Checking in at eight months sober

It's been longer than usual since my last post. I was contemplating attributing the delay to a busy work/interviewing schedule...or social goings on that were distracting me from writing.

Truth is I haven't felt the need to write. I created the blog to help me through the tough times - a space that I could offload to, anonymously, and without judgement or embarrassment. An illuminated screen I could admit my secret (and quite obvious) drinking problems to without the need to justify, explain or apologise.

Since returning from Mexico at the end of February I've ticked off some pretty big life moments. One of my best friends got married - which was lovely albeit hugely stressful. I met her at university so the day doubled up as a reunion of eight of my funniest and booziest friends. Although one of them took a serious dislike to my sobriety and decided to hound me about it for the whole day. I'm not kidding - 2.00 p.m. until 1.00 a.m.

It was fine, and I think other people were getting more annoyed than me having to put up with the repetitive statements and belittling throw-aways. Yes it did my head in, but I feel like I've been sober for long enough now to simply block out the dross. Not that I experience it often, and actually this guy was the first to take issue with me being sober, but I genuinely couldn't have been less bothered about his opinion.

It didn't come as a big surprise though. He's the wind up of the group and has been spectacularly annoying for years, so I anticipated my sobriety fuelling the majority of his acid-tongued jibes.

The wedding was on March 2nd, and the following day I turned 32. So I've had a birthday since my last post which was blissfully different and lovely. Last year Rob organised an overnight stay at a luxury spa and I remember travelling to the hotel hungover and full of headache. When we arrived in the afternoon he proudly revealed he had booked me a facial before dinner - I love facials - but instead of being excited I actually thought 'shit, I reek of booze and need to try and get rid of the smell.'

After the beautician worked her magic she commented on my skin being dry and puffy - an obvious side effect from too much drinking. I playfully combated her feedback with 'it's my birthday and it's been a heavy few days, lol!' No, Em, your skin was shit because you had a drinking problem. Honestly, it was so shit. Spotty, blotchy and swollen. The lady doing my facial was being beyond polite with just 'dry' and 'puffy'.

So this year I enjoyed a very civilised lunch with my husband, mum, brother and nieces, something I would never have agreed to as a drinker. 'An afternoon shindig with kids.?!...For my birthday? Boring and not boozy enough!' would have been my typical response. It was amazing though, and after my brother left to take the girls home my mum, Rob and I went to the bar to carry on the conversation.

She actually asked about my booze-free birthday (as I've never enjoyed one sober) which was nice. I shared some insight into my life without drink and people seemed to be listening. My mum even congratulated me and said she thought I was amazing which again...nice. The only comments I'd previously received from her were ones of judgement and surprise. 'Oh, you were drinking that much. Oh dear, that's no good Em.'

And it's true! When you drink - no judgement at all. But when you quit...oh boy. Prepare to be labelled an alcoholic and called all sorts of things. When you get rid of your drinking problem you immediately appear to 'have one' for some reason. It's crazy!

I've checked my Nomo app today and I'm 249 days sober. Over eight months in and really feeling like this is...me. This is the life I should have been living a long, long time ago. Yes there's been a couple of annoying moments over the past few weeks but I genuinely feel like something has clicked.

I'd love to be someone who bashes out beautifully inspiring insight and posts that go viral every other day but I'm just not like that. I do feel like I've neglected the blog a little as of late, but it's not here to add pressure or nag my day-to-day existence. Getting through life is hard enough without feeling like 'shit, I need to write something funny or my followers will begin to hate and leave me!'

What I'm trying to say is that today is the day where I want to talk and recap on hitting the eight month sober mark - which I am beyond BEYOND proud of as is my husband. Rob completed Dry Jan with ease, so much so he extended it to Dry Feb and had his first drink of 2019 at my friends wedding on March 2nd.

I've never asked him to cut down or not drink in front of me. There was a time during the early stages, I think around the three month mark, where I was contemplating asking him to move the beers from the indoor fridge to the outside one due to my excessive gawping at them.

I never had to as they just didn't bother me after a while, but actually now I've stopped to think about it he has really cut down. He told me the other day that he no longer says 'Em isn't drinking at the moment'. He now says 'Em doesn't drink'. It was so funny watching him tell me - he seemed really proud and I think finds the whole thing very novel! There are so many reasons why I feel lucky to have Rob, but his whole-hearted support of me quitting booze will mean more to me than he will ever know.    

So despite the job hunt still persisting I'm feeling OK and more 'with it' since my last post. Some days can be riddled with stress and others are just a breeze. There are so many 'black cloud' moments in sobriety and you've just got to dig your heels in and wait for the buggers to pass. Trust me, I never thought I'd hit three months sober, let alone eight, yet here we are :) More challenges to come I'm sure but for now...eight feels absolutely sodding great.

Mexico complete. Job hunt continues. I'm exhausted.

A few days ago I landed back at Gatwick after a week in the Mexico sunshine with four girlfriends. I realised on the train home it was the first time (in what felt like forever) that I was on my own and could properly reflect on the experience.

To avoid the length of this post spiralling into orbit I thought it best to summarise my experience in a short, concise sentence, as it turns out surviving an all inclusive trip to Cancun was/is the least of my worries.

In short, I smashed it. Over seven months sober and not even one tiny desire to get back on the booze. Even when I accidentally took a sip from my friend's vodka-fuelled diet coke (despite the barman reassuring me it was only a diet coke as I ordered) I momentarily freaked but regained control and took myself home. I didn't stay and think, 'fuck it, I've had a taste now let's get back on it' which is absolutely what the old Em would have done and did do on countless occasions. I became upset, understandably, and quickly started to hate the environment I had put myself in. So I left, went back to the hotel and was asleep by the time the rest of my mates fell through the door steamed out of their heads.

It was a brilliant week and a major challenge overcome, but now I'm home I've realised my anxiety is through the roof. Now more than ever I want a drink.

It's strange, because in Mexico my desire to drink was zero despite being constantly surrounded by alcohol and drunk people. But now, home, and back at my desk, I'm realising that one of my most hated triggers has resurfaced and is driving me mad with worry.

For the past three years I've run my own events company but essentially operated as a freelance consultant within that period. I don't employ anyone else, it's just me, and it's been that way since I left my old PR agency in 2016. 

I love what I do but at the moment I'm not bringing in enough money working for clients on a retainer basis, and given we'll be re-mortgaging our house this September to raise money to complete the renovation it's really important my earnings are good. And by good I mean at least triple what I'm paying myself now. 

So I've made the decision to go back into full-time permanent employment and make the company dormant. I thought I'd be more down about it but actually I'm a little relieved. Running a business is really tough and I couldn't be more over living off a shitty wage. Plus with Brexit and the recent uncertainty of the British economy people are simply tightening their belts. And yep, in my line of work a glamourous event or well thought-out PR campaign is certainly a disposable thing.

I've been on the job hunt since November so for essentially three months now and have had four interviews. The first I got down to the final two and they decided to give the job to the other person as they had industry experience I just couldn't compete with. The second two I hated and wouldn't have accepted even if I was offered (which I wasn't in the end). And the fourth. Well, that happened yesterday and is the sole reason for me wanting to dive head first into a beer bottle. 

It's because I absolutely loved the interview, loved the company and can really see myself doing well in this job. I told myself to not get too 'emotionally attached' but it's difficult not to when you're so into something. I'm a huge obsesser and have been my whole life. In love, clothing, food...and previously booze. If I'm craving something I need to scratch the itch otherwise I'll drive myself crazy. Em want. Em have. Ug.  

So yeah. The interview. 24 hours have passed and I've received an email from my recruitment agent saying her client has one more interview to conduct on Thursday then he'll be making his decision Friday/Monday. Great. I am literally going to have the week from hell until I hear.

I really want this job but given the above I'm convinced I now won't get it. If they felt the way I do about them surely they'd bin off the final candidate and offer me the job right now? Or maybe there's someone they prefer already and I'm not even in the running?

Argh. The interviewing game is horrific. And what is the one thing I used to do when the going got tough at the office? Have a huge, fat glass of wine. 

Typically I'd arrange to meet a girlfriend, usually Sam, and would pummel a pack of 20 while guzzling vino after vino to try and suppress the stress. Obviously a great move at the time but this behaviour would often lead to a stinking mid-week hangover and depression worse than death. 

So today, Tuesday, two days until Thursday when someone else may or may not steal my dream bloody job, I'm thinking about the taste of wine and how the first few sips seemed to make everything else just seem....better.

I hate that I feel this way but I need to write about this. I'm fully consumed with black clouds and my thoughts are occupied entirely by drink. My chest feels like it's being crushed and exploding all at the same time. 

The reason I've worked myself up so much about this job is because it really is perfect. Good pay, great location, amazing travel prospects and really well-suited to my skill set. I know there's a chance I could still be offered the position but lets look at the facts: They're seeing another candidate which to me translates as they're either shit hot on paper or the company is seeking more than what I can offer. and two. I've been rejected three times before and it'll probably happen again. My interview is going to be eclipsed by some freak unicorn candidate and I'll be back to square one. 

And square one is terrifying because I'm simply running out of time to source a job that I can grow to love, which pays well and that I've done for six months minimum (including any jarring probation periods) before producing my pay slips to the bank for our re-mortgage. I just don't think I'll find something that tops this role if I don't get it.

But as I've said, the above factors make me feel a lot less confident about being offered the position so I need to get my head back in gear and begin to rationalise my options. Or should I say option, singular, which is to dust myself off and start all over again.

And despite my booze demon, Blix, begging me to have a drink to make the pain and torment disappear I know it won't fix anything. Even if there was the guarantee of 'sip this and you'll get the job'... would I do it....? Probably not. As it would simply be the beginning of the end again.    

I am a firm believer that everything happens for a reason so we'll wait and see. I really, really pray that some good news lands soon though. These black clouds are all consuming and I really *really* need some light to break through. 

My biggest worry right now? A girls' trip to Mexico in 10 days...

So I know I've alluded to this on a few occasions now but with 10 days to go I need to get this weight off my chest. Or at least try.

Roughly eight months ago and before I quit drinking, my friends and I decided to book an all inclusive trip to Mexico to celebrate one of my best friends getting married. We're throwing her an official hen party in London this Saturday but wanted something a little more...extra.

We managed to get a great all inclusive deal at one of Cancun's most popular 'group' hotels and I can't quite believe we fly next Saturday. I'm obviously looking forward to the holiday but so much has changed since we booked.

Firstly, the trip is less than a month away from my friend's wedding and I'm a bridesmaid. The dress is super tight and really unforgiving so forget the standard all inclusive food blowouts and week-long grazing. I'll have to stick to the fresh fish and salads to keep on track with the size eight bridal diet!

And secondly, and my more pressing concern, is my drinking. Or lack of. Aside from spending a week in Majorca with my husband in July this will be the first time I have undertaken a 'proper' long-haul holiday sober. It's not a secret, my friends know I haven't been drinking, but really? One week in Mexico - all inclusive and fuelled by booze - am I actually going to cope with this one?

The way I'm feeling now reminds me of two previous occasions where panic took over and I couldn't think of anything else except failure. Getting off the plane in Majorca and realising I was stepping into something completely new and unknown (i.e. my first sober holiday with Rob) and secondly, my recent trip to Jersey when I was verging on a panic attack from the thought of meeting an old friend for drinks yet they didn't know I'd given up drinking.

Both occasions turned out to be OK, I didn't die, but it seems I've got no better at compartmentalising my fear and stamping out my inner booze voice. Blix is in full swing this week - back with a vengeance after a seemingly dormant couple of months. 'Em, just driiiiink! You'll be in Mexico and everyone will be drinking except you! They will think you're so boring! You will have the worst time!'

These words have been on repeat in my head since the turn of the New Year when Mexico hype started to increase in our group chat. At one stage I even had to ask my friend to stop asking me if I was going to drink. She felt really bad and apologised, but then I felt even worse for asking her to stop asking me! Stupid really, but I couldn't bare another booze-related question fired at me.

I get it though, because before I quit drinking I was exactly that person. For example for my hen party back in 2015 nine of us flew to Vegas for five nights. It was incredible, however one of my friends was five months pregnant and I was constantly worried about her enjoyment levels. I genuinely couldn't understand her wanting to come if she couldn't have a drink? What was the point in doing Vegas if you're not going to have a drink? That's what I thought all day everyday.

And how sad is that? Because now I realise she came because she loved me, and she was/is my friend, and wanted to come on my hen party and enjoy Vegas just as much as everyone else. Sure, there were a few occasions where she called it an early night, but seriously - I couldn't believe just how brilliant she was looking back. At the time I just cared about being able to drink and no other thoughts crossed my mind. I know it was my hen do but still. I was there but completely absent minded - story of my life.

So Mexico. Less than two weeks. Next Saturday. 10 days away. Eeep. The other day I started to Google the hotel facilities as I became freaked out about the concept of no gym as I've been told solo road running in Mexico isn't exactly a safe thing to do, obvs. Turns out the gym overlooks the beach and has a selection of treadmills, cross trainers and weights to keep me busy. This is good news as I love a fresh start and early morning gym session on holiday. I know there are people out there that will think I'm absolutely insane saying that, but waking up in a hot country with nothing to do except exercise, swim and tan hugely appeals to me.

So I guess this is part of my Mexican sober mission, focus on the balmy early mornings and crashing waves while working out. One of my favourite bloggers, Girl and Tonic aka @laurievmcallister, was holding a Q&A on her Instagram the other day and I asked her for advice on tackling the trip six months sober. She reminded me that I'm sober for me because it's the right thing for me, and to of course get stuck into the amazing freshly-made alcohol-free cocktails.

Her advice helped me to remember that yes, I have made the decision to be sober because alcohol literally ruins my life, but I think my game plan needs to extend beyond mocktail hopping. I'm secretly hoping my friends will want to talk about my non-drinking as I'm prepared more than ever to discuss the reasons behind my decision to quit alcohol.

A lot of them know I've been over booze for some time, but out of the girlfriends I'm going to Mexico with only one of them knows the extent of my drinking habits. Perhaps it will come up in conversation, perhaps it wont, but at least I feel a lot more prepared (and comfortable) talking about my sobriety now.

