Mayhem and Beyond

By Elizabeth McGivern

Mum by day, writer by night. Figuring out the rest as I go along.
Discover the Amy Cole Series here: Amy Cole has lost her mind

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posted on October 16, 2019 by elizabeth

Claim your FREE book!

I’m delighted to announce that you can claim your free copy of ‘Christmas and other things I hate’ today – weeks before it’s available anywhere else.

This novella is a prequel to my new series ‘Love and Other things I Hate’ which will kick off in January 2020.

Here’s the link 📚🥳:

BookHip.com/PQNGLA

I use a service called BookFunnel to deliver my book. It may take a few steps depending on your reading device.
If you have trouble, just click the Help link at the top of the book download page.

Keep an eye out for your confirmation email (check spam if it doesn’t arrive within a few minutes!)

Other than that, ENJOY! 😘

Filed Under: Books

posted on September 30, 2019 by elizabeth

How to survive IKEA

I’m off to the happiest place on earth, on this foggy Monday, so I decided to be proactive and put some tips together for this visit:

How to survive IKEA:

1.Never go with husband unless you want to have a monumental fight.

2. Make sure you’ve practised Tetris for the week before you go, to prepare yourself for getting everything in the boot afterwards.

3. Comment on how much smaller the slices of Daim cake have gotten and proceed to order two to make up for the deficit.

4. Promise not to buy more photo frames because you still haven’t put up the last lot.

5. Buy more photo frames.

6. Bring an enabler (my mother who is sure to buy yet another rug).

7. Don’t tell husband you’re going or you will get an irate phone call from him telling you ‘we don’t need more cushions.’
You don’t need that sort of negativity in your life.
They’re throw pillows, Conor, THROW PILLOWS and they’re always necessary.

8. Put the tea-lights back. You really don’t need more tea-lights.

9. Spend the return trip wondering how the total was £217 for photo frames, tea-light candles and a new throw pillow.

Filed Under: Lifestyle

posted on September 30, 2019 by elizabeth

The Drinking Iceberg

DAY 100

Today marks another 100 days without alcohol and this time was pretty tough.

Scrolling through the work of @teedoodler I spotted this and it summed up how I had been feeling.

Image Credit Teedoodler

It’s a really stressful time at the minute and I was craving the instant relaxation that a glass of wine provides but I also knew it was not going to be worth it.

During the first 100 day challenge I was so determined to get there I didn’t really examine all the things I was feeling. This time, because I knew 100 days wouldn’t be the end, I basically had no choice but to take a look at them and listen to what they were trying to tell me.
And Christ on a bike did those feelings want to be bloody heard.

I cried at EVERYTHING.
I cried because I was no longer numb, I cried because I was happy or tired or hungry or sad – basically my family were living with a toddler. It was pretty exhausting until I finally accepted I had work to do to sort this.

Without the numbness of alcohol, that I used as a safety blanket, I had to confront everything I was feeling and had to get used to sitting through the discomfort, working through it, calling it out for the bullshit it was or finding a better way to handle it.
Because of that, the next time this little nugget of anxiety-induced fear appeared I was able to show it the door and get on with my life.

If this was the only benefit that these 100 days brought me, then it was worth it but there was so much more.

The most obvious one was: time.
We have so much more time it’s crazy.
There’s no wasted hungover weekends, I have clear, achievable goals that I know I’ll actually do instead of just talking about them, we’ve made big, audacious plans for the next year, five years, ten years and I’m so excited and grateful that I’ve been given the chance to go for them.

Lastly, I feel authentic. I feel like I’ve finally given myself the chance to actually be the person I’ve always wanted to be but was too afraid to show to the world. I can’t say that I’ve completely lost the fear of doing this, but what’s life as a writer without existential dread and self doubt 😂

Those of you who are planning on doing Sober October, I hope it brings you a glimpse of how awesome things can become when you take off the beer goggles and experience life in technicolour 😘💕

Here’s to the next 100 days of living

Filed Under: Health & Wellbeing

posted on June 24, 2019 by elizabeth

It’s not me, it’s you

I bought this pin a while ago from Sober Girl Society.

