Bryony Gordon on the benefits of a digital detox – while her mother hopes she'll move to the country

Last week's column: Bryony Gordon takes a break from her phone – and her mother quits dating

Jane Gordon, age unknown, mother, grandmother and 24/7 childminder

We have reached that point in the year that Edie would probably think was ‘the middle of nowhere’.  

‘Annie,’ she says to me whenever we are driving to or from somewhere. ‘Is this the middle of nowhere?’ I assume she has picked this phrase up from long car journeys with Mummy and Daddy when that clichéd question, ‘Are we there yet?’ has produced an irritated response of ‘NO, Edie, we are in the middle of nowhere’ from either Harry behind the wheel or Bryony navigating on Google Maps.

Early September is a strange no man’s land destination – it’s almost time to leave summer behind but we’re not quite ready to embrace autumn and the rush to winter. 

Yet, curiously, as one season slowly merges into another, I always feel a sense of excitement and anticipation. And this year my feelings of autumnal optimism are mostly linked to Bryony, who has come so far in the past 12 months and who, I believe, is now going to keep moving forward.

What has reinforced this positive feeling is the news that, in her bid to fill the time that sobriety has given her, Bryony is taking on new challenges. Having returned from Cornwall cleansed (she really did keep her phone on airplane mode) and ready for the autumn term (yes, I am now back to being Edie’s Annie-nanny one night a week), she has already organised her provisional licence and booked driving lessons.

Driving may be regarded as a dubious and outdated skill for environmentally conscious city dwellers, but it is one of the most useful and liberating things I ever learnt to do (albeit not that well and on a limited automatic-only basis after two attempts at the test) back when Bryony was Edie’s age (five).

Secretly, I am now fantasising about what might follow when she passes her test (first time, I bet). Will she be driving down to see her old mum in the country more often? Better still, might being mobile encourage her to consider a move to somewhere less congested, calmer and nearer to me? Toot! Toot!

Bryony Gordon, 38, married to a very patient husband Harry, and mother to Edie, five

I’ve realised that even before my enforced digital detox, I was basically having one anyway on account of the fact I was incapable of doing anything. I can see, now, with a week off-grid at Pollurian Bay, that I was in quite a bad place for a lot of the summer.

I couldn’t read emails, let alone reply to them. Writing this column felt like wading through treacle. All other work had essentially stopped. Even updating my Instagram felt as if it required the strength of an Olympic athlete, and I didn’t have the strength of a gnat.

My rehab therapist (Oh my God, I sound so… Californian) told me to expect a dip between nine months and a year of sobriety. He told me it was normal. He told me that a lot of people relapsed at that stage. I can see why.

With the initial rubbish dealt with, you suddenly have to deal with all the stuff buried underneath, which is the really ingrained rubbish that you’ve been trying to hide for decades. And that’s not fun. It explains why I’ve gone a bit loopy.

But the wonderful thing is I recognised my looniness and decided to do something about it. And a bit of time switching off my phone and being with my family turned out to be just the ticket. 

For a whole week I didn’t look at any social media, emails or texts. I read books. I swam with my daughter. I talked to my husband. I pottered around in bikini bottoms and little else, and it didn’t matter because nobody could see us in our rented cottage.

In short, I went a bit feral, as you should when you’re away. And now I am back, and Edie is moving into year one, and I realise that I am feeling a lot better, in so much that I can actually do basic things like write columns and reply to emails and make breakfast.

I have got through a bad time without picking up a drink, and I feel like Marvel should ask me to join The Avengers. ‘What’s your super power?’ Thor will ask me. ‘Not drinking alcohol!’ I will beam.

I feel strong, and weak, all at the same time. And I think that this is probably the best way to be.