Plan of attack? I'm thinking one day at a time. Or #ODAAT as coined by social media. It really is the only approach as over thinking it will get me nowhere. Actually it will probably bring me back to the verge of full-scale breakdown and we know (from Majorca and Jersey experiences) that this isn't a fun place to be by any means.

I guess sobriety is a constant work in progress, and even though I'll hit my seven months alcohol-free anniversary the day before we fly I'm still very aware of the traps I could easily fall into. A part of me still wants to consider getting on board with the girls, sinking multiple Coronas and countless cocktails and fags like the good 'ol days. But where will that scenario actually take me? I'll just end up getting wasted, won't be able to make it through the night, will go to bed early and wake up with a raging hangover and will actually want to die. The failure and disappointment would kill me.

So that is the thought I'll be keeping in my mind as I make it through one day at a time - the sliding door alternative universe. The hell hole that is a life with booze. And if I do it and decide to drink I wont be able to leave my decision making behind in Mexico. Oh no. I'll bring that demon on the plane home with me and I'll find myself back at square one. Back at sober day one in a dark, damp, rainy UK. It simply can't happen.

Since writing this post I actually feel better about the whole situation knowing I have a small yet significant plan of attack. And if I'm getting tetchy I'll just go for a swim...apparently the hotel boasts the longest swimming pool in Cancun at a quarter of a mile long. I'm pretty sure swimming the length of that will help me to forget about the grog.

Day 200 - Finding my voice

Yesterday I hit 200 consecutive days of sobriety. I didn't make a huge deal of it, I just checked into Nomo whilst lying in bed with the hubby and gleefully showed him. 'Look Rob, 200 days without a drink, what do you reckon?' He squeezed me and told me he was proud, then within five minutes was troll-snoring in my ear and disrupting my serene celebration-for-one.

It's taken a good 24 hours, but my achievement has only really started to sink in. Bloody hell, 200 days! Me! Moi!

Looking back, my first month of quitting drinking feels strange and so long ago (even though some days feel like I quit only last week). Despite everyone thinking I was entertaining a brief detox I knew that this time was the beginning of something permanent. My whole attitude towards drinking had shifted and I couldn't bare to let alcohol control my life anymore.

As the months progressed I didn't talk about my sobriety, ever. And still to this day most of my close friends and family (even my husband) don't know the true extent of my disastrous relationship with drink. I know what you're thinking, if Em was that bad how did her hubby fail to notice her dependence? Why wasn't there ever an intervention? 

The truth is my hubby told me all the time to cut back on booze but I used to shrug off the remarks and keep up the bad behaviour. I was never an aggressive drunk, but I often drank myself into a trance-like state and would regularly wake up with zero recollection of half the night. I wouldn't change my behaviour in front of Rob either. If anything I drank more as he was usually the one buying the drinks and I knew he'd be there to carry me home. Strong look. Nights spent with friends over good food were the worst too. A license to inhale bottle after bottle of red wine until black.

I did well to keep my struggle a secret for so long, but a part of me just thought my coping mechanism was normal. I'm legally allowed to buy alcohol, everyone drinks and turning into a slurring zombie is just part of the privilege, right?

Towards the end I was hiding much of my mid-week consumption from Rob and my friends (as I've mentioned previously) as I knew it wasn't 'normal' anymore. Out of sight cupboard sips and burying bottles deep into the bin became 'my thing' within the last three months of boozing. It was the only way I could take the edge off without drawing attention to my dependence. I'd do it and wouldn't think twice. Everyone drinks at home, what I'm doing is fine. 

Luckily I woke up to the fact that alcohol wasn't, and isn't, OK, and on July 8th 2018 I threw my hands in the air and shouted 'bollocks to it, I'm done' - literally - as I was going through the hangover from hell on a bus replacement service back from the heaviest hen weekend of my life.

Since that day the obstacles have been constant but I've found the whole process as rewarding as it has been difficult. Actually no, the benefits far outweigh the negatives but I have to be realistic and say there have been some tough-as-shit days where I've just wanted to curl up into a tiny ball and plop myself into a magnum of champagne.

But one thing I have noticed about hitting 200 days is the increased...bravery (?) I'm feeling when discussing my sobriety. For example, I've been invited to a weekend-long hen party in March and on the Sunday I'm entered into the Reading Half Marathon. I did consider quitting as the getaway is for one of my closest friends - but running and hockey are helping hugely with my recovery and I'm worried that if I start cancelling plans that are good for me I'll quickly slip back into old naughty habits (and drinking).

So I messaged my friend and explained that I wasn't leaving the party early just 'for some race', but because my new routine needs to take priority and if it doesn't I'm scared that something bad will happen. And that's the absolute truth. I'm petrified of my old ways creeping back in despite my zero-tolerance-to-booze approach. I thought about keeping the message brief but I decided to share more than I have done before - letting her know that I've had to change my lifestyle dramatically for the sake of my health, and that booze-fuelled events are difficult and sometimes I need to leave early. She sent me the nicest message back and was chuffed I was going for one night let alone two.