I was riding high from a 100 day alcohol-free stint and my time without it had completely changed the way I felt about drinking. I was determined to no longer use it as a coping mechanism for avoiding the difficult emotions I was facing.

When the 100 days were over, I didn’t go back to the level of drinking I had done so over the years, but I did have alcohol.

This pin sat on my desk and served as a reminder that I achieved something really important, but I was still afraid of committing to swearing off it forever.

I was afraid of having this teetotal label and literally wearing a badge to show that this was a permanent choice; but I still couldn’t shake the feeling that I couldn’t go back to the way things were.

My eyes and mind had been opened and were finally clear – clearer than they’d been my entire adult life – and it was all because I’d stopped numbing myself with drink.

This was obvious, but why was I so afraid of committing to this change long-term?

I’m fine with labelling myself a vegetarian without worrying about judgement; I write openly about depression, in order to help those going through similar issues, without fear – but this? This was a tough label to accept.

Honestly, it all came down to people’s perception of me. I was worried that people would think I was an alcoholic if I said I didn’t want to go back to it. I thought they would look at me differently; I worried that people would call me ‘boring’ or ‘dull’ because I was no longer the one forcing everyone around me to get wasted.

Basically, I had chosen to have alcohol in my life again because I wanted to fit in.

The fact that I’d rather face crippling anxiety, which comes with my drinking, in order to be one of the crowd; instead of just admitting: I hate alcohol and who I become, with it in my system.

At the weekend, I had a wake-up call. I was in London and had a drink of cider. We were having a wonderful time but I could feel the trickle of anxiety gathering in my stomach starting to spoil things. Nothing had happened, nothing was going to happen, everything was going the way it was supposed to, but because of wanting to get into ‘holiday mode’ and having a few drinks, I was in danger of ruining the evening (or potentially the trip) because I thought something bad was going to happen.

It passed, like it always does, but I finally just said ‘no’.

No to fitting in

No to imagined danger

No to shame and guilt

No to me being complicit in my self-sabotage

I spoke with my husband, and a few of my close friends, and explained that something had to change, for good. I asked for support, not their approval, to kick alcohol to the kerb, permanently.

They were all on board with the idea – because despite what fear was telling me: no one actually cares if I drink or not, and all their shaming was completely in my head.

The whole point of sharing this decision isn’t for a ‘good for you’ type response, it’s an invitation.

If you ever want to talk to someone about life after drinking then I’m here for you.

If you’re sober curious, fancy taking a break from it or just want pointed in the right direction towards some amazing writers (who are much more knowledgeable on this subject) or great accounts to follow for inspiration and a sense of community then drop me a message.

There’s no judgement here and never would be, because:

  1. I’ve probably done worse
  2. Everyone makes mistakes – seriously, everyone.

And

  • None of us are getting out alive anyway.

So, I guess this is my breakup with alcohol; a sentence I never thought I would say – let alone share with a bunch of strangers on the internet – but there you have it.

One final thing: if you do feel like calling me ‘boring’, make sure it’s for a legitimate, non-alcohol, related reason. I can assure you, there’s plenty to find; but living an alcohol free life definitely isn’t one of them.

Filed Under: Health & Wellbeing

posted on May 30, 2019 by elizabeth

A Little Wallowing Goes a Long Way

Yesterday, was a bad day.

That’s a lie, it wasn’t a bad day; I got rubbish news and it snowballed into a bad afternoon, then an unpleasant evening and finally into a bastard of a night.

Today, that crap phone-call had grown some limbs and had morphed into an unwelcome guest in my home.

You know the ones that sh*t on your carpet and set fire to the curtains?

Anyway, I have a tried and tested method of dealing with these spirals. This blueprint usually involves: overeating, drinking alcohol, saying pretty horrible things to myself and just giving into the unwelcome guest’s demands and lying in bed hearing her berate me for all my failures.

