I wanted this to be different. In my mind, I was the strong one – the capable woman who faced down my alcohol addiction and came out able to manage it. Moderation sounded sweet – a way that I could just take some time off and still be able to see myself as normal, as ‘just one of those mums who like their wine’.

Unfortunately, it’s just not true. I can’t ‘unsee’ it anymore.

I may not look like your typical alcoholic. The number of *really* bad hangovers I’ve had I can count on one hand. I haven’t danced on any tables or woken up unable to remember what happened the night before. I have four kids and manage to run a household fairly efficiently, as well as pursue my lifelong dream of writing. And yet, that isn’t quite the whole picture.

I didn’t start needing alcohol until after having kids. Hudson’s first year of life was traumatic. Everything I thought about myself was called into question as I found myself transforming into an angry, bitter, anxious woman. We were sharing a house with another family at the time and I dealt with the pressure by filling my glass and refilling it. It became the perfect, easily accessible self-medication.

I took time off drinking only for pregnancies and breastfeeding. As soon as I was able to drink again, I did. Eventually I could quite easily down half a bottle a night. When the shame grew too great, I took time off. A day or three here and there to be reassured that I could control it. Then, with relief, I would resume my habits, congratulating myself for having ‘been good’ for a little while.

At the end of last year, I decided to try 100 days without alcohol. I lasted seven. I tried again. That lasted about a week and a half. I decided to reeducate myself about booze. I wasn’t an alcoholic, of course, but I didn’t see how the information could hurt.

In doing so, I found a huge group of women exactly like me.

There was Lotta Dan, a housewife in her 40s with three kids who faced her own demons and realised she had a problem, starting a blog and then eventually writing a memoir about her experience (‘Mrs D is Going Without‘). Kate Bee – stuck in the cycle of having too much, berating herself during the day and then repeating the process again every night. After trying AA and not finding a fit, she eventually ended up building the program and community that she needed, which resulted in The Sober School.

At first I could only see the differences in our stories. I don’t drink a bottle and a half a night. I don’t hold a glass in my hand while putting the kids to bed. My hangovers are really not that bad. The comparison satisfied my ego and I continued on my merry way, ignoring the slight niggling that refused to be silenced.

What I didn’t want to see, what I was trying so hard to justify, was that I was on exactly the same path. The thought patterns, the all-consuming desire that presented each night during crazy hour…. it was all eerily similar. This – I realised glumly – was simply the story of what I would become.

I wish I could drink normally. That I was able to leave something in the glass, not spend the second half of the day debating about whether I was going to drink that night. I wish that pouring wine wasn’t my first response to commiserate, celebrate, fight the mundane or just ‘get through’ crazy hour. But it turns out that this alcohol stuff is addictive. That it can twist your brain and take away your power.

At first I was ashamed. Of what people would think, of being ‘weak’ enough to become addicted. But instead I’m choosing to be brave. To share my journey even though it isn’t polished or beautiful. To risk that it might make people uncomfortable. I want to be accountable, to be able to choose each day to live a life that is free from alcohol. I choose to be sober.

If you are worried that I’m suddenly going to morph into the fun police, please relax. I don’t have the slightest desire to monitor what anyone else is drinking or why. I know for myself, the minute I felt like someone was trying to control my drinking, I just felt like having more. Each path is different and this is simply mine. I fully intend to continue going out and having fun at weddings, dinner parties, girls’ nights… my life isn’t stopping or becoming boring. In fact, I have every hope it will be more fun. (And, bonus – now there is one more designated driver in the mix!)

I want to give a huge shout out to Dave, who walked alongside me without judgement or lectures the entire way. He gave me grace, space, love and reassurance and is the most wonderful supporter one could ever imagine.

To finish, I’m choosing to share this poem that I wrote almost a year ago. It provides a glimpse into the struggle that became my existence.

The Riddle

I watch

the machinations of my mind

voices that tempt

then taunt

impulses that beckon

luring irresistibly

drawing me to self

sabotage

…

Am I my mistakes?

Why am I driven to self

destruction?

The cool promise of 

peace glides down my

throat

I gulp greedily

a believer devout and 

fervent

…

Morning dawns

with it the blinding 

regret

I writhe 

cutting myself down

unable to return the 

gaze in the mirror

Am I me or her?

Which caricature fits?

…

I make resolutions in 

fits and starts

The light is my steadfast friend

Darkness begins to creep

stealing both the glow and my

resolve

…

I search helplessly

within and without

Night is coming.

Who controls the hand 

that pours 

and pours?

I pause. 

Who am I becoming?