Alcohol and Sleep

It's Saturday morning, and I've bounced out of bed, leaving the children still slumbering away happily.

One of the very best things about being sober, the one I never tire of (please excuse the pun!), is sleep.

For at least a decade, I was a terrible sleeper. I would look at the rest of my family, who'd be happily out for the count for hours, and think how do you DO that?

I would get to sleep easily enough, but then I'd wake up at around 3am tossing and turning and unable to drop off again until about ten minutes before my alarm went off. 

I didn't waste that 3am-7am time. Oh no. I used it to beat myself up about my latest misdemeanour, or the things I'd meant to, yet failed to achieve, or the fact that - yet again - I'd drunk way more than I should have the previous evening. 

I blamed my insomnia on the inevitable stresses and strains of modern life. 

I tried everything to cure my lack of sleep – relaxation and meditation, exercise, aromatherapy pillows and various over-the-counter remedies, but nothing worked.

Then, I quit drinking and, within a few weeks, I was sleeping like a baby and bouncing out of bed in the mornings like the Duracell bunny. Miraculous. 

There are several reasons why alcohol has a terrible effect on our sleep.

Firstly, whilst alcohol initially helps you fall into a deep sleep (which is why I missed the ends of movies for years), as the alcohol wears off you move out of deep sleep and into REM sleep, which is much lighter and easier to wake from.

Your body has to work hard overnight to process all those toxins, which interferes with the quality of your sleep, causing all that tossing, turning and restlessness.

Alcohol is also a diuretic, so after a few drinks you’re likely to wake up in the night sweating buckets, desperately thirsty and needing a wee.

The problem with all this lack of sleep isn’t just that it makes us feel a bit snoozy the next day, it affects everything – our relationships, our careers, our creativity and our health.

Lack of sleep is directly correlated to an increased incidence of breast and colon cancer, and of heart problems. In the days after the clocks spring forward an hour in March, there is a noticeable increase in reported heart attacks and road accidents.

Sleep deprivation was deemed to be 'a significant factor' in the Exxon Valdez wreck, the explosion of the Challenger Space Shuttle and the nuclear disasters at Chernobyl and Three Mile Island.

Now, we may not be in charge of radio-active materials or a space programme, but you know how lack of sleep makes you unproductive, irritable and more likely to make mistakes.

Of all the benefits being sober brings, for me, getting lots of (great quality) sleep has been one of the best.

It's made me healthier, happier, more creative and has even made me look better (no more eye bags and dull, tired skin).

It turns out that I’m not alone in finding that great sleep can transform your life.

A recent survey by the National Centre for Social Research found that quality of sleep has by far the strongest association with wellbeing among those elements of our lifestyle that we can control. Regularly getting a good night’s sleep makes us happier than a fifty percent pay rise, spicing up our sex lives or socialising with friends and family. Whoop whoop!

BUT, be warned, when you first quit you may find getting to sleep tricky. Don't worry, that'll pass. If you’re still having problems dropping off after a few days, try taking a magnesium supplement at bedtime.

I also HUGELY recommend (again) Spacemasks.  They are groovy little eye-masks that heat up when you put them on, releasing lovely, sleep-inducing, lavender. Watch out though, they're addictive!

So, sleep well my friends, and enjoy that virtual fifty percent pay rise…

In other news, the lovely Ang75 has set up her own blog. Go girl! Here's a link.

If you've started blogging, or have a favourite blog you'd like to recommend, then please leave a link, or the address, in the comments below. All sharing welcome :-)

For more on the ups and downs of quitting booze, read The Sober Diaries - click here (UK), here (USA) or here (Australia). The Kindle price in the UK has just been reduced to £4.99!

Love to you all,

SM x

Phil Collins and 'Mid-Life' Drinking

The prevailing wisdom about alcoholism seems to be that it is a disease that you are born with (or not).

Therefore, you're either an alcoholic, in which case you can never drink 'normally', or (like the vast majority of people) you're not, in which case you can quaff away as much as you like without ever getting into trouble.

But that's not what I see in this blog, or in the e-mails I get from readers.

There are many women I've come across who have always had a dysfunctional relationship with booze, who have been aware from the moment they had their first taste of alcohol that the way they drink is not like other people.

However, I also hear from a huge number of people (like me) who drank 'normally' for years, decades even, only to find that in the forties or fifties it bites them in the arse.