You can only hear ‘you are not enough’ so many times before you start believing it.

Are you freaking kidding? I’m STILL not enough for you? Well screw that.

Today, I tried a new method. I asked for advice from my friends, I read articles about dealing with setbacks and disappointment and I watched the ever-inspirational, Rachel Hollis’ videos about not giving up.

I did all those things and I believed the words that I was hearing and reading and seeing and because of all that I was able to show my guest the door.

Don’t get me wrong, I wallowed like a trooper but I also reminded myself that a bad day didn’t mean a bad life and I’ll take that rubbish afternoon any day, compared to what I used to have to go through.

A little wallowing can be a good thing; it means you’re feeling the emotion, you’re aware of it and you’re not trying to avoid the pain but don’t bloody drown in it.

You’ve got sh*t to do.

Filed Under: Health & Wellbeing

posted on May 7, 2019 by elizabeth

Mind your own womb

My youngest son starts primary school this September. I’m incredibly excited about this.

I’m excited for him, of course, because he loves nursery and I know he’s only going to love this move even more but I’m even more excited because I get more time to write.

Currently I have to squeeze writing books and my OU assignments in the two hours he’s away, early mornings when everyone is asleep and the weekend. I also have to fit it in around my self-sabotaging, procrastinating tendencies.

With this move, I will get five whole hours of actual time during the day, when I can concentrate on getting work done. It’s fantastic.

Unfortunately this next stage has raised some uncomfortable, personal questions.

To be clear: none of them are asked with malice or judgement but they’re still questions that tend to bring out a lil bitta rage in me.

“When are you trying for number three?”

“He’s starting school? Time for another baby then.”

“Two boys? When are you going to try for that girl?”

Even writing these out makes me completely baffled as to why we have let this be part of normal conversation with relative strangers?

Growing up with an Irish Mammy, I am somewhat used to this line of questioning regarding children – it comes with the territory – but these have been genuine questions from people I barely know and I don’t understand why they think it’s perfectly ok to ask this?

These aren’t new.

The umbilical cord hadn’t fallen off my first-born before we were being asked when we were going to try for our second.

“Don’t want them to be lonely.”

“Only children are spoilt.”

All the usual bullshit, you name it, I’ve heard it.

After my second son was born it was:

“Ah, you’ll need a girl to finish up.”

Hang on a second, I’m still waddling around in those super attractive paper pants you sport after childbirth and you’re telling me I’m not done yet?

Shut the front door, ladies, you’ve just put your body through hell and back but Sandra from down the road has informed me you’d better get back to it and pop out that girl you’re missing out on!

I never knew my empty womb could cause such concern to those around me. Look at it, sitting idle, like some sort of lazy bastard.

But wait, there’s more!

Not only can I have too little, I can also have too many.

From what I can gather the rules are:

1 child = bad

2 children of the same sex = also bad

2 children of different sexes = good, stop breeding.

3 children, all of the same sex = you should stop but we’ll give you sympathy and make you feel like you’ve failed because you couldn’t breed a mix.

3 children with a mix of boys and girls = you’ve done your part for the human race, stop.

4 children and above = FOR GOODNESS SAKE, KEEP YOUR LEGS TOGETHER.

I can genuinely say, with hand-on-heart sincerity, that I don’t give a rat’s ass if Steve from the school gates has viable sperm. I don’t feel the need to ask him, outside my child’s classroom (or anywhere else for that matter) why he’s not busy lobbing the stuff at his wife to help increase the human race, so why on earth does he feel it’s ok to ask me why I’m not having number three?

I’ve gotten better at making ‘no’ a complete sentence in various aspects of my life but giving that answer to the ‘Are you planning on having any more children?’ question doesn’t seem to provide people with enough in-depth information to my private life.

