I couldn’t stop drinking – but I’m not an alcoholic

I don’t have a ‘rock bottom’ story – I just knew I needed to stop drinking (Picture: Viki Angel) In May 2018, my husband, Chris, and I were going to a christening – so I asked my mum to come and collect my dog, Cara, and take Cara back to hers. Mum lived just down the road. We were really close – I’m an only child. We saw each other all the time. When we got home from the christening, I could hear Cara barking inside. I realised Mum hadn’t come to get her, and that something must be seriously wrong. We couldn’t reach Mum on the telephone so Chris went round to her house and broke in. My mum had fallen down the stairs and died. Just like that, she was gone. I’ve never known shock like it – she was 71 and healthy. It was incredibly traumatising. Look beyond the headlines Get a curated list of the most important stories of the weekend every Sunday from our weekend editor Jess Austin. Look beyond the headlines with exclusive articles, emotive interviews and must-read explainers from our expert team of reporters across news, lifestyle and entertainment. Sign up here. That very first night, I thought: ‘Right – I need some alcohol.’ I needed to numb what I was feeling. That was when my relationship with alcohol changed. Since I was 18, socialising was always about going to the pub, but I had a fairly normal relationship with booze. Sometimes I’d have one too many on a Friday night when I was out with the girls, but who didn’t? Ask Metro Use AI to go deeper into the stories you care about – powered by Metro and trusted publications. Then, when I was 41, my mum died – and alcohol, for me, wasn’t about having fun any more. I needed oblivion; and I started drinking every single day. Mum and I were really close – we saw each other all the time (Picture: Viki Angel) It was only ever in the evenings, after work. I don’t have children; I didn’t have responsibilities. I’d have a bottle of wine and then something else – a Bailey’s, or a considerable amount of port. I did try, sometimes, not to – but on those nights, I was utterly miserable. I’d have to go to bed at 8:00pm; otherwise, I was sitting on my hands. Drinking had gone from being a tool to help numb the pain of losing my mum, to a real habit that was incredibly difficult to break. Even once the initial raw sadness was gone, I’d often think, ‘I can’t not have a glass tonight. I can’t.’ My drinking was always hidden from everyone except my husband, who would occasionally suggest I was consuming more than was normal. I always showed up for work, and my friends all drank when we went out, so I didn’t seem out of the ordinary. Drinking had gone from being a tool to help numb the pain of losing my mum, to a real habit that was incredibly difficult to break Quote Quote I was feeling it, though. I’d often wake up at 3:00am with terrible night sweats; I’d go to work hungover. I felt so low – and I didn’t like who I was becoming. When I remembered trivial arguments I’d had with my husband after one glass too many, it really jarred with me. I’d make excuses about why I couldn’t make Sunday lunch with my friends when I was too hungover. I never thought of myself as an alcoholic, and I still don’t. But I hated being unreliable, and I wasn’t present with my husband. I’d be checked out, in my own little world, from 5:00pm onwards. I’d see people having cups of tea at parties, and I couldn’t understand it. I desperately wished I could moderate my alcohol consumption like that, and I felt a lot of anger and grief about it – but I couldn’t. Then, in 2021, I took a photo of myself in the mirror and thought: ‘Oh my God.’ I looked bloated; my eyes looked horrible, with dark circles under them, and I just looked so sad. My skin looked dreadful. I barely recognised myself. I was shocked – and I realised enough was enough. I barely recognised myself (Picture: Viki Angel) But I didn’t know where to turn. I was well aware that I had an addiction and that my drinking wasn’t normal, but I didn’t identify as an alcoholic, and I thought I’d be a fraud if I went to Alcoholics Anonymous. While AA is wonderful, it didn’t feel right for me. I just knew I had lost control over my drinking. I wanted to take my control back – and the only way to do that was to stop drinking for good. Then, I read about ‘grey area drinking’: described as the space between ‘rock bottom’, and ‘every now and again’. ‘That’s me,’ I thought. I found a six-week online course with a sober coach. They gave me strategies like reframing my thinking around sobriety – rather than saying ‘I can’t’, I should say ‘I get to’. ‘I get to wake up fresh’; ‘I get to be a reliable person’. That helped. Now, I’m so much happier (Picture: Viki Angel) But my friends all continued to socialise at the pub, or at bottomless brunches. I’m not anti-alcohol at all, and they were all very supportive, but I didn’t want to be in those boozy environments – and I was forced to realise that I didn’t have any hobbies. All I’d ever done was sit in a pub and drink. I wanted to formalise a sober community. So I decided to start Sober Socials: a group for sober and sober-curious people to meet up and forge connections. I set up the page on Facebook and posted in a couple of different online groups about it – and today, we’ve got 1.4k members. They range from self-identified recovering alcoholics, to people who sometimes want to go to alcohol-free events. You don’t have to promise a lifetime of sobriety to come along. Want to learn more? ‘Sober Socials is a free community for men and women who are sober, sober-curious or simply looking to socialise without the booze sometimes,’ says Viki. ‘We arrange meet-ups on Facebook and get together most weekends, and do a range of activities such as walking, sea dipping and meals out.’ ‘Find us on Facebook: Sober Socials’ There still seems to be lots of negativity around going sober. That’s why the Sober Socials Facebook group is private; plenty of people don’t want their workplaces to see them there and assume they’re an alcoholic. But lots of members have a similar story to me: Alcohol just wasn’t working for them. When I went sober, people – acquaintances and friends of friends – jumped to conclusions, assuming I must have been an alcoholic with some sort of jaw-dropping story about why I stopped drinking. But I don’t have a ‘rock bottom’ story. I was never arrested for driving under the influence. I never had a written warning from my manager. I’ve never sustained a serious injury. I just knew I needed to stop drinking. I hope, one day, we’ll reach a point where being sober can be as normal as having a glass of wine; rather than sobriety being met with automatic assumptions that it must be the result of a rock-bottom addiction. For now, though, I’m so much happier. When I stopped drinking, I really thought it would be the end of my social life – but you just need to flex that sober muscle. I’ve got hobbies now, like walking and swimming; and I know that I don’t need alcohol to be able to cope with difficult situations. That’s empowering for me. When I experience bereavement again, I hope I’ll be able to deal with it in a very different way. For anyone else looking to become sober: Keep trying. Keep going to that wedding sober. Keep going on holiday sober. You might hate it to start with; but the more you do it, the easier it becomes. 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