So, I say hurrah for Phil Collins, who has recently published his memoir which led to this headline in the Telegraph yesterday: Phil Collins and the rise of mid-lifers drinking their way to oblivion.

I've always been fond of Phil Collins. For a start there's that awesome drum solo in 'In the Air Tonight.'

Also, I remember watching his video for 'You Can't Hurry Love' on Top of the Pops with my Mum. He used a particularly avant guarde technique which meant there were three identical images of him on screen simultaneously.

"Oh, I like this band," says my Mum. "Who are they?"

"The Collins Triplets," I replied. For years afterwards my Mum referred to 'those nice Collins triplets', which cracked me and my brother up every time.

Anyhow, Phil says "I stopped work because I wanted to be a dad at home. As bad luck would have it, as soon as I retired, my family split up. I didn't have anyone to go home to. That's why I started drinking."

"It took me until the age of 55 to become an alcoholic. I got through the heady 1960s, the trippy 1970s, the imperial 1980s, the busy 1990s. I was retired, content, and then I fell. Because I suddenly had too much time on my hands."

I've heard that story time and time again. Many of my readers drank perfectly happily until redundancy, divorce, bereavement or caring for a special needs child tipped them over the edge.

For me it was just that peculiar mix of stress and boredom that comes with being a stay at home mum.

Phil started with a glass of wine in the afternoons while watching the cricket. Gradually that turned into a couple of bottles, then vodka at breakfast time and, eventually, he was hospitalised with pancreatitis and nearly died.

The Telegraph article cites a major study of more than 9,000 people published last summer which concluded that drinking among the over-50s had become a hidden “middle class” phenomenon, and the higher somebody’s income the more at risk they are.

The number of over 65s admitted to hospitals in England and Wales for alcohol related disorders increased by 40 per cent between 2007 and 2014.

Research commissioned by a lottery funded scheme to reduce alcohol related issues in the over 50s found 17 per cent of them class themselves as “increasing risk drinkers”. 40 per cent blamed it on retirement, 26 per cent on bereavement and 20 per cent on a loss of sense of purpose.

Those aged between 55 and 64 are the most likely to die an alcohol related death. Often these are people who would never class themselves as 'alcoholics' but who have shared a bottle of wine over dinner every night for twenty years or more.

Hopefully, articles like this (click here to read the full text) will encourage more people like us to find help and to turn their lives around.

So, thank you, Collins triplets. You still rock. All of you.

Love SM x

Mothers

I don't think you ever properly appreciate your own mother until you have children of your own.

It's then that you realise how much she did for you. All those grazes kissed, tantrums diffused, stories read. And now that #1 is nearly a teenager, I am in awe of how pitch perfect my Mum was through all those difficult years (most of the time).

Looking back, she seemed to know exactly when to let me make my own mistakes, when to intervene with a guiding hand and when to keep her counsel, however hard that might have been.

Over the last few weeks I've been telling a handful of people about this blog, and the possible book. They've all been amazing - really supportive and genuinely enthusiastic (although I have, I think, chosen my audiences wisely).

But I have not told my Mum.

Then, last week, Mum, #1 and I went out for lunch together. Three generations of women, bound by genetics and by love, but very different in so many ways.

We're all happily slurping our ramen when #1 pipes up with "I'm so proud of my Mummy. She's had two agents call her about her book."

Silence.

"Ah yes," I said, cautiously, "It's non fiction. I'll tell you all about it if it actually comes off."

My mother looks me firmly in the eye and says "I hope you're using a pseudonym?"

"I don't think I can, Mum," I reply, "as the publishers will expect me to do lots of publicity. You know, Woman's Hour, Loose Women, that sort of thing."

"Mmmm," she replies as we all stare into our bowls of noodles, and we do what we always do when there's an uncomfortable atmosphere: we change the subject.

And now this is making me think she must know already. Why else would she ask if I was using a pseudonym? I might be publishing a book about knitting, or fairy cakes.

When we were in Cornwall last year I told her I was writing a blog, because she'd accused me (jokingly, I think) of having an affair, as I kept sneaking off to use the laptop and closing the lid when anyone approached.

Did she track me down?

MUM, ARE YOU READING THIS?

Love SM x

Flashbacks

It's almost exactly a year since my cancer diagnosis (see my post: I Need Help) and even the most innocuous things that happen at this time of the year have the ability to plunge me right back into that hellhole.

