When I look back on my relationship with alcohol, I’m always surprised that it didn’t begin dramatically. It started in ways that felt normal and socially acceptable. Growing up, drinking was a natural part of my environment, and by my late teens, alcohol had become what I thought was an easy solution. I used it to switch off, to cope, and to fit in. At the time, I didn’t see it as a problem—after all, it was just what everyone else was doing.

As my life became more complicated, that "solution" started to create its own problems. Alcohol slowly shifted from being a part of my social life to being something I relied on. In my late twenties, a series of significant losses hit all at once: housing issues, the sudden death of my father, and a toxic work environment. I didn’t know how to properly process what was happening so I used alcohol to numb myself and bear the weight of it all..I began relying on alcohol to ‘manage’ my grief, stress, and anxiety. Soon, casual glasses of wine turned into a nightly bottle. I was withdrawing from life, convinced that alcohol was the only thing keeping me upright, even as my mental and physical health began to crumble.

When I was diagnosed with anxiety and depression, I self-medicated with alcohol rather than reach out for help. As my dependence grew, so did my tolerance, forcing me to increase my drinking in order to achieve the effects I was relying on. My physical, mental, and emotional health continued to decline and soon, I was struggling to get out of bed. I began withdrawing from life. My sole focus was simply to get through the day, and I relied on alcohol to do that.

The Turning Point

The years that followed are marked by repeated hospital admissions, detox stays, and day programs. It was an exhausting cycle signaling that even though I wanted things to change, I didn’t have the tools, insight, or self-belief to make it stick. Eventually, after a particularly serious hospital admission and seeing the pain my drinking was causing the people who loved me, I reached a point of surrender. I couldn’t keep living the way I was, and I couldn’t keep doing it alone. In 2020, I committed to extended detox and residential rehabilitation. This was my critical turning point. Instead of finding comfort in isolation, I surrounded myself with support, structure, and people who understood exactly what I was going through. I completed almost a year of residential recovery, where I learned skills, built routines, and began to reconnect with myself.

However, this was when I learned that recovery is not a straight line

After over a year of sobriety, I relapsed. It was a reminder of how quickly one drink could drag me back to the mental place I had been working so hard to escape. With the help of loved ones and my recovery support system, I was able to re-engage with my journey and keep going. I learned relapse is not a "start over" button — it’s a lesson.

When facing new life stressors, I was able to recognise the early warning signs and reach out for help before things could escalate. Using the skills I had learned in my rehabilitation — such as staying connected to those around you, accessing counselling as soon as I felt unstable, and re-engaging with group support systems — I was able to get through those periods without returning to alcohol.

The Power of Peer Support

Through my own recovery journey, I came to understand the power of lived experience and peer support. What once felt like shame and baggage became something meaningful when viewed through a recovery lens. I realized that my darkest moments could serve as a light for someone else. Today, I work as a lived experience peer worker, supporting others who are struggling with alcohol and other drug use. This role gives me purpose and allows me to give back to the services that supported me when I needed it most.

Recovery has taught me that asking for help is not a failure — it’s a necessary step. It’s not about never struggling again, but about learning how to reach out, stay connected, and choose support over isolation.

 If you’re reading this and recognizing parts of your own story, please know that recovery is possible, and you don’t have to do it alone. Reaching out for help can be the first step toward a life that feels worth living again.

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