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.

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

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.

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.

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.

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.