The slight chill in the air, the darker mornings, displays of pumpkins in the shops, any date with '10' in it, planning for half term; all bring back memories of stomach churning dread in the cancer clinic waiting rooms, lying awake all night planning the music for my funeral and having to tell the children that "Mummy has cancer."

On top of that, I've been re-living the last of the drinking days, and the hell of the early not-drinking days, as I've been writing The Book.

But all of this churning up of the past has a purpose:

When you have cancer you constantly tell yourself that if you are ever blessed with good health again you will no longer take it for granted. You promise never, ever to moan about the insignificant and to count your blessings every day. Yada, yada, Pollyanna.

Then, a few months later and you're back to cursing at the weather, the PTA and the demise of Bake Off as we know it. You forget to say hurrah for being alive and surrounded by the people I love.

So, these reminders are timely ones.

My amnesia about the drinking days is similar, but more dangerous.

After nineteen months of no booze I am feeling totally normal (well as normal as I'll ever be). The dark days seem so far away that it's hard to believe they were real. Our brains are hard wired to hang on to the rose tinted memories and bury anything unpleasant.

It's so easy, even after years of sobriety, to listen to that voice that says hey, you were never that bad! Drinking was FUN! What are you worrying about, you big girl's blouse?

The more 'cured' you become, the more precarious your situation.

It's no wonder studies show that between 50% and 90% of people relapse after a period of recovery.

That's why AA have The Rooms to which people return for years, decades, after they quit in order to re-live their rock bottoms, and to hear the stories of others.

It's also why I, and many like me, are still blogging and reading other sober blogs long after we've quit, because hugging those memories close is crucial.

So, if you're recently sober, or thinking of taking the plunge, then write it down.

Document how you feel in lurid, livid detail. List all those reasons why you're waking up at 3am every morning thinking this has to stop. Start a blog, or a diary, write a letter to your future self.

One day that piece of paper, or blog post, may be the thing that saves you.

Happy sober Saturday!

SM x

What Would They Say About You?

One of my favourite books is The Telegraph Book of Obituaries.

I know it sounds morbid, but it's actually hugely inspiring. Beautifully written pieces about the lives of extraordinary people. They make you want to climb mountains, swim oceans and paint masterpieces.

One of the (many) reasons I quit drinking was thinking about what people would say about me if I died.

SM - so much promise, so much talent.....loved a party.

Not exactly inspirational.

Unlike Q's eulogy, which Mr SM delivered on Friday to a congregation of six hundred people who'd travelled to Q's home town in Scotland from all over the world.

Q packed a huge amount into his (too short) forty-seven years, and made an impact on hundreds of people, so this reading - A Song of Living by Amelia Josephine Burr - was perfect for him:

Because I have loved life, I shall have no sorrow to die.
I have sent up my gladness on wings, to be lost in the blue of the sky.
I have run and leaped with the rain, I have taken the wind to my breast.
My cheeks like a drowsy child to the face of the earth I have pressed.
Because I have loved life, I shall have no sorrow to die.

I have kissed young love on the lips, I have heard his song to the end,
I have struck my hand like a seal in the loyal hand of a friend.
I have known the peace of heaven, the comfort of work done well.
I have longed for death in the darkness and risen alive out of hell.
Because I have loved life, I shall have no sorrow to die.

I gave a share of my soul to the world, when and where my course is run.
I know that another shall finish the task I surely must leave undone.
I know that no flower, nor flint was in vain on the path I trod.
As one looks on a face through a window, through life I have looked on God,
Because I have loved life, I shall have no sorrow to die.                         

Would you be able to say that about your life?

It's never too late to make sure that you could....

Love SM x

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

Thank You, Someone

Regular readers might remember that, back in January, I'd just finished all my cancer treatment and really wanted to help other women going through the same thing, so I wrote this:

I don't make a penny from this blog. And reading this blog costs you nothing.

If it has helped you, then please, please will you do something extraordinary for those who are helping other women dealing with breast cancer?

It will be like a sort of global, interwebby, karmic circle, passing on the love.

I've set up a Just Giving page to raise money for The Haven - an incredible support centre for women (and men) with breast cancer. It's on www.justgiving.com/sober-mummy 

If you could donate just a small fraction of what you would have spent on booze this week, then together we can make a huge difference.

(You can donate anonymously, or using whatever pseudonym you like).

Here's a link to the Haven website so you can read more about the amazing work they do.

Let's harness the power of the sobersphere and change some lives.....

And you were amazing. Together we raised £1,686 (and thirty six pence).

(The web page is still open if you haven't donated already and would like to!)