It's in situations like this I realise that I allow my sobriety to be much more stressful than it absolutely needs to be, and 100% of the time I'm secretly freaking out about what other people will think of me if they find out how deep-rooted my booze issues are. Maybe it's hot gossip behind closed doors, maybe it's not....who knows and actually who cares? (OK I do). But seriously, why do people still act so sodding surprised when people become dependant and addicted to booze when its rammed down our necks all the effing time?

Sleek, sexy, martini-drinking, mini-dress dancing party fun times? Gimme! Yep, bit of me. Lets drink alcohol, we'll look turbo cool and feel fit AF. Tough week? Yes Tesco, I do need that special offer litre of vodka to take the edge off. Every little helps? Damn right, I'll help myself to that.

Nah. Not anymore. Years of drinking booze has affected me in ways the advertising companies will never promote. And over time it's wormed its way into my bloodstream and convinced me on almost every occasion that life isn't worth doing unless alcohol is involved. Christening? Where's the after party? Wedding? Gimme cocktail hour. Standard Tuesday night? Let's spice this up with a vino! Re.lent.less.

People with drinking problems aren't homeless. People with drinking problems aren't strewn across park benches covered in urine. People with drinking problems ARE PEOPLE WHO SUFFER FROM THE SAVAGE EFFECTS OF BASTARD ALCOHOL. Sorry for going a bit shouty there, but at 200 days I kind of feel like I need to be.

It's taken a while, but I'm starting to feel OK about discussing my long-term intentions. I guess it's because I mainly feel that six months sober is a serious achievement - and actually in the early days I was petrified of failing and chucking in the towel. No one took my abstinence seriously. They all thought it was a mini-health protest soon to be eclipsed by an epic session on the grog. And that's fine. Because that's what happened countless times before.

My booziest friend helped me quit

Six months into sobriety and I'm regularly being told by my husband that my willpower is amazing and how proud of me his is. To be honest I think abstaining from drinking has little to do with willpower...it's simply a result of booze turning me into a creature from the deep, and I don't want to be that monster any more.

But something significant happened to me before I decided to call time on my disastrous relationship with alcohol, and that was one of my best and booziest friends, Sam, moving away. I've wanted to write about this experience for a while but whenever I put some thought into the subject I end up daydreaming about our fun times - always bolstered by booze and fags - and begin to wonder what it would be like to just do it again.

Some of the best memories I hold are attached to Sam and drinking. Late night raving in my living room to Haim, 2.00 p.m. sauvignon blanc sessions down our local. We lived within walking distance of each other and were/still are child free, so our (abundant) spare time revolved around spontaneous drinking, dirty all dayers and boozy couples' date nights.

Last March she surprised me with an amazing day out in London for my birthday, and I remember laughing hysterically at our first drink landing at 3.00 p.m. We thought we were so sophisticated having brunch and visiting a museum first before diving into beer. We then got on it and drank solidly until 1.00 a.m. - with neither of us remembering the 1hr 15m train journey home.

So when Sam announced that she and her hubby we're moving to Canada for two years in June 2018 I lost it. Well, not literally, but I sort of went into mourning. My best drinking bud is leaving me - How the hell am I going to cope? We often joked about how great our separation would be for our livers, but back then I didn't care. I relied heavily on Sam for the good times and I knew I'd be lost without her.

But roughly two weeks after she left town I had the hen do in Brighton which was the event that called time on my drinking, and without even realising, my quest for sobriety was suddenly fair game. When I mentioned to Rob I was going to 'take a break' from booze he immediately quipped 'well Sam leaving the country will be a massive help!' And he was right. I'm not sure if I would have taken quitting seriously if Sam was still in reach.

Thinking more about the whole situation, I don't think Sam will ever realise (unless she reads this which is unlikely as no one knows my blog exists!) how much her departure has helped/saved me. You see Sam and I were the same, we loved drinking, loved drunk smoking and because we had each other it was something we could do all the time. But because of this - and the love that we had for each others company - I don't think we ever realised just how much damage we were doing to our bodies.

And on top of Sam, and when she wasn't available, there were other friends I'd meet for boozy smokey fun times too -so the cycle, as always, was seemingly endless.

I'm not sure how different life would be now if Sam hadn't moved away. I do wonder about it often, and if my sober intentions would have been laughed at and thrown out months ago. The thing with Sam is that she would have hated my decision to go sober but would have supported me all the way. Maybe she would have joined me for a while? Actually no, stamina has never been her strong point. In truth... I don't think I would have even considered sobriety if Sam was still on tap.

