A time for reflection

This time last year I was in town at an event pumped with complimentary champagne. The celebration was at London's Natural History Museum and I didn't have a plus one, so the only way to survive the evening was to turn up tipsy and leave drunk, without (hopefully) making a tit of myself. Take full advantage of the free Champagne, Em, obviously.

There's no real 'oh my God' scandal with this story but I've been thinking about it a lot recently so decided to share my thoughts. I guess it's because of just how different I am, a year on and almost five months sober.

In truth I thought I was living the dream. Invited to a highly exclusive event to drink the finest fizz and sample world class cuisine? Bit of me! But underneath the excited and slightly nervous exterior was an addict preparing for lift off.

A) I was alone, no plus one. Despite feeling slightly on edge about this I turned it into a positive. No one to keep track of the drinks I was putting away. I could chug as many as I wanted without receiving judgment or rudely out-drinking my counterpart. Big plus.

B) I could buy a fresh packet of cigarettes and smoke as many as I liked. This would give me something else to do between lapping the bar and small talk.

C) I ensured I got the train so the free bar was mine. Mine for the taking.

Never at any stage did I stop to think how the evening could benefit me commercially, or how I could use this as a chance to network my ass off among some hugely influential and very affluent people. Nope, I just thought about the booze. Priority numero uno.

Roughly 20 minutes into my arrival I was two flutes and a cigarette in. By the fourth flute and second cigarette I was tipsy verging on drunk but still able to speak without slurring my words. This usually kicked in around the 7/8 drink mark so I needed to ensure I found the host to thank him before I had too many.

Luckily I did, but I was six flutes in by this stage and had only digested nicotine. The evening food was fiddly to hold so I decided to allocate my hands to my clutch bag and Champagne glass instead. Eating was hassle so I binned it off.

Roughly an hour and a half into the night I spotted my colleague, the host, and shuffled into his line of sight. We managed to hold a momentary chat and I thanked him for the invitation. Job done, he saw me, now lets get some more booze in me before heading home. As the conversation came to a close he shook my hand and leaned in slightly. 'Emily, you're a beautiful lady but cigarettes will ruin you.' He then smiled and bid me a good night. I nervous laughed, smiled back and stepped aside to let him pass.

Bollocks. Anyone else and I wouldn't have cared about a comment like that but this guy was important. I wanted to impress him and I clearly failed. I dusted myself off and went back to the bar before heading outside to smoke another. I smell now so may as well keep going.

It also occurred to me I hadn't checked my make-up in a while (having been occupied by the free bar and all...) so I whipped out my compact to find mascara smudges under my eyebrows and a huge eye bogey escaping my left peeper. Reeking of fags and looking like shit, strong look. 

It was a dismal performance and I left with absolutely nothing accomplished. But this didn't phase me. Why would it? I stepped into the cold London air pissed as a fart and en route to Waterloo where M&S gins in tins would be waiting for me. Two free bottles of Moet consumed and an hour train ride home for me to sink a few more bevs. Perfection.

Until my hangover arrived the next morning. It was raging. So I gave myself the day off and didn't achieve anything for the rest of the week.

The event is taking place again this Thursday and I received my invitation last week, which is why I've been thinking about it so much and whether or not it will be a good idea to go (with alcohol and cigarettes off limits I'm working myself up over the type of experience I'll have). I wont have something to do when the chats dry up and I'm left holding an orange juice.

It shouldn't even be a question really. To make the guest list at an event like this is a huge deal, but here I am weighing up whether I should go because it'll be different without booze or fags. I will have to be present and occupy my time another way. I will have to do the event...properly.

The conversations I'm having with myself seem crazy but I'm not sure I'm in the right frame of mind to see this one through. Blix, my booze demon, is cranking the anxiety dial up day by day - but I'm hoping there's still time for me to calm down, make a plan and do the right thing: attend.

Let's hope my previous post can inspire me to tackle this one head on. I really hope so.

Sober survival skills: My first hockey social

On Saturday night (17.11.18) I turned 132-days-sober and attended my first hockey social since joining the team in the summer. I was bricking it!

As everyone knows team sports are synonymous with boozy socials, so the pre-Christmas get together had been making me feel on edge for quiiiiiiite some time. Namely because I was the newbie of the team and really really didn't want to miss out. If you're invited to a Club social they're a seriously good way to bond with your team mates away from the pitch, so you go.

