overreacted and that moderation is a far more sensible plan.... (And that will happen, many times).

Fill the fridge with yummy, healthy food, stuff that doesn't need much cooking or preparation (and some chocolate for emergencies), and your favourite alcohol free drinks.

(I swear by Beck's Blue Alcohol Free beer, but watch out, as some people find it too close to the real thing...)

And the most important thing: start to think of yourself as a Non-Drinker. Say it to yourself, with excitement and enthusiasm (fake it if necessary), over and over again. I am a Non-Drinker! Yay! Go me!

2. Make it Simple

For the first few days, try to simplify your life as much as possible. Apart from anything else, you're going to be exhausted.

Don't plan any evenings out. Warn (older members of) your family that they're going to have to get their own supper for a few days. Try to get any stressful chores/work done in advance.

3. One Day at a Time

Actually, it's not even a day.

Presuming that you weren't drinking throughout the mornings, you'll probably only find the evenings hard. And cravings generally only last about an hour, so in fact it's only two or three individual hours that you have to cope with.

And then it'll be morning! And sober mornings are just the best. They're our reward for having made it through the evening.

4. Make Changes

You'll probably find that pretty much all of your usual evening routine is a trigger. Making supper: must pour a glass of wine. Kids in bed: really deserve a glass of wine. Favourite TV show: better with a glass of wine.

Am I right?

So, in the early days, try to fill your evenings with things that aren't associated with drinking: go to the gym. Go swimming! (I haven't yet met anyone who's managed to combine swimming with drinking). Go for a run. Have a long, hot bath. Take the dog for a walk.

If you can't do any of the above because you have small children at home, try and get some help for a few days.

If that's not possible, then try this: be one of them. Have supper with them at 5pm (or whenever they eat), get in the bath with them, then curl up in bed with them and read lots of stories.

Pretend you're five years old again. The kids will love it, it'll keep your evening routine really simple, and you'll be less able to hang onto that glass if you're in the bath/in bed with the babies.

5. Cop Out Early

Luckily, when you first quit, you're really, really tired. Bone deep exhaustion. Which is a fabulous help, because what you really need is less of the hard evenings, and more of the wonderful mornings.

So, for the first few days, why not go to bed at 8pm?

Put the kids in bed, leave the other half to fend for themselves, and retreat with a hot chocolate, an iPad so you can surf the sober sites and exchange notes with fellow travellers (try soberistas.com), and some good books.

Pat yourself on the back for having made it through the witching hour, and go to sleep. Even the most hardened drinker can't manage to drink while sleeping.

(Some people have problems getting to sleep when they first quit, which is where all the reading material comes in handy. A magnesium supplement may also help).

Having gone to bed so early, you may well wake up at dawn - which is great! All that morning with no hangover and bags of energy.

(Which you can use to get all the chores/work done in advance so that you can make the next evening easier).

6. And Repeat

Once you've done it once, you know it's possible. And all you have to do is repeat. Just one day at a time.

Until, the day comes when you realise that it really isn't hard any more....

I'm not saying that it's easy, but it is possible. And you can do it.

Remember that a diamond is simply a lump of coal that's done really well under pressure. Go make yourself a diamond.

SM x

P.S. Please can my fellow Survivors add their own tips in the comments below? Thank you!

Deal With the Next Minute

It's good to be home.

Sometimes, all you need is a week away to appreciate everything that you've got.

After not seeing the children for seven whole days, right now they could refuse to eat everything I cook, lose all their homework and turn their bedrooms into cess pits, and I'd just smile benignly and wrap them in a bear hug.

After a week with absolutely no household chores, I've even fallen back in love with my domestic appliances. I watched my (previously loathed) washing machine as it valiantly chugged through the fourth load of laundry with a feeling akin to awe.

I threw myself at the Times yesterday, like a man in a desert discovering an oasis. I'd missed my favourite columnist: Caitlin Moran.

I have a girlie crush on Caitlin. I love her witty, intelligent writing. I adore her fearlessness. I'm grateful for the way she's made feminism cool again. And I love that blondish, badger like streak in her hair. She's awesome.

So, I thought I'd share my favourite bit of Caitlin, because it's really helpful. She wrote it for teenage girls going through the onslaught of puberty, but it's totally appropriate for all of us....

Here is a promise, and a fact: you will never, in your life, ever have to deal with anything more than the next minute.

However much it feels like you are approaching an event – an exam, a conversation, a decision, a kiss – where, if you screw it up, the entire future will just burn to hell in front of you and you will end, you are not.

That will never happen. That is not what happens.