I have been a culprit of this too. I have asked these questions to people and it’s something I feel really shitty about now. It’s none of my damn business when or if you even want kids. I don’t know what you’ve been through or if you’re even compelled to have children. You want seven of them? Cool. You want 42 iguanas because children are bloody awful, go for it. It’s none of my business nor is it anyone else’s and you shouldn’t have to explain this – so don’t.

If you feel the urge to ask a woman about her plans regarding children, I beg you not to. You have no idea what she has gone through up to this point. Maybe she has never wanted any but feels unnecessary guilt about having to explain this choice to complete strangers all the time. Maybe she desperately wants children but has fertility issues. Perhaps she has suffered multiple miscarriages and feels like a failure. Maybe she decided on adoption and wasn’t approved or maybe she has been so traumatised by pregnancy or loss of a baby that she can’t face even trying again.

If you’re now at a loss as to what you can talk about with people, stick to the weather. If a person wants to talk about children or their plans, let them be the ones to bring it up. If a woman is not drinking at a social event, bite your damn tongue before asking ‘are you pregnant?’ If they’ve been married for a few years and there’s no sign of kids, don’t ask ‘what’s taking so long?’

Just don’t.

Trust me on this, you are not the first person to ask them this question and they don’t need an inquisition into their personal life at any time, so please: mind your own womb.

Now, if you excuse me, I have further research to do on finding out if I can exchange my children online for some iguanas.

Filed Under: Health & Wellbeing

posted on March 10, 2019 by elizabeth

Isn’t it time to spring clean toxic people?

A few years ago I wrote a blog post about my experience with CBT (Cognitive Behavioural Therapy) and after it was live I got an angry text from someone really close to me telling me to contact them ‘urgently’.
They were furious. Furious that I had written honestly about my depressive episode and needing therapy.

“You made it sound like no one around you gave a f*ck.”

I didn’t.

“You have to be careful what you put on the internet, people will think you’re crazy.”

What?

“Someone could report you and then social services will take your children away because you’re crazy.”

Are you kidding me?

“You can be angry at me all you want, but I’m trying to look out for you.”

No, they weren’t.

This conversation haunts me still. Not because there was truth to anything they said – to this day I’ve had nothing but positive comments and messages about sharing the realities of coping with depression in motherhood – but because I let it scare me to the point where I shut down the blog for almost a year because I was worried about how other people viewed me.

I eventually came back to writing and this person went back to being supportive, but I stayed away from anything that would cause that reaction again.
Now I know that their reaction to the piece was more about their insecurities than my willingness to be open about mental health. 
It took time and A LOT of work on myself to be able to push through the fear of their opinion (or anyone else’s)so I could write truthfully again.
I’m basically at a place now where I refuse to let my journey with mental health define me but I’m far from ashamed of it.
I believe everything happens for a reason. We go through the bad stuff for the lessons and to grow; and without my experiences with depression I wouldn’t have been able to write the Amy Cole series.
This weekend a book of mine reached #1 in two Amazon best-seller categories and #2 in another. 
I would never have been able to achieve this had I stayed silent and crushed by this person’s opinion.

It was because of this incident that I will never let another person’s opinion stop me from doing something I love – no matter how close they are to me.

The best part of releasing these books and making this dream a reality were the countless messages I received from strangers who read them and saw themselves in Amy’s struggle. The most commonly used word people chose in their messages or reviews was ‘relatable’.

I can’t stress this enough: 
You are not alone in this. You never have to be and this season of struggle doesn’t have to define your life.

There are people, resources and support out there and if you still feel you can’t reach out to family and friends to talk about it, then click on the message icon of this page and vent to a rambling stranger who writes overly long pieces about mental health on a Sunday morning because her kids were up too early.

Do whatever it takes to break free from the fear that depression thrives on but especially: don’t let the bastards get you down, you never know what your life can become once you spring clean the toxic arseholes from your life.

😘

The final part of the Amy Cole series: Amy Cole has it all figured out, is available NOW!