Then, yesterday, I received this e-mail from the JustGiving people:

Hi Sober!

Someone's nominated you for a JustGiving Award! They took the time to tell us how incredible they thought your fundraising was - that's a pretty awesome achievement, so we wanted to say congrats!                 

Whoever you are, someone, thank you! Thank you for thinking of me and for taking the time to fill out the nomination. You've made my day, my week, my month.

Love SM x

Reunited!

In the early days of writing this blog I didn't have huge numbers of readers, but the few I had, who started on the sober road around the same time as me, I felt hugely close to. They were my posse. My virtual AA group.

Three of my favourites were Laura from Belgium, Kags and Tallaxo (my first male reader, or - at least - the first one to make himself known).

I used to imagine us all holding hands and tripping down the road together, helping each other up should any of us trip. I wrote this post back on Day 53: Follow the Sober Brick Road.

Anyhow, the Soberverse has many advantages, but one of its biggest downfalls is that people can disappear and you have no way at all of finding out if they're okay. You can't call a mutual friend, or go bang on their front door, or turn up at their workplace.

And, about six or seven months after we started hanging out together, at the end of last summer, one by one they disappeared. Like some Agatha Christie murder mystery. First Laura, then Kags, then Tallaxo.

I was bereft. And worried.

Then, about two months ago Laura came back! Back on the sober road after a few months on The Dark Side.

And yesterday I found this e-mail in my inbox (which the author has kindly agreed I can share with you):

Hi there SM,

I thought I would email you personally to let you know I’M BACK!

How are you gorgeous lady?

I’m sure you noticed that I completely dropped off the radar……around the end of August last year – and I’m also sure that you are well aware why.... 

I really don’t know why I decided that it would be a good idea to have just a couple of (rather lovely champagne cocktails no less) with my gorgeous friends at their delectable farmhouse last August.  After reading Jason Vale and absolutely knowing that there is no just one etc etc -  I rather dumbly assumed  that I would be perhaps the exception to the rule (the same ridiculous thought that got me trapped in the first place!)

I have to admit that even after only 3 cocktails after 6 months of abstinence I was rather sick that night!! You would actually think that even if I had slipped up – being sick might have been enough for me to realise that my drinking days were done....  but before long then it was creeping back to ½  or ¾ bottle of red wine per evening. I can’t tell you how thoroughly disappointed I was, not only with myself but for also letting you down, so I crept off to oblivion.

Anyway that all stopped 28 days ago today. A lightbulb moment and a re-read of Jason’s book – a very long awaited catch up with your wonderful blog and a total resolution to stop being such a selfish moron.

I have to say although the actual act of stopping drinking was easier this time – as I knew in my head I had done it last year and not died from trying! The headaches I have had in the past few weeks have been thoroughly miserable.  (I don’t recall getting them the last time) and rather than the euphoric feeling I had last year – I have felt very down this time. (crying / tiredness)

The bonuses have of course also crept in over the last month – bouncy hair – and glowing skin – and white eyes ( I really had forgotten how wonderful these were) 

Love, love, love, and I can’t tell you how happy I am to be back in the room :-)

Love Kagsx

YAY!

Now all we need is Tallaxo (where are you, Tallaxo?) and we can put the band back together :-)

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

What People Think

For many years I prided myself on not caring too much about What People Think.

This is me. Take it or leave it.

But, when we quit drinking, we seem to spend an awful lot of time worrying about other people, which is why Alcoholics Anonymous is.... well, anonymous.

It's why we pretend to be on antibiotics, or beg to be the designated driver. It's why we spend hours on the internet hiding behind silly pseudonyms - like SoberMummy.

We worry that we'll be judged by our pasts: will they think I'm an 'alcoholic?' Will they assume I'm a terrible mother? Will they think I'm pathetic and weak, with no self control?

We worry that we'll be judged for our futures: will they think I'm boring? Will they think I'm judging them? Will they never invite me to a party again?

#1 is (very nearly) a teen. She's entering the maximum danger zone for fear of other people's thoughts.

Do you remember how awful it was, being a hormonally ravaged teenager, constantly second guessing, and reacting to, other people's judgements of you?

Now add Instagram, Facebook and all the other judge-me-and-my-life media into the mix.

How is she ever going to survive?

Recently she came home fretting about what one of the girls at school had said about her.

"Darling," I said, "You will never be happy if you worry too much about what people think of you."

*eye roll* from tween.