So what about people who want to quit booze but their Sam equivalent isn't conveniently moving over 3,000 miles away? I can't say I have any recommendations, but what I do know is the time I spent away from doing the things I used to do has hugely helped my recovery. I'm not saying bin off your amazing friends and live as a hermit, but maybe if you've tried to give up alcohol and the same behaviour/people are your repeat reason for caving then maybe it's time to sit a few plays out.

I know everyone's journeys are different, but during the early days of my sobriety I felt an increased strength as the days and months amassed. It's like you accrue energy and determination with every new sober day banked. I still use an app called Nomo which is such a simple way to check in and count your days - I'd recommend it to anyone who, like me, responds well to continuous streaks and visual aids.

Just being able to see '193 days' sober is a huge incentive.

Sam knows I've given up booze, it isn't a secret, but like many of my friends and family I think she believes that it's just a phase I'm going through. We talk all the time, but every now and again she slips in a question about my non-drinking which I find increasingly funny. I know she's quietly freaking out.

About three weeks ago Rob and I booked our summer holiday and we've decided to road trip up the West Coast of America late-June and then fly to Canada for five nights to spend time with Sam and her other half. As a four we get on really well, so it's going to be an insanely fun trip that will conclude approximately six days before my one year sober anniversary.

Perhaps my final major test? Who knows. But I'm excited to spend time with Sam and for once remember everything we get up to.

January: The month of belonging

My first sober January has been truly fascinating and we're only 15 days in so far.

Now that the gluttony and over-doing-it of December is old news, my friends and family all seem to be turning their attention to Dry Jan, detoxing and general low key-ness. Cue my big excited smiley face, hovering above them like the Teletubbies sun baby. A seasoned expert on all that is great and good about sobriety and quickly ushering everyone through to my secret little sober club.

THIS is Sober Symposium, come and join the party!

OK, so I'm getting a bit carried away. But I really feel quite pumped about this typically dark and hated month as my loved ones continue to turn to me for advice and guidance. I know the bubble will burst as soon as February lands, so for now I'm riding the wave and revelling in this warm and fuzzy sense of belonging.

You see, January (for me) is a very cleansing month and always has been - even more so when I drank myself into oblivion. Last year I was absolutely on my knees come Christmas Day from countless benders and booze-induced chain smoking, and by New Years eve the husband and I were in a taxi home just after midnight as I was a rancid combination of sick and hungover. I didn't know if I was more of one thing than the other, but I struggled to keep the 12.00 a.m. Champagne toast down and wanted nothing more than to curl up and die.

The arrival of January 2018 was a relief but I was riddled with pain and anxiety. I'd really overdone it (by my standards - eeesh) and started the year feeling like shit, but finally I'd made it. I'd arrived at the detox door and was banging hard to be let in.

It's weird looking back. My decision making was always governed, no - dominated, by alcohol. It was top of the priority tree and every branch that stemmed from its poisoned trunk grew as a defeated after thought. Every decision I made outside of work (and many times within it) started with 'well I'll want to have a drink so...'.

But January was different. It gave me a snippet of hope that I could be a better version of myself and I always bought into the idea. However as booze was my default reward for good behaviour I'd quickly slip back into my old drinking ways once I'd sweated out the last of the festive hangover. I'd tell myself that I'd done the right thing by having one or two weeks off the grog and then stupidly supplement my reduced food intake with 'good' alcohol calories. 'That's it, I'm being healthy and only drinking clear spirts with slimline tonic until further notice' would be my favourite New Year announcement. A Caesar salad and chaser of gin - seemed a perfectly healthy approach in my eyes.

If only I knew what January, and every other month, could feel like if I'd removed alcohol from the equation sooner. Every half-arsed attempt at swimming to the surface would end with booze dragging me back down to the depths of despair. And I really was in despair, so never will I sit here and give myself a hard time over not realising the errors of my ways a little earlier on. I was spellbound by the stuff without even knowing it, and that's exactly what alcohol does. Blink once and 15 years of socially acceptable alcohol abuse will rocket by. You're in the trap without realising (Allen Carr's Stop Drinking Now book explains this theory more).

So January 2019, how do I feel? In comparison to previous years I feel good, like I'm in the right place, but still mindful of the fact I'm new to sobriety. Six months is an amazing achievement (whoop) but I do think about alcohol all the time and have some huge social events approaching that will require my undivided strength. Like my all inclusive week in Mexico on February 9th. I'm trying not to think about it otherwise my stomach flutters will get worse and I'll be on the floor in a ball of panic before I've even left for the airport. Although I can't help but think about it... you get the picture!

But anyway, back to the title of this post and my new sense of belonging. I was babysitting for my nieces on Saturday and my brother commented on how I look like someone who hasn't had a drink in six months. I laughed and asked him to expand, and he said 'I don't know, you've just got this glow'. Chuffed by his comments I started to think about the other January 'goings on' that have been solely attached to my sobriety.