Find out where it all began and read Amy Cole has lost her mind FOR FREE on Kindle Unlimited here

Filed Under: Health & Wellbeing Tagged With: CBT, depression, mental health, post natal depression

posted on February 1, 2019 by elizabeth

How to fight fear & find happiness

As I lay in bed last night I felt panicked. Panicked that a stranger, or even someone I knew, didn’t like me or thought I was getting notions of myself above where I should be.

Nothing had happened, no confrontation, no passive aggressive conversation or troll commenting on a post; this was an imaginary panic of my own creation.

For the longest time I believed that I was cursed. This ridiculous notion was probably down to that one time a witch came to my christening and said something about a spindle on a spinning wheel, I can’t be sure, I wasn’t paying attention.

This aversion to happiness manifested itself in my complete inability to say the phrase: ‘I am happy’.

As far as I was concerned, every time those words came out of my mouth something bad would happen. It could be some small inconvenience but I would attribute this solely down to my having said that phrase.

I never really considered myself a superstitious person (apart from only putting volume on to even numbers or it would cause a chain reaction resulting in the apocalypse; but everyone thinks that, don’t they?) but I would wholeheartedly refuse to say those three words out loud.

It took a long time for my husband to notice this, mostly because if he asked I would just smile. If I was happy, I wasn’t stupid enough to actually say it and ruin everything.

During the last 90 day challenge (which is treating the last 90 days of the year like you would the first of a new year) I wanted that to change. I wanted it desperately and despite achieving weight-loss targets, getting a handle on my depressive episodes and finally taking the leap into writing fulltime, I was still unwilling to be proud of these because I was convinced that as soon as I did the universe would definitely smite me.

Writing this down, now, I realise how ridiculous it sounds but it’s all part and parcel of anxiety. Being worried about ‘something’ that doesn’t exist and letting it stop you from functioning. It’s horrible.

I couldn’t feel proud of what I’d achieved or talk about my ambitions for fear of this unknown force and what it would do if I did. I was terrified of people’s opinions and the wrath of complete strangers who would belittle my efforts. I was afraid of staying where I was and afraid of growing. Something had to give.

One evening, in the throes of an anxiety-filled episode, I finally admitted the fear of that phrase to my husband and he did his best not to laugh. He said to me: “I mean this in the best possible way: the universe is not out to get you, it’s too busy.”

It wasn’t a light bulb moment nor did it make me instantly change my thoughts on how I was in charge of my own happiness but it did make me feel better, even if it was just for a minute, and I tend to tell myself that piece of advice when I can feel panic creeping up.

Anxiety is a strange one for me. At its worst, I was too afraid to go downstairs in my own house for fear of ‘something’ and even when I feel like I’m having a great day some ridiculous scenario will pop into my head and it will stop me in my tracks.

What works for me:

Breathe. Pretty basic, I know, but this is the most effective technique for me and works fast. Deep, slow breaths and keep them coming until your brain can catch up with the make-believe danger.

Stop. Stop what you’re doing, even if it’s just mindlessly scrolling through your phone. Just stop the sensory overload and really try to pinpoint what’s going in that moment.

Find the truth. This can be difficult and may not be possible if you’re in a particularly bad attack, but try. Force yourself to speak out loud about what you know to be true. For example: worrying about what other people are thinking about you or how you’re living your life is impossible to know unless they walk up to you and say it to your face and frankly, it’s none of your business.

Keep breathing and keep repeating these three steps for as long as you need to, remember: this too shall pass.

I may never be completely comfortable with certain aspects of social media but I write because I love it and if being proactive on it means more people will read my work then I have to keep pushing through and not letting the fear of putting myself out there stop me from achieving what I want.

Not everyone is going to like me, I get that, sometimes I don’t particularly like me; but I do love myself enough to keep trying to be a better person and working on forging my career as a writer – which has, so far, been the best decision of my professional life.

