‘So this is it then.’ 

I awake the next morning filled with resolve and panic. No more drinking.

Forever.

I still have a throbbing headache from last night’s efforts, which strengthens my desire to never touch wine again, but I know that without a plan I’ll quickly land in exactly the same place that evening. Staring at the bottle, debating with myself. Losing.

Underneath it all hums a vague sense of exhilaration. Or is it terror? I’m not really sure. This is the start of my new life. I need to take it one day at a time. One moment, in fact.

Dave clears out all the wine bottles at my request. I know that if they are staring back at me during crazy hour it will be much, much harder. But what to drink instead? I have a sense that if I just try to ‘white knuckle’ it and have nothing to look forward to, I’ll quickly fail.

I haul the kids to the shops and survey the options, pausing before the tonic water. Worth a shot. This isn’t a time for frugality. I stock up on every treat I can imagine that might help me get through. The most expensive brands of tonic water, a non-alcoholic spirit (Seedlip), another zero-alcohol aperitif that I find in the mixer section at Dan Murphy’s.

The rest of the day I feel strangely alert. Something has shifted but I’m not sure quite what. The thoughts come thick and are suffocating at times. Making the decision to become sober doesn’t mean that I’m magically cured of the addictive pull.

What will people think?

The loop twists over and over. I have an image to maintain. The mother who can handle it all. I dread the confrontation, the dismantling.

I pull out my phone before I can overthink it.

‘Hey guys, just wanted to let you know before I say anything publicly that I have realised I’m an alcoholic and I’ve made the decision to become sober forever. I am sick of the ride, the control that alcohol has over me and I am hopping off it for good! It will be hard and crazy, I imagine, but I need your accountability and help along the way, if possible! Prayer, if you still pray, is also very welcome. 

Oh, and just in case you are worried, I have zero problems with you drinking around me and I will not be judging you at all! I just know my own mind and the effect it has on me, so please don’t feel awkward about it!’

Maybe I shouldn’t send it. But can I go back? No. The answer is swift and resounding. I press the button to forward the message to my family and closest friends, paralysed with nerves.

Notifications come instantly – all support and encouragement. The censure or shame that I expected – none of it. It’s strangely invigorating, now that I have broached the first tentative step into the water. I wonder if I will be brave enough to broadcast it to world.

It takes four days for me to be sure that this isn’t just a brief phase of hopefulness. Four days for me to sweat it out and figure out whether I’m woman enough to come clean. I write Shadows & Sobriety and my fingers shake as I hover the mouse above the ‘publish’ button. There’s no going back. My secret will be fodder for everyone. I take a deep breath and click, waiting with eyes peeking through my hands for the first response.

The flood of support is incredible. Private messages and public encouragement – what I thought would be the worst moment becomes a healing gush of love. I’m not alone. You aren’t alone. We are messy and broken together. That artificial framework I forced over myself to be perfect and blemish-free evaporates.

Eight days later, I share again – a mixture of hope and confession – of how hard it is to face down the demon every evening. Yet, in the chaos of the battle, a new resolve is emerging. A freedom that beckoned. Yes, I can do this.

Getting sober is the most difficult thing I’ve done (apart from Harvey’s labour – oh my goodness, that was hard) but somehow it becomes a fraction easier each day I stick it out. I have to change habits (and locations sometimes), eat a lot of chocolate, beg for divine help and desperately rely upon the support of everyone around me. The curtain is drawn back and I see how much I need a force that is far greater than myself to exist in this complex world. I’m raw, electric, feeling everything.

Two months later and I’m hardly thinking about alcohol anymore. Starting a meditation practice, connecting with a Spiritual Director, and facing all the problems with my health and our finances that I had been putting aside, I find clarity and life again in a way that is far more fulfilling than that brief illusory rush I felt while drinking.

Now, one year on and I can’t imagine wanting to drink. Even in the midst of a pandemic – stuck at home with family with no place to go –  the thought of alcohol turns my stomach. I’m more alive and awake than I have ever been and I’m actively pursuing the life I’ve dreamed of. This is the pay off of facing down the demons. Of baring your soul and being willing to wade through the messiness.

I’m floating in the water. It’s brilliant and alive.

Why don’t you come in?

If you are in the battle right now, first of all know that you are not alone. So many of us have been in your position and have been able to come out of the entanglement and find hope. And, if you aren’t ready to make a change, know that is okay too! It took many moments of clarity and inching my way towards this path before I finally became brave enough to launch into it.

If you missed out on the previous episodes in this sobriety series, check them out here:

One Year On: The Moment That Changed Everything

When the Universe Has Other Ideas

The (Mis)Education of Emma Hughes