Saturday marked my two year ‘soberversary’. It’s hard to believe it has been two years of not ‘using’ alcohol, two years of facing all the issues that seemed too terrifying to even look at before. Two years of freedom. Two years of growth. Two years that I never thought possible when I was tangled in alcohol’s vice-like grip.

This week I read back through my first sobriety posts, as well as the series that I created to celebrate one year of quitting alcohol. It was quite eye-opening.

Memories of ‘before’ came flooding back – the toe-tapping anxiety I would feel as the afternoon hours approached. The ‘will-I, won’t I?’ dance. That glorious first sip. The buzz hitting my belly and exploding behind my eyes. The euphoria. And then the inevitable race – to keep that feeling going.

Sinking, pouring, hiding. Numbing.

I remembered the haze of bedtimes, the careful concentration of washing up. Gulping down water to stave off dehydration. That doleful gaze in the mirror looking back at me. ‘Passing out’ when my head hit the pillow, only to stir and indulge in recriminations in the lonely early hours of the morning.

The mornings were filled with fresh resolve, that somehow inevitably faded by the end of the day. The mental real estate of those internal debates began expanding the longer I went on, with so many thoughts being consumed with the next ‘hit’.

‘I just like wine’ was my half-hearted line, and no one really even challenged or questioned it. Memes everywhere celebrated my addiction, and well-meaning messages from friends after a long day encouraged me to indulge the habit. Whatever this was, I knew that I didn’t want to have to admit to really having a problem, because I felt that sobriety would be a fate worse than a straight-jacket. ‘I can control this,’ was my increasingly desperate claim that I threw everything into believing. ‘I’ll just try moderation.’

And moderation worked, for a while. A few days off here and there and I pointed emphatically to the evidence that I wasn’t really being controlled at all. ‘See? I’m doing fine.’ But the flood of thoughts that attacked me while I was taking a break told a different story. I tried 100 days alcohol-free… and lasted 7. I tried again and again, but while I was still in the mindset of moderation, each attempt lasted the same way – in failure. As soon as a particularly stressful moment arose, I responded the only way I knew how – by turning to the bottle.

That night on the 20th of February 2019, everything collided. It was as if the curtain had been ripped back, the wires exposed, the truth laid out in stark contrast to what I had desperately tried to believe in.

For me, alcohol was nothing more than a curse. Chains. Bondage. I had believed it to be a magical elixir that could alleviate pain, take away stress, mute anxiety. I thought it was making me a better hostess, a fun mother and a happier wife. What it was actually doing was attacking my body, increasing panic and destroying me sip by sip. None of the lies added up. And in that moment, by the grace of God, I knew. There was no going back. I had to face it. Everything I’d been running away from. All those bubbling problems that I’d tried to ignore. All those poems I’d written lamenting the imprisonment of my True Self.

I picked up the key.

It wasn’t easy. Those first few weeks and months were hellish. There were moments I didn’t know if I’d make it. I became more irritable and jumpy. My skin broke out as the toxins squirmed their way out of my system. I had to escape the house on multiple occasions during crazy hour.

But slowly, the intensity began to subside. What had felt so blindingly awful at the start began to be a more muted pain. The torrent of thoughts tempting me to pour a glass tumbled away. I began to hear my own voice again. And increasingly felt the sustaining power of God through it all.

There are so many habits and practices that are a part of my life now that I can guarantee would not be in place if not for sobriety. A monthly catch up with my Spiritual Director over Zoom (which has been invaluable in helping me deal with plenty of baggage and forced me to face issues I would have much preferred to avoid at the time), a twice-daily meditation practice, 5am wake-ups with a high-intensity exercise routine, cold showers, early bedtimes and the most amazing and rewarding deep sleep (every single night).

I don’t regret the past. It has given me empathy and courage that I would not otherwise have known. I know that I’m not immune to addictive substances, and that the slow-slide towards oblivion can happen to anyone. I’m desperately in need of a Saviour and count myself as incredibly blessed to have been sustained by Him during this time.

Sobriety is a choice that I have to make every day. ‘I’m not that person anymore’ is the line that I use whenever the flitting temptation enters my mind. But what I thought would be a virtual death-sentence has become the very springboard that released me into a much more fulfilling life.

Two years is but a tiny window in this vast existence, but I’m thankful down to the very atoms of my being that I have been able to take this path.

If you are on the way to sobriety and finding the process hard, please let me know. I know that I found the stories and experiences of others so crucial throughout this period and I’m more than happy to offer prayer and encouragement! Or if there is any part of the journey you would like me to write about further, just tell me.