"Tell me something. Do you like her?"

"No!" She replies vehemently.

"Well then. Some people just don't get on. Nobody likes everybody. You've got lots of friends who really, really like you, just as you are. And you like them, just as they are. Don't fret about people who are nothing like you, and are never, ever going to be your best buddy."

"But," she says, "everybody wants to be popular."

"I'll let you into a secret," I said. "Who is the most popular girl in your class?"

"H," she replies.

"And who is the girl in your class who cares the least what other people think of her?"

She thinks for a moment, then says "H."

"It's not a co-incidence. You see, the less you worry about what other people think of you, the more they'll like you, and - more importantly - the happier you'll be. The only important question is do you like yourself?"

I was reminded of this conversation when the children and I drove to the country yesterday to see one of my oldest and best friends - K.

Our children all ran off to play, and we sat down, happily, to catch up on the months since we'd last met.

I started to tell her about my check up at the Breast Clinic and how worried I'd been.

She looked really uncomfortable. Shifty even.

"SM," she said, "I have to tell you something. I feel awful letting you tell me a story that I already know. You see, I've been reading your blog for the last three months."

(My fault. I'd told her that I'd raised a lot of money for The Haven breast cancer charity through a blog I'd been writing. That was enough information for her to hunt me down. Nosy cow. And I say that lovingly.)

I was totally stunned. I didn't know what to say. I sat there, waiting for the waves of panic to engulf me. For all those familiar worries to pipe up: will she think I'm a total lush/terrible mother/frightfully DULL?

And....nothing. Zip. I didn't care! If anything, it was a relief. (At least not until I realised that every anecdote I tried to tell over dinner she'd heard before).

And that, my friends, is progress.

Happy Friday to you all!

SM x

New Beginnings

Thank you so much for all your comments on yesterday's post. As you gathered, I was feeling a bit bleurgh.

In fact, I'd resolved to give blogging a rest for a bit. It struck me that most normal bloggers post once a week, or thereabouts, not every day.

It's time, I thought, to cut down. Moderate.

(Can you see where this is going...?)

This morning, instead of heading straight for the laptop with my cup of coffee, I picked up a novel.

But I felt scratchy. Ill at ease. My hands had nothing to do, and all these words were buzzing round my head like bees trapped in a jam jar, desperate to get out.

So, here I am. Typing away. Once an addict, always an addict.

(But there are worse addictions to have. I should know.)

It's difficult to remain in a grump when you're in Cornwall in the springtime. Which is where we are.

Family SM upped sticks from the big smoke for a few days blowing the cobwebs away by the sea. Just in time for Storm Katie (don't you love how they've started giving them names? It's difficult to feel so cross when you've been introduced to the thing that's drenched you.)

But now the clouds are clearing, the clocks have changed, the sun and the daffodils are out. It's a time of new beginnings, and summer is just around the corner.

This time last year, I was not at all excited about the summer. I'd done four weeks sober and was very much in the 'one day at a time' phase.

I couldn't look ahead more than a few hours, let alone a whole season.

And when I did think about the summer, it was with a terrible sense of loss. All I could picture was summer scenes past, which always involved me clutching a chilled glass of rose, or some fancy cocktail.

If that's where you are now, then listen up. Because there will come a time when you can look months, even years, ahead again, and with a sense of optimism and excitement. More than ever.

Back in the drinking days I'd started to lose that wonderful anticipation, about anything. Everything seemed silted up with a general feeling of ennui, a sort of here we go again. Same old, same old.

No longer, my friends. Now I'm thinking SUMMER! Long, lazy days filled with sunshine, salt, sand and ice cream.

Yesterday we spent two hours playing Pooh sticks.

This was no ordinary Pooh sticks, is was the SM version which, obviously, involves no moderation of any sort. Rather, it requires a lot of shouting (and barking), running, and a smidgeon of cheating.

You need three drinking straws in different colours (we send #3 into the pub to get these because she's seriously cute and no barman can say 'no' to her. Just as well she doesn't order a vodka...)

You then drop the drinking straws into the fast flowing stream way up by the car park and run really fast down to the beach, quite a way down the hill.

The stream flows under the road, and pops out through a bridge onto the rocks above the beach. We station a look out at this point to check progress, and to make sure nothing's got stuck. There are two more lookouts lower down the stream as it tumbles over rocks, down mini waterfalls and round whirlpools.

Eventually, the stream reaches the sand, and one of the straws is declared the winner.