Excited chat had been on the up for a few weeks and I was becoming increasingly nervous about the outing of my sobriety. We train every Tuesday and play matches on Saturday, so on the morning of the social and after a 3-0 away win at Bicester the team were fired up for a celebratory night out.

'You're coming tonight Em aren't you? Can't wait to get bang on the booze and let loose...your first social is gonna be epic!'

18-year-old booze-hound Em would have felt right at home. 31-year-old sober Em omitted a nervous laugh, secretly recoiled in horror and became immediately sweaty-palmed. Enter Blix, stage left. Eurgh, they are going to hate you. As soon as they find out you don't drink you'll be an outcast. Why not have a couple so you can properly fit in? It'll make you more popular!

Piss off, wretch. But he did have a point...

As a result of becoming a non-drinker in July I decided to pick up hockey again, a sport I love and one I was seriously good at in school (I made England's regional squad at the age of 17). At university I found booze (or did it find me?) and the rest, as they say, is a blurry, wasted history.

My passion for hockey got doused in alcohol by a toddler-sized Blix, who then took a lighter to my energy and drive and set fire to every good intention I had attached to sport. My ability went up in a big puff of (weed infused) smoke and I turned into an overweight, binge-drinking, recreational drug-using student. Blix fed off my fear and evolved into an equally fat, dominating bastard. Little did I know he'd acquire squatters rights for another 13 years.

The first thing I noticed when eliminating alcohol was the abundance of time I was given back. I didn't notice it during week one, as my first fully sober day started on a Monday so I kept my head down with work. But by week two, and come the weekend, I was pleasantly surprised by how much time I had to play with. Towards the final stages of my drinking I even diarised hangover days. If anyone, including Rob, asked me to do anything after a heavy night out they could forget it. My diary would read 'HD' and I'd know a day on the sofa eating pizza was accounted for.

So when I rediscovered Saturday mornings I decided to fill them with a regular...thing. To help me stay on track in a way but also to give my weekends more purpose. It sounds strange to say, but I had to seriously adjust to weekends without alcohol. In the beginning they seemed empty and purposeless. If I wasn't lumped on the sofa recalling a banging night out then what was the point? My time was spent wasting time. 

Luckily this feeling became obsolete when I started to realise I could actually (and wanted to) do stuff. Hangovers weren't holding me back anymore, and for the first time ever I started to seize...time. (I feel like I'm saying time a lot here).

Hockey came at the absolutely right time (!), and after a few practise sessions over the summer with my local team I was invited to train for the winter season. This immediately translated in my head as = 'Tuesdays and Saturdays, something to do except drink. Good work, Em.'

Yet I knew, deep down, my struggle with alcohol would resurface when the social invitations started to circulate. Bang on cue, roughly two months into my shiny new sporting life, the anxiety began to rocket.

After the initial panic had washed over me I started to rationalise my sobriety. Yes, this was going to be a very high pressured and unfamiliar situation but surely there was a way through it? I just had to work out my route and swerve the pitfalls.

If you're familiar with my blog you will have read an earlier post where I touch upon predicting sobriety's unpredictability. It's become a bit of a mantra for me as there have been a few occasions now where I could have been caught with my pants completely ripped off, but due to a bit of forward planning I've ensured nasty drink-related surprises remain at bay.

Little things, like ensuring you have interesting alcohol-free drinks to hand when your favourite wine is being passed round a table. And making sure you remain the designated driver when tempting and convenient offers of hotel rooms or crashing at your mates get dangled in front of your nose.

So this is what I did to ensure the Sunday would land me on sober day 133.

1. I drove. And I didn't get myself involved in taxi conversations. Instead I quietly mentioned my intentions to drive to team mates I felt closest to (who jumped at my offer of a lift) which ensured I had a car full and a firm role for the evening.
2. I took a couple of alcohol-free 'just in case' beers. I know AF beers aren't for everyone, but I genuinely like the taste of beer and they really work for me. The social was at the Club house and I didn't know if they'd have anything remotely interesting and alcohol free behind the bar. The barman was only too happy to open my two Big Drop IPA's and sweetly motioned to the stash of cold yet dusty Becks Blues in case I wanted a few more. What a champ. I felt prepped and ready to mingle.
3. I swatted up on my responses. Surprisingly I didn't get asked too many times about my non-drinking (AF beers are a God send for pretending) but there were about four occasions I was cornered. 'Leave your car here! Get on it, Em!' I simply responded, 'drinking doesn't work for me guys and I hate hangovers. I'm much more fun without it!' Convo end! :)
4. I gave myself a curfew. Once midnight hit I was out of there. And out of there I was - leaving my team mates drunk hugging at the bar and downing shots of Jaeger. I sloped out at just the right time and made it home for just gone 12. It was magic. 