If you’re worried about taking a leap into some place new, then I urge you to do it. Whether it be a career move, personal growth or even just trying a new hairdo, don’t let the fear of the unknown stop you. Breathe, stop and find the truth. I’m 100% sure that your decision will not result in the destruction of the universe – unless you’re a diabolical dictator, hell-bent on destroying the human race.

I’ve spent the majority of my adult life plagued by fear and self-loathing and maybe it will take the rest of it trying to undo the lies and damage that I’ve put myself through but you’re damn sure I will be doing the work. I love my life and my children too much not to give it my all and because of that I make sure to spend a few seconds, every day, to say one phrase and mean it:

I am happy.

Filed Under: Health & Wellbeing Tagged With: anxiety, depression, happiness, mental health

posted on January 17, 2019 by elizabeth

Why I gave up alcohol for 100 days

I had my first drink when I was 15 years old. It was vodka and it was disgusting. It took a surprisingly short amount of time for that initial disgust to turn into love -a fine line between love and hate and all that.

I dabbled in alcopops, I never got the taste for beer and because my mother always says: ‘It takes a certain type of animal to drink whiskey’ I never tried it. Vodka was my jam.

By the time I was 18 I had a weekly social life based around how much drinking and partying I could fit in between Thursday and Sunday. I loved it. I never missed a weekend out and I never experienced a hangover that a packet of meanies and another night on the town couldn’t fix. By second year of university I was really hitting my stride with alcohol. I was always the one you could depend on for an impromptu night out and was the source of amusement and a model on ‘how not to do relationships / study’.

I pissed away my university education and barely scraped a 2:2 at the end of it but I chalked it up to life experience and got on with my life. Life as an adult didn’t curb my love affair with vodka . My hangovers got steadily worse but that didn’t stop our house being the epicentre of weekend carry outs. My friends joked that their hangovers were always worse when they went out with my husband and I (I would basically shame people into drinking more or they would be labelled ‘shit craic’) and as long as I was still able to rock up to work on Monday then I had no reason to evaluate my drinking.

When my kids came along the nights out stopped but the drinking didn’t. Friday night was my night and my reward for keeping my children alive all week and I definitely rewarded myself. I would force the whole family outdoors the next day so I wouldn’t have to feel guilty about being hungover and the kids were happy so I could still justify being able to drink a large amount on my Friday.

I was functioning, my kids were happy and healthy and life was pottering on nicely. Drink wasn’t the problem, I was exhausted from having two young children. So what if I was having a few too many drinks, it’s not like I was a raving alcoholic, right?

Now for the truth: I had my first depressive episode when I was 16-years-old. It’s no coincidence that these episodes coincided with my first flurries into alcohol.

I was a teenage girl who was crippled with insecurities and could only find my worth in the boys that deemed me attractive enough to take under their nose. Alcohol helped my confidence sore so I could spend the nights dancing and walking up to complete strangers in order for them to notice me.

Alcohol turned me into a loud, obnoxious, overly confident asshole that could take on the world and fuck anyone who got in my way.

Spoiler alert: it still does.

We all know it lowers inhibitions but that’s the thing about inhibitions: they’re there to protect you so it’s not exactly a good thing to throw them out the window with the appearance of a cocktail or ten. With the rise of the #metoo movement I sat and really looked at all those ‘funny’ times I was too drunk. Those times when I woke up with no memory of the night before or worse: with memories of boys that should have resulted in my reporting them to the police and I felt shame.

Isn’t that sad? I was the one that felt shame for what they did to me? At the time I buried it with more alcohol and more bad decisions. I was the one ready for a party and that was my role in my social circle. I was stuck in a cycle of drinking to suppress all the things I hated about myself and then feeling shame when I inevitably drank too much and made a tit out of myself.

Fun times.

I never had cause to really sit down and examine my drinking – even when my children came along. As I said earlier: as long as I was showing up in my life then I did not have to take a look at my choices.

Two year ago I had too much to drink at my mother’s Christmas party and the next morning I was filled with so much self-loathing I decided to quit booze. I was confident that this was the time I could wise up and start putting my mental health first. I lasted 28 days. My best friend died and after her funeral I spent the next 16 hours drinking heavily ‘in her honour’. Drink to the good times; that’s what I told myself. What utter bullshit.

Her death was all the excuse I needed to go back to drinking. Life was too short to deny myself a drink when I felt like it and as long as I’m not putting vodka on my cornflakes everything is cool, right?

Wrong.

My depression was coming and going but I could handle the episodes like a champ but now there was a new player at my mental health roulette table – anxiety. At my mother’s 70th birthday party back in August, I drank until 6am. What followed was the worst hangover of my life. The anxiety was crippling me so badly that I genuinely thought I was having a heart attack. It took over a week for that feeling to subside and it still haunts me. It was the final nail in the coffin for my drinking.

Sitting on my bathroom floor trying to figure out if I needed to get sick or go to the hospital to get my heart checked out was a wake-up call when I realised that I literally didn’t need to feel like this again. I could choose, then and there, to never have another hangover again.

Sounds easy?

At first it was, my anxiety (which was not all caused by alcohol) had resulted in me not wanting to even go down the stairs so I mean that was easy enough… not ideal for a functioning adult though.

I went on Instagram and Pinterest and read about all those inspiring people who were now sober and how much their lives improved and I felt totally inspired but it wasn’t until I came across Catherine Gray’s book ‘The unexpected joy of being sober’ that I really began to believe I could do this.

If you’re doing dry January or are simply sober curious then I urge you to check this book out.

I got in contact with her and with her encouragement I decided to commit to 100 days alcohol free. Today is day 100 and to say that my relationship with alcohol has fundamentally changed wouldn’t do the experience justice.

Sure, it’s really made me take a look at my ‘grey area drinking’ where I wasn’t considered an alcoholic but my drinking was definitely problematic, but the most important change was my relationship with myself.

I really like who I am now. I can say that with kindness and sincerity. My worth is no longer tied to toxic and draining relationships and I put absolute value on my time meaning there’s not a chance in hell I’m wasting it on those who don’t deserve it.

I read recently that a person’s character is made up of the five people you spend most of your time with and that hit me hard. If you want to be inspired, spend time with inspiring people. If you want to be drained and unhappy, by all means continue spending time with the friendly neighbourhood narcissist (I know it’s not as easy as that, I’m simply making a point).

And that point is: I didn’t give up alcohol, I gained a life I am happy and proud to be a part of.

The decision affected every facet of my life: personal growth, professional ambition and relationships with my family.

I don’t know what the future holds when it comes to me and alcohol but I know for certain that it’s not going back to where it was. Ever.

That’s enough for me, for now.

Filed Under: Health & Wellbeing Tagged With: alcohol, hangovers, metoo, sober, sobercurious, sobriety

posted on January 13, 2019 by elizabeth

Why I’m so done with waiting

In case you haven’t realised it yet: I’m, like, inspirational as f**k now 💋

Patience isn’t a virtue of mine, it never has been but I’ve decided to take this seemingly negative trait and use it for good.

I’m so sick of hearing phrases like: ‘give it time’ or ‘some day’.
For years I felt like I was always waiting for permission to get what I wanted and was fobbed off with promises of ‘some day’
(There’s a special place in hell for people who say that phrase to me).

Things work differently in my brain now. Unless there’s a justifiable reason not to do or achieve something then, as far as I’m concerned, it’s simply an excuse I’m hiding behind.

Over the last few months I’ve been really looking at my fears and insecurities. More often than not, simply calling them out into the open helps to diminish their hold on me. 


It always helps to remind yourself: fear is a damn liar.


With all this in mind I’m calling bullshit on that old adage: “good things come to those who wait”.
F**k that, anyway.

As far as I’m concerned: “good things come to those who show up and work for what they want”.
As the good Lord and saviour Britney Spears told us: “You better work bitch.”

I have zero tolerance for ‘some day’, I’ve got shit to do.

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