Who needs the Caribbean and room service when you have three plastic straws and a Cornish stream? The simplest things are the best, and really do not need artificial stimulants to make them any better...

The only thing freaking me out, is that last time we were here - back in August - I was surfing the waves, doing long cliff walks and feeling really, really healthy, with absolutely no idea that I had a ticking time bomb of a tumour nestling under my left boob.

How could I not have known? How is it possible to feel so healthy, yet be quietly self destructing, let down by your own rapidly mutating cells?

(To follow this story, start with this post: I Need Help)

So, my friends, grasp this Spring, this new beginning, with both hands, for none of us know what is round the next corner.

Love to you all, and thanks again,

SM x

I Am So Sorry

Most of the time I love this blog. It's helped me hugely, and many of you have been kind enough to say it helps you too.

In fact, I even wrote a post titled Blogging Saved My Life (click here).

But today I don't like it at all. And I'm really, really angry with myself.

You see, a few days ago I wrote a post called Sober Dinners. And I wrote this:

I'd done my usual trick of accepting a glass of wine at the beginning of the evening, then leaving it in my glass. No-one notices you're not drinking it, but it just avoids all the 'why are you off the booze?' conversations.

I am not an addiction expert. I'm not a trained counsellor. I'm just an ex-boozy housewife who's read everything I can find on the topic of alcohol, and muddles along the best I can, sharing my story as I go.

The problem is that sometimes I forget that I have a responsibility to people following me. And we are all different. What works for some people just doesn't for others.

For example, many of you will know that I have a love affair with Becks Blue Alcohol Free beer. During the worst day of the whole cancer thing I drank SIX of the blighters. Without it I swear I'd have been on the Scotch.

(By the way, I'm now back to one a day).

However, 'fake alcohol' does not work for everyone. In fact, for some it's a massive trigger and just leads to terrible cravings for the real stuff.

We all have different weak spots.

My own 'issue' is that I hate drawing attention to my 'not drinking' at parties or dinners. I see how it makes other people uncomfortable, and that makes me uncomfortable. I know I should ignore it - that it's their problem not mine - but I can't.

So often I fake it.

BUT that's just what works for me.

It works because I'm used to being surrounded by booze. Mr SM still drinks, and there's usually an open bottle of wine in my fridge.

It works because I quietly push the glass as far away from me as possible, and it only works in a big group. If there are only two or three of you it's obvious that your glass is untouched.

It's a bad idea if you're not with people you're comfortable with, or if you're likely to be feeling nervous or ill at ease.

However, when I posted about this I didn't mention any of the caveats. I didn't issue any warnings. I didn't remind everyone that what works for one person might be a disaster for the next....

....and a lovely lady who's been a huge supporter of this blog, and did six whole months sober went on a date, let him pour her a glass (having been inspired by reading my post that morning) and drank it. Then two more.

I feel utterly terrible. I am SO, SO sorry, H. I feel totally responsible. I just hope I didn't inadvertently tip anyone else off the waggon.

(I've added a warning to the original post so that it doesn't do any more damage).

Then, last night another lady posted some comments on yesterday's post on the irony of addiction. She accused me of 'demonising' normal people, because of my 'failure' and to 'justify my sobriety.'

I re-read the post (click here).

I can, to an extent, see what 'I'm a bit fat' means. I am very black and white about booze. But I need to be in order to stay off the damn stuff.

So today I feel like I'm hated by the non addicts, and, what's worse, letting down my tribe.

I'm so sorry, and I just hope that H is okay.

SM x

Holiday Drinking

Isn't it funny how we justify daily drinking as a way of de-stressing at the end of the day - a result of our hectic, modern lives - then we go away on holiday, where there's no stress at all, and drink twice as much?

I'm typing this on my balcony at 6.30am. It's a perfect Jamaican morning, and I'm watching the beach boys raking the sand, and removing any pesky, unsightly strands of seaweed which had the temerity to wash up overnight.

Jamaica Inn is a beautiful old colonial style hotel. Mr SM was sold when he discovered that it was a favourite of his hero, Winston Churchill.

The typical guests are American and British couples in their forties, fifties and sixties, not rowdy young singles on the pull. I've not seen a single drunk guest, it's just not that kind of place.

BUT, everyone is drinking pretty much all the time.

At eleven am, on the dot, they serve a complimentary drink to anyone who's on the beach. There's a choice of a yummy fruit punch or - the much more popular - Planter's cocktail. Made with plenty of rum. At eleven in the morning!