In truth, I had worked myself up over the hockey social in the same way I did my first sober holiday. I was reeling with doubt and panicking about the impending temptation to drink. Losing the plot over losing control.

But in the same way I overcame the fear on holiday (by arming myself to the eyeballs with sober-inspired literature) I ensured I was armed with my SOS (save our sober) tools: My car, my AF drinks, my responses and my curfew. Those seriously simple things enforced an inner strength that really pulled me through. Plus my team mates didn't give a flying shit about my sobriety in any case!

Now I'm approaching my fifth month in recovery I'm learning that hiding from social situations isn't necessarily the best thing to do (for me anyway). I mean sure, there are invitations I absolutely flat-fuck-off refuse because I know I'll hate the vibe (I was batting Halloween house parties away like the plague), but there are booze-heavy experiences I still want to be a part of that simply require a little more stamina and deeper dug heels.

I whole heartedly believe that preparation is key - and if you undertake a bit of early strategy (like I did sharing my intentions to drive) I'm confident your risk will reduce just like mine did, and your night will run smoother and with limited stress. And if anyone gives you grief just ignore the swines.

My mum, aka the brandy vommer, has a favourite saying which is 'Fail to prepare, prepare to fail' and I think it may be mine too. There's a lot of truth in it and you can apply these words to almost every situation whereby you want there to be a positive outcome.

I'm certainly starting to overcome elements of anxiety attached to 'outing' my sobriety, and actually Blix's bastard voice is feeling less and less like a controlling power. Today, I'm relieved that Saturday night is over and done with, and to treat myself I've diarised doing absolutely sod all this weekend. I guess like I used to, just without the insidious hangover :)

Plus I'll be attending hockey practise tonight without a care in the world - no embarrassing toe-curling heart-stopping stories for me! Whoop whoop!

Finding a lump

A few days ago I visited my local GP who confirmed I have a lump in my left breast. I was lying on my side in bed roughly one week ago and felt something round and out of place. Ever since I had a benign lump removed shortly after my 18th birthday I've religiously checked my boobs. I know what my 'normal' is at 31-years-old, and my most recent once-over revealed an anomaly.  

Luckily the doc didn't seem alarmed but she's referred me to a breast screening clinic and my appointment is booked for next Wednesday. I'll be examined and will either have a biopsy or ultrasound to determine the innocence of the lump. She's quite certain it's a cyst but to be on the safe side I'm off to the Royal Berkshire boob squad.

While I was with my GP I was secretly hoping she'd ask about my (new) lifestyle, to which I'd proudly reply 'non-smoker and non-drinker, Doc!' I always used to cringe at the question when asked, 'and how many units of alcohol do you drink per week?' Eeeeeeesssssssssh. Erm....10 units?

'So just over four large glasses of wine per week?'

'Oh, um, more like 15 units then. Definitely no more than 15 though.'

What a lie. I've recently completed the Drink Aware alcohol self assessment and it turns out I was putting away over 40 units of alcohol per week. That's 3,220 calories in booze and a test statement reading, 'your dinking is dangerous to your health.' This was my average consumption until I gave up on July 8th, 2018.

My doctor didn't ask about my drinking (boo) but I left the appointment feeling concerned that my increased guzzling of alcohol over the past three years has had a serious impact on my body. Aside from all of the external tells - dry spotty skin, blotchy red patches and rapidly spreading cellulite - my internal organs would scream at me after a heavy night. Every weekend I'd wake up feeling like I'd been punched in the kidneys yet I'd have a hair of the dog and everything would 'go back to normal'.

Me being me I decided to do some research on drinking alcohol and breast cancer, and no shock horror when I say there's a massive big fat consistent link. In a nutshell via breastcancer.org:

'Research consistently shows that drinking alcoholic beverages -- beer, wine, and liquor -- increases a woman's risk of hormone-receptor-positive breast cancer. Alcohol can increase levels of oestrogen and other hormones associated with hormone-receptor-positive breast cancer. Alcohol also may increase breast cancer risk by damaging DNA in cells.

