After my booze fuelled twenties, partying, being involved in the most precarious situations, along with one or two brushes with death due to car accidents, invincible, devil may care me, hit 30. My life had really spiