How I went from drinking 100 units a week to being a ‘soberholic’

Before I became sober, I didn’t look like your typical ‘problem drinker’. From the outside, my life seemed perfect: my partner and I had two gorgeous sons, plenty of friends and our own successful property business.

But behind closed doors I was consuming 100 units of alcohol a week (the NHS recommended limit is 14), a habit that wreaked havoc on my mental health. It’s a situation so many others are finding themselves in now, post-lockdown. Academics at King’s College London warned this week that those aged 55-74, in particular, have started drinking to levels indicative of alcohol addiction, with many reaching for their first glass in the morning as a ‘comfort blanket’.

My early experiences with alcohol weren’t out of the ordinary; like other teenagers, I would spend evenings drinking in the park with friends and downing pints in nightclubs. I remember feeling captivated by the glamour of drinking. Strangely, this was one of the perceptions about alcohol that stayed with me the longest; I always felt more glamorous with a glass of wine in my hand.

It wasn’t until the birth of my sons that my drinking habits started to spiral. As the pressures of family life increased, so did the booze. Slowly it began to creep into all areas of my life. A glass of wine became the answer to everything, from a bad day at work to an argument with my partner. The next morning I would wake up feeling guilty and ashamed, particularly about my sons. I knew the mum I needed to be, but the drink didn’t allow it.

This continued for about six years, on and off. On average, I would drink a bottle of wine a night and more on the weekends. Usually, my partner would drink with me. Sometimes we would make rules, and say that we weren’t going to drink over the weekend as there was a place we wanted to go, or people we wanted to catch up with. But when Friday evening arrived, we would crack open the wine again. Slowly, you find that this erodes away at your self esteem. I drank more to try and fix my problems, but it just caused others to appear.

I suffered more than my partner, even though we were drinking the same amounts. I became very tired because I was struggling to sleep, and I found myself unable to focus during the day. It wasn’t as if my life was a train crash; I would still get my children to school on time, and get my work done. But inside, I felt self-loathing. It wasn’t until I removed alcohol from my life that I realised it was because I had been downing a depressant every day.

Towards the end of those six years, a good friend came back into my life. She was also struggling to manage her relationship with alcohol, and sadly her health was starting to decline. I was drinking more than her at the time, which made me think: “where is the line between her problem and my problem?”

Together, we decided to cut down our alcohol intake. But it is only when you try to quit that you realise how ingrained booze is in our society; there are bottles in every shop, and countless adverts on TV. Often it is marketed towards women, who are bombarded with ‘wine o’clock’ or ‘Prosecco with the girls’ slogans. There are birthday cards that celebrate hangovers, and placards to hang in your kitchen encouraging you to drink once the children are in bed.

In lockdown, social media was full of people talking about how they were going to watch the 5pm Downing Street press briefing with a glass of wine in hand. It is like we are bombarded with the message that a drink at the end of a long day will fix everything, but for some people it makes things worse.

I initially challenged myself to do 20 days sober. It was hard, but with the support of my friend I did it. Next, my husband and I challenged ourselves to go 125 days. At first, I avoided all social occasions – partly out of fear of being the sober one. But I quickly learnt that I wasn’t missing out on much by not drinking, and successfully went to weddings and on nights out – with the added benefit of being able to drive home at the end.

Five months in, I decided I would treat myself to a few drinks. Nothing bad happened, but I could tell from my journal that my mood had plummeted shortly after. So I challenged myself to do 12 months sober, and I have stayed that way ever since – that was almost three years ago.

I started posting about my situation on Facebook and I was astonished by the number of responses I got from women who were going through something similar. After some volunteer work in a rehab centre, and doing a few presentations, I started my own business, The Soberholic – an online coaching programme for women who want to stop drinking alcohol, or cut back on the amount they consume. My friend sadly passed away during the first lockdown, aged just 52. Losing her continues to be a driving force behind my mission to change people’s perception of alcohol and ‘rebrand’ sober life.

I work with women who are ready to quit booze for good, and others who simply call for a chat because they are anxious about being the only sober person at a party. I know exactly what they’re going through. It takes others a long time to get their heads around the fact that you’re sober, because it can feel like you are leaving them behind. Not everyone wants to sit around a table with someone who doesn’t drink, and the invitations do dry up.

But this is outweighed by how positive my life has become since giving up alcohol: I wake up in a good mood, with more focus and clarity; my skin looks clearer; my eyes are brighter; and I feel more confident in myself. My partner and I have also re-evaluated what we want from life: we have sold our business, relocated and are in a much happier place.

I don’t think anyone is to blame for developing a dependence on alcohol, only society. It breaks my heart to think that my service could have saved my friend. I can only hope that it reaches others who are going through similar struggles, before it’s too late.

For advice and support with alcohol dependency, go to NHS alcohol support or Alcoholics Anonymous