In the Old Days I'd have been in heaven!

Then, at lunch time, the terrace is littered with large glasses of rose and cold Red Stripe beers.

(They also serve Becks Blue! Oh joy.)

By four in the afternoon the bar staff are busy serving wine and cocktails on the beach. Then there are the obligatory sundowners, and wine with dinner.

Most people are drinking more than the government recommended weekly limits every single day.

And it's just not necessary.

I honestly couldn't be more relaxed than I am right now. I can't see how I'd be enjoying myself any more. And, as I'm not drinking, I wake up early - feeling amazing - and can make the most of every beautiful day.

But there's one thing I'm feeling bad about.

Yesterday, Mr SM got wind of a local, public beach where every Sunday night they have live reggae bands playing. He wanted to go.

I said no.

I argued that we'd already booked a nearby restaurant for jerk fish and rice'n'peas. But the real issue was that I just couldn't imagine spending the evening with a load of dancing, smoking ganja, drinking Jamaicans completely sober.

I didn't want to spoil my holiday by feeling like a fish out of water (cooked in jerk spices and served with a mango salsa).

And now I'm really cross with myself. I was a wimp. I do not want to start missing out on experiences just because I'm not drinking. Outside the comfort zone is where the magic happens...

(See my post: The Comfort Zone).

Bad SM.

Anyhow, whether you're looking for somewhere to celebrate a soberversary, or whether you're still drinking and want to legitimately drink rum at eleven am, I can't recommend this place highly enough.

Love to you all,

SM x

What Do You Think?

Over the last few months, many of you have posted, or e-mailed me privately, saying that you think this blog should be turned into a book.

Well, I'm listening.

I'm going to pitch the idea to a few literary agents. Here's what I'm thinking:

I've read pretty much every drinking memoir and self help tome out there (see Sober Mummy's Book List for my favourites), and I think this book will be quite different.

It'll be based on the story of my first year - using extracts from this blog - but interspersed with loads of practical help  (e.g. What to expect in the first month, how to party sober, dealing with cravings etc).

But the main thing is that, whilst almost all of the existing books are fairly serious and worthy, this one will be upbeat and - I hope - funny.

It's not aimed just at people who see themselves as 'alcoholics', but at the millions of women worldwide like you, and like me.

Women who viewed themselves as bon viveurs and connoisseurs, but who've begun to realise that it's all getting a bit out of control.

I want people to come away feeling inspired, uplifted and excited about the whole idea of giving up booze, to see it not as a terrible necessity, but as a fabulous lifestyle choice.

In short, I want to start a revolution.

I also want to include an epilogue, because this blog isn't just about me - it's about all of you. So I want to feature some of your stories too (only with your permission, obviously).

I think there's a huge market out there because, after all, this blog has had three quarters of a million page views with absolutely zero promotion. Just secret Googling, and word of mouth.

So, when I get back from Jamaica (did I tell you I was going to Jamaica?), I'm going to send off my pitch.

But, rather than me doing the hard sell, I thought it would be much better coming from the people that really matter, and really know - my readers.

Can you help me?

Just post a comment below, saying whether you would buy this book and/or recommend it, and if so why (if not, why not)? Then I'm going to send the agents a link direct you all your (unedited) comments.

If you've not posted before, and aren't sure how to go about it, just go to www.blogger.com and set up a blogger profile (which is completely anonymous). That'll enable you to comment on any Blogger blogs, under whichever pseudonym you choose.

Thank you, thank you. And watch this space.

SM x

Outed

When I started this blog, I was very cautious about not being 'discovered.' I changed some key details to help preserve my anonymity.

But, as time has gone on, I've slightly thrown caution to the wind and given away more and more specifics about my life.

Well, today I received an e-mail from my fabulous friend G. (I hope she doesn't mind me sharing it). It goes like this:

I wonder if you remember that at your wonderful party I mentioned that I am no longer drinking, and it turned out that you have given up?

Now, it so happens that I found a blog or two about women drinking - because I think the world, and women in particular, have gone a bit overboard on booze and it's just all crazy - and there's one blog I love.

And, you know what? I think it's you!

Are you SoberMummy?

Suddenly, my two worlds have collided.

On the one hand I'm horrified. Sharing all this stuff with 'strangers' is one thing, but people you actually know knowing all about you is, paradoxically, terrifying.

Plus, I'm worried that I'll become a pariah at the school gates or, even worse, the children will get teased.