My husband has decided to join me in non-drinking and has committed to Dry Jan, although he's running a half marathon late-February and has said he has every intention to continue his efforts until this point. I really hope he can make it this far although I know, as booze is his reward at the end of the month, he may well be inclined to throw in the towel once alcohol is back on the table. It's exactly what I used to do. I'm loving him off it though and I think he is too. Our weekly food shops now incorporate tonnes of interesting alcohol-free concoctions (as he's in the excited and novel 'buy everything' stage) and he's adamant he's not missing it... but I think the fact that his mates are all in hiding too is massively helping.

It's actually one thing I'd majorly recommend if you want to quit drinking but don't know where or how to start. I made sure that the first month of my sobriety was as plan-free as possible, and if anything in the diary made me feel worried or nervous I'd simply cancel/reschedule/hide. True, I didn't help myself by going on holiday 40-odd days into sobriety (however that all worked out fine! - couple of posts about it here) but as this was something I was doing with just my husband I was able to control the situation a lot more. A boozy get together in a pub with mates within the first few months of quitting just wasn't a possibility for me.

I think it's all about identifying your triggers which for many come in the form of party-animal mates (I will talk about this more at some stage) or certain locations/activities - like dropping in at your local on a Saturday or hosting a wine-fuelled dinner party at home (my old fave). I read somewhere (and I think it's a well-known quote) that you can't heal in the same environment that poisoned you. Or words to that effect.

I really feel this summarises sobriety quite well - how would I ever have saved myself from drowning if I kept putting my head under water? It's absolutely OK to remove yourself from situations that no longer feel safe. It's by no means a permanent solution either (I'm now much more comfortable in restaurants and pubs than I was when I first quit) but if it is, who cares? Taking yourself away from the danger is key - it got me through the early days and my friends are still my friends. Nobody died as a result of me staying home.

And for many of my friends who are doing Dry Jan, and even those who aren't, my 191 days of consecutive non-drinking is quite a fascinating talking point. I'm not sure why, but for some reason I just feel like January is a good month to discuss my experience of quitting - but really talk about it, you know? I'm not expecting this month to revolutionise the way in which my friends and family drink, but if anything I think my general openness to talk about abstaining from booze is falling on ears that are actually tuned in and listening.

Sobriety can sometimes feel like a very lonely and isolated place, and just when I was starting to feel like maybe I should just drink in Mexico to be fun and feel included, January reminds me that not drinking is a thing, it's my thing, and a week on the piss in Latin America just isn't worth it.

Six months sober!

I couldn't think of anything clever or cryptic to write for the title of this post so I just went with the crazy truth that I've hit six months alcohol free today! Writing this down and saying it out loud baffles me...it really does.

The summer months leading up to my decision to quit booze seem so long ago but like they happened only yesterday. The 2.00 a.m. benders chugging whatever I could get my hands on until black. Bunking off work for lie-ins that would surpass midday, and once surfaced my eyes could barely handle the soft noon light peeping through my bedroom blinds. Countless 'do you remember what you did last night' comments from my husband, which would send shooting pains of anxiety straight to my heart and make me hate myself for days. Pathetic drunk conversations. Wasted money. Burnt lungs from chain smoking. Embarrassing bloodshot zombie eyes covered in smudged black eyeliner and eye bogies. Clothes bursting at the seams (literally) due to excessive weight gain.

Turning 31 in March 2018 seemed to mark the beginning of the end of me. It was roughly four months before I decided to give up alcohol and I was in a terribly dark place. All of the above fuelled by drink after drink after drink eventually took it's toll, and I was knackered. Haggard, sad and knackered. I've touched on it lightly before, but I will never refer to myself as an alcoholic as I just don't feel it represents me or my situation accurately. But I do know that I was dependent on booze and it had me tight within its grip. So tight toward the final stages that I was absolutely verging on a mental breakdown.

When I sat down and took stock of all that was great and good in my life I realised it was all being affected, hindered and suffocated by alcohol. Why had I been tolerating this beast for so long? Why was I letting it wreck me without doing anything about it? If I cut myself I'll grab a plaster to ease the pain and heal the wound. Yet torture and suffering from drink? I'll just accommodate the swine, glug more and do nothing to patch up the damage.

The drunk-now-sober authors I've read often refer to booze as having a bad partner in their life, that they desperately want to kick out of bed but are still head over heels in love with - despite the constant abuse and shaming. I can understand how having a relationship like this with alcohol must be exhausting, but for me it was literally like a bomb exploded. A switch just flicked that made me say you know what, enough's enough. This isn't working for me any more. Once I had identified the cause of my pain it was an easy decision for me to kick the bastard out.

I can't encourage you enough to do the same if you're fed up with how alcohol is making you feel. Taking the power back is the best thing I have ever done, period.

So six months on. Where am I now? Long story short I'm in a really good place. Yes there have been some hugely difficult moments attached to abstaining which are detailed (and will continue to be talked about) on the blog, but aside from the mental and physical battles I've faced with my booze demon, Blix (literally. After an open bottle of white wine was left in our fridge after Christmas Day I grabbed it and went to take a swig but stopped mid trance, screamed and poured it down the sink. It was a tough day), I feel incredible.

There has been a seismic shift in my physical appearance which I'll talk about first. Yes I know this blog is still very anonymous (I promise I'll muster the courage to out my features one day!) but I can't express enough just how GOOD being alcohol free makes you look. Before I started to address exercise, I noticed so many improvements just from binning the booze. My eyes became brighter, my face seemed to deflate and the unsightly red blotches and spots I used to get at the tops of my arms disappeared pretty much instantly.

When I started to exercise and re-introduce sport in August 2018, roughly six weeks into sobriety, my body started to transform. I was a keen runner even as a drinker, but I seemed to be injured a lot and could never crack sub-nine minute miles at my very best pace. Since picking up hockey again which I play twice a week, and maintaining a running schedule which sees me run a minimum of 3.1 miles five days a week (now at eight minute miles, yay!), I'm managing to build muscle, tone everything, and for the first time this morning I looked in the mirror and thought yep, I'm pretty happy with this. A HUGE moment for me.

Before I quit booze I used to stare vacantly at my reflection and cover up the bumps with baggy jumpers and uncomfortably tight jeans. After absorbing the disappointment I'd then start to feel ashamed about the soft bits. I'd punish myself by not eating yet sink over half a bottle of wine a night and then allow the pizza and chocolate and carbs as a reward for being 'good' that day. In the build up to Christmas 2017 Rob made a comment about me wearing the same pair of trousers over and over again, and that he'd take me shopping for some new clothes if I desperately needed. I was so embarrassed (!) and at the risk of sounding like Regina George from mean girls they were genuinely the only thing that fit me back then. I didn't eat properly for a week and managed to shoe horn myself back into my black pair of skinnies as punishment. The cycle was endless.

I'm yet to stand on the scales, but when I weighed myself before I quit drinking I'd hit 10 stone. For the whole 5ft 3in of me it's the heaviest I've ever been. A weight I used to cry at. I will do the weigh in soon (end of Jan is marked!) but I'm pretty sure I may be edging back towards my wedding weight (which was 8st 5lbs) which is an exciting thought. I felt amazing then and I'm starting to feel amazing now....sobriety really is an incredible thing.

I have to be honest and say the mental side effects haven't been as noticeable as the physical improvements but I've always been quite a strong-minded person. Despite becoming increasingly depressed on hangover days I've always managed to put in a shift at work and remain happy with my life, yet for others the mental benefits of sobriety far outweigh the physical. For me it's definitely the other way round, but one thing I will say is the clarity is unbeatable. Just waking up on a Saturday morning to a fresh head and supple limbs is enough to make me never want to drink again. And wanting to crack on and be productive with my time as opposed to diarising hangover days and doing absolutely shit all is nothing short of life giving!

If someone would have asked me seven months ago 'fancy giving up booze forever?' I would have laughed in their face, genuinely! I used to pity the tee-totallers I'd meet, especially those who actively chose not to drink instead of giving it up for health or addiction reasons. What a bunch of losers! Who would actively choose stone-cold soberness over technicolour party fun times?!

Truth is the past six months have been the happiest and healthiest I've ever experienced. And looking back it was just the booze talking. I wasn't happy or enjoying myself before I quit. The only part of drinking I enjoyed was the feeling from the first one or two, the instant relief a couple of sips of wine would provide after a heavy day or stressful few hours. I'd never stop there though. I'd then hit drink three which would induce cigarette cravings, and then drink five which would increase my volume levels and arrogance, then drink eight which would slur my speech and make my eyes flicker. Anything after that would be black. And that, my friends, was the torturous monotony of my drinking.

The way I relax now is simply through me time. Unpolluted, fresh-air me time. I no longer need a glass or two to 'take the edge off', as my edge fell straight off as soon as I packed in the grog. I feel more calm, together and just generally more...zen! It's the only word I can use to describe it. Finishing a bottle of wine before bed and waking up with a stinking hangover gives me the shivers now, and if I can bin the bad stuff well in my eyes, anyone can.

In one month's time, and the day after I turn seven months sober, I'll be on a flight to Mexico with four girlfriends - Cancun bound for a week of all inclusive hen do madness. I haven't thought about it much but I am, in truth, starting to feel a tiny bit apprehensive about the whole thing. My aim for the rest of Jan is to write as many positive stories about my sobriety as I can, and no doubt recap on some face melting moments, to help me prepare for what will be my biggest challenge yet. I feel strong, but remain realistic to the fact that my triggers could one day get the better of me if I become complacent at any time.

Right here though, on the 8th of Jan, six months sober feels absolutely epic and who knows where the year will take me. 2019 I'm ready for you.