The minutes always come one at a time, inside hours that come one at a time, inside days that come one at a time – all orderly strung, like pearls on a necklace, suspended in a graceful line. You will never, ever have to deal with more than the next 60 seconds.

Do the calm, right thing that needs to be done in that minute. The work, or the breathing, or the smile. You can do that, for just one minute.

And if you can do a minute, you can do the next.

So, if you're finding things hard right now, then listen to Caitlin, and just deal with the next minute....

And HUGE CONGRATS to Melanie from Boston who's dealt with a whole bunch of minutes - in fact a whole year of them. Got sober, moved across the country and set up a fabulous new business.

Happy Soberversary, Melanie!

Love to you all,

SM x

Time Out

It's time to go home.

I've had the most amazing week, but now I'm ready.

I really miss the children, and my little, scrappy dog. And I'm worried that, after a week holding the fort, my parents will be going crazy.

Plus, there's only so much lounging around on a perfect beach that you can do before it all starts feeling a bit....samey.

I've eaten so much, and moved so little, that I can almost see my thighs expanding. And Mr SM and I have started to run out of things to say to each other.

The wonderful thing about a properly relaxing holiday is that it gives you time to reflect on what's great about your 'real life'. You can go back feeling completely restored, and ready to tackle all the minutiae of daily life again.

If, however, you spend a week alternating drinking and hangovers, you go home feeling drained, miserable and ready to throw in the towel. I know. I've been there.

We need time out. We need to get away from the grind from time to time, and to be able to see everything with a little perspective.

Isn't that why we drink?

That (large) glass of wine at the end of the day gives you a momentary vacation. It transports you to somewhere other. It's a cheap and easy holiday in a goblet.

(Obviously, this trick stops working after a while. It takes more and more wine to have the same effect, then when you come back down to earth it's with a frightful bump. Rather than being restored and ready to tackle life again, you want to escape even more.)

When we quit, we still need that escape. That desire to get away from it all doesn't just vanish, and, if you don't find some other way to do it, it's all too easy to pick up the bottle again.

So DO NOT feel guilty about taking some Time Out. It's crucial.

Think about what you can do that mentally transports you away from wherever you are, just for a while.

For some people it's reading or writing. For others it's yoga, meditation, a relaxing bath. Some love running, painting, colouring, gardening. Or a combination of all of those things.

Think about how much time you spent drinking, and just use a bit of that time doing those things that give you that mental time out. Especially at 'wine o'clock'.

It's not a luxury, it's a necessity.

Love SM x

Anticipation...

Back in November, when I was in the middle of he whole cancer thing, and it was still possible that I didn't have long to live, Mr SM asked me a question.

He said "SM, has this whole experience made you look at your life and wish you'd done anything differently?"

This was a bit of a shock to me. Mr SM is an Old Etonian. He thinks that asking if you take milk in your tea is getting too personal.

I thought for a while, then I said "You know what? I don't think I'd change anything apart from one little thing."

"What's that?" he asked.

"I haven't had enough room service." I replied.

(I am aware that this is going to make me sound terribly spoiled, but please bear in mind that at the time I thought I was dying).

It struck me that for the last twelve years (since #1 was born) we hadn't had one holiday without the children. Plus, every holiday we've had has been self catering, which means that I do all the cooking, washing and cleaning, as per usual. Different setting, same chores.

So, I said "If we manage to get through all of this, can we please book a week away, just us two, somewhere hot with a glorious beach, where I don't have to do anything but lie on a sun lounger and order mocktails?"

Usually this sort of request would be dismissed out of hand, but I had picked a moment when Mr SM was feeling weak, and he agreed. I made him book it, and persuaded my sainted mother to hold the fort at home, before he changed his mind.

So, this Friday we are going to Jamaica! And I am beside myself with excitement (mixed with equal measures of panic about how my parents will cope with the three children and dog while we are gone).

Preparing to go away is a nightmare of pulling favours, writing lists of instructions and trying to anticipate what might go wrong. But I know that the more stressful the build up, the more amazing the feeling when we get onto that plane and fasten our seatbelts (and isn't that a great metaphor for life?)

I confess that I've had a number of moments when I (accidentally) picture myself holding a glass of chilled white wine, or a cocktail - when we're on the plane, the welcome drink at the hotel, the cocktail at sunset my the beach - and I feel a pang of regret like a kick in the stomach.

But I remind myself that the last few holidays I've done sober are the best I've had in years.

We're only away for seven days, I may never get the opportunity again, and I do not want to waste one minute on a hangover, or all blurry. There's going to be enough to get high on...

Whoop! Whoop!

Love SM x