But, on the other had, it's strangely liberating being outed. I have been feeling slightly schizophrenic - like I'm two completely different people simultaneously. And I know that G won't go round telling everyone.

Anyhow, if my latest plan comes to fruition, I may be unable to stay under the radar for much longer.

More on that tomorrow....

Love SM x

P.S. Today I bought a new bikini. I had thought that was something I'd never do again....

Blogging Saved my Life

Exactly a year ago I started this blog.

I'd stopped drinking three days previously, and I was in a mess.

I'd quit before, for days, or sometimes weeks, at a time. It wasn't easy, but I'd just focus on the day when I could drink again.

Giving up for good was different. I couldn't stop thinking about drinking (or not drinking). And the more you try not to think about something, the more difficult it is. So my tactic was to indulge.

I read and read. Novels about drinkers, autobiographies of drinkers and self help manuals. I found Soberistas.com, and the sober blogosphere.

Whenever I could, I'd disappear into my room and read about someone like me who'd turned their life around, and dream about being them.

When I quit smoking (fifteen years ago), I told everyone. "I am a non smoker!" I'd announce, and they'd all cheer. I told no-one (apart from Mr SM) that I'd quit drinking, and I felt the need to be accountable.

So I decided to start my own blog. To feed my obsession. To give my hands something to do. To make a written record of what I was doing and why, lest I forget, and to make a declaration to someone - anyone - that I meant it (this time).

Blogging also tapped into my other secret: I'd always wanted to be a writer.

I imagined myself, like Carrie in Sex and the City, hunched over a laptop, fingers flying. I pictured myself at 4am, in a deathly quiet house, secretly sharing my hopes and dreams.

(Little did I know that, now I'd quit, the insomnia that had plagued me for years would disappear - almost overnight).

So, I wrote my first post (click here).

I didn't expect many (if any) readers. I was writing for myself. But I remember the thrill when I saw that one person had read my stuff (it transpired that it was only me. I'd not learned how to not track my own page views).

Then I, shyly, left my web address on Soberistas, and a couple of other sites, and - slowly, slowly - people started to visit and leave comments.

I WAS NOT ALONE!

And my readers stopped being just anonymous numbers, and started being virtual friends - Kags and Tallaxo (where are you now? Hope you're okay), and Laura from Belgium.

And the sober blogging community started dropping in and giving me a virtual hand - like Anne (Ainsobriety), Wendy (Tipsynomore) and Kary Mary (God walked into this bar).

Then, some of my readers set up their own blogs, and I subscribed to them - my family - Wine Bitch (now Sassy, Sober Life) and My Time to Shine, for example.

Now I really had to keep going. If ever I felt like a drink I thought about all those people willing me on, and those relying on me to show them the way. I couldn't do it.

Gradually, over time, the blogging morphed from helping myself to helping other people.

Then, in October, I found The Lump.

I couldn't tell anyone - not even my husband. I was too scared. All I wanted to do was to drink until I passed out and didn't have to think about it any more.

I didn't. What I did instead was to blog about it (see here).

Writing it all down kept me sane. It enabled me to stay 'normal' in front of the kids, who were on half term. And that's how Mr SM found out his wife had breast cancer - he read it on my blog.

I will never forget the waves of love and support from all of you through that time. Several readers mailed me with their own cancer stories, for which I am hugely grateful.

I remember one night, when I was waiting for the results of my latest scan to see how far the cancer had spread, I couldn't sleep. It was about 4am. I was reading cancer sites (I stopped doing that pretty quickly) and scaring myself stupid.

An e-mail popped into my inbox from a lady called Linda in Australia. She said you will be okay. I know this because I am a nurse, and because I've been there too. She added a smiley face.

Then, the next morning, a lady posted on my blog telling me that her whole congregation - around two hundred people - had prayed for me. I cried.

So, to all of you who left me wonderful messages on my Soberversary saying that I'd helped you, the truth is not as much as you've helped me.

Without this blog, and all of you, I would not be where I am now. There is no way I would have got this far, and through the whole cancer thing, without drinking, on my own. And since I started this blog I have never felt alone.

So, if you're just starting out, why not start your own blog? I'm a technophobe, but Blogger and Wordpress make it easy. Just start typing - one word at a time - and leave us your web address so we can come visit.

Happy Birthday, Mummy Was A Secret Drinker! 295 posts, and half a million page views later. And thank you.

SM x