Compared to women who don't drink at all, women who have three alcoholic drinks per week have a 15% higher risk of breast cancer. Experts estimate that the risk of breast cancer goes up another 10% for each additional drink women regularly have each day.'

I'm the first to admit my maths sucks, but even I can work out that my old drinking habits could/may have had landed me in some serious shit with my health. I just hope my body realises I'm never going back there and the damage can be repaired. Who even thinks that aching kidneys is OK? What planet was I on?

I know that finding a lump can be a terrifying ordeal but I'm hopeful (based on my doctor's response) that my screening consultation will go OK. I'll be posting the results as and when they arrive so fingers crossed for some good news. 

The 'Think pink, live green' column on the breastcancer.org site has some really insightful articles and great advice for keeping your health in mind when tackling high pressured drinking situations (especially during the festive period). Like my first ever hockey social this Saturday which I'm bricking. Full report to come on that too.

Here's a few reads which contain some sobering statistics:

Alcohol and cancer; You can't drink to your health.

Breast cancer and alcohol; Why and how to make a toast.

I can't recommend enough to 'know your normal' ladies. It's so important to conduct regular checks on your boobs and if something isn't right then get an appointment booked with your local GP.

Alcohol made me bury my head in the sand for far too long and it wont be happening going forward.          

Four months sober and feeling rock solid

I'd like to talk about an announcement I made around the two month sober mark. I was having a conversation with someone and they were quizzing me on my sober 'spell' as they 'cutely' called it.

The chat was completely unbearable and I could tell the person asking me questions about my sobriety wasn't interested in anything I had to say. They'd perfected the whole head tilt, pity smile and slow nod combo to a tee. To be honest I hated discussing my sobriety anyway (in the baby steps days) and still continue to drift away from conversations that either single me out as a non-drinker or are being steered by total dimwits.

So back to the discussion with said twit - it needed an escape hatch, pronto. After a few squirmy minutes of uncomfortable question answering I boldly announced that I was only staying sober for 100 days then would be wholeheartedly back on the booze. Just to shut down the incessant chat centring on the supposed 'dullness of life' sans booze. "Oh my God, Em. How do you do it? I mean, YOU? You love a drink! I'm so excited for day 100. Let's get a celebratory drink booked in when you're normal again!' Chortle, snarf, scoff. BORE OFF.

I quickly made my excuses and scurried off to the toilet where I had time to breathe and sit alone for a brief while (which is now kind of turning into a habit in pressured social situations. I'm starting to grow fond of my solitary bog breathers).

I felt overwhelmed on this particular day and started to get a bit panicky about my sobriety causing me problems (making me feel like an outcast, a fraud etc.), so I decided that a 100 day pact was actually pretty sensible. I knew, deep down, that my non-drinking wasn't a trial - or an experiment - or a fad diet. I absolutely knew it was a change of lifestyle and I couldn't let myself fail again. But at day 60, setting a 100 day limit seemed to help with the panic somewhat. It provided me with a post to set my sights on and I realised this is something I actually do in day-to-day life anyway.

AND <~ (big and), it made people relax. I saw a notable change in their attitudes when I packaged my non drinking up as a 'limited period of time-thing'. Permanent sobriety terrified them, but a 'stint' was much more manageable. Kind of like a 'phew we can still be friends with her' reaction.

But markers, Markers are peppered throughout my life and I've only just really realised. Like when I'm running, I'll look ahead to the distance and focus on something. It could be a road sign, petrol station, parked car - anything in the distance that'll make me go, 'right, reach this point, Em, and then continue to the next goal.' I'm sure there are others that use the same technique, but I find it's a brilliant way to pass the time and push your distance further.

So in the same way I'm setting myself sobriety markers, as I did with 100 days, but markers which I know will be surpassed, yet the people I'm telling them to won't.

Now I've reached four months sober I've immediately set my next milestone - six months - and feel seriously pumped about hitting it. I know the questions are going to fire thick and fast in the lead up to Christmas, but I'll simply say I'm gunning for six months sober and festive drinks can't be a part of that plan. When people start to realise (and get used to) my sobriety being a thing of permanence I'm hoping they'll become bored of asking.

And I guess it sounds like I'm kind of ashamed and reluctant to admit my sobriety, which couldn't be further from the truth. It's just that I'd like to get a few more months of being alcohol free under my belt before I start telling people I'm a non-drinker. I don't know why, but it just feels the right thing to do. I'm now learning to be more gentle with my mind and body after years of abuse through booze...so following my intuition is something I will absolutely be doing.

If I had to summarise my sobriety in three words I'd say... exhausting, turbulent and affirming. In a nutshell: I am knackered from discussing my non-drinking with blockheads (and yes I used to be one), the road has been rocky and on occasion dangerous, but the journey as a whole has affirmed my genuine commitment to wanting to get clean and poison-free.

I'm so proud to reach four months sober and I'm already looking forward to seeing in the New Year with my six month chip.

When the person who judges you for not drinking vomits in your car (from being too drunk)...

So my previous post talked about my mum a bit, and how my decision to drive to a family hen party left me feeling exposed and judged for not drinking. Sounds crazy doesn't it?

Long story short, I offered my mum a space in the car on Saturday (nice and helpful, Em), and opposed to her being grateful for the ride she poked fun at my sobriety and made a few condescending remarks. The conversation irritated me and I came off the phone particularly frustrated.

She didn't make an attempt to understand my reasons for going sober, but instead decided to judge my mid-week drinking (which was one of the reasons I quit) and announce herself as someone who 'only drinks at the weekend as a treat - a 'normal' drinker.' It kind of felt like she was saying 'Woah, Em, you were drinking in the week? No wonder you're on the wagon. Serious problem drinker alert.'

The funny thing was I knew her words were 100% crap and she was unrealistically defending her levels of alcohol intake (the woman drinks midweek, guys). I don't know if it's just me, but the longer I stay sober I'm finding that some people get quite nervous and defensive when they're the only 'drinker' in the conversation. And especially in a one-on-one situation.  

I've had a few chats now where people act as if they're under an interrogation lamp being quizzed by the alcohol police, and that irrational justification of their drinking is the only thing they can do to survive the conversation. They get all...tetchy!

I know, I get it. They're worried that your coming to terms with booze dependence will expose their addiction too - which they're either too frightened to admit or they're simply just oblivious to it. I genuinely don't care how much my peers drink as little over four months ago I was exactly the same. I used to think people like the new me SUCKED!

The reason I'm recapping on my weekend is because the hen party couldn't have gone better, from my point of view, and I had the best time celebrating with family and friends without the fear of losing control. I enjoyed a few alcohol free beers before switching to cucumber water (which was delicious enough to stay on for the duration of the night) and made sure I joined in the beer pong and drinking games without getting an urge to drink any of the bad stuff.

As I approach four months sober (tomorrow!) my desire to drink feels at its lowest point. Right now I'm feeling pretty unshakable!

But at roughly 8.00 p.m. after a solid six hours of partying I started to notice my mum's behaviour change. She was turning into old me - so in a word she was absolutely shit faced! The woman who 'only drinks at weekends' losing the ability to move her legs and speak without slurring. And please know I am not writing about this to expose my lovely mum. I'm writing about this because it's a whopping dose of irony!

So as a non-drinker (and someone who used to drink mid-week) I was being judged, by my mum, only a few days ago for shunning alcohol. Instead of choosing to understand my reasons she decided to dig at my past habits and it made me feel ashamed. Only now, as we're on the drive home having left the party early due to her state of inebriation, she's projectile vomiting all over the front seat, floor, seatbelt and dashboard of my freshly valeted BMW.

Yep. My mum who boasted about her controlled approach to drinking is now throwing up cognac all over herself and my car. And despite being utterly stressed by the whole thing I couldn't help but feel smug. Really bloody smug. Roll on the Sunday morning apology phone call!

Aside from feeling like the biggest 'I told you so' on the planet, it was upsetting seeing my poor mum like that. I wanted to do was hug her, and obviously whisper I told you so, and then hug her again.

But I didn't. I cleaned the poor girl up and drove her home with the widows down - returning her to her shell shocked boyfriend before driving home for a second valet of the day. After the car was fumigated and her coat and hat were in the washing machine I enjoyed a hot shower, popped on a facemask and curled up on the sofa with a peppermint tea.

Sobriety, I bloody love you.

And as strange as it sounds, the volcano of vomit made me appreciate the night so much more, together with the hugely apologetic phone call I received the next day in which my mum announced she was going to start taking a leaf out of my book. I'm pretty sure that's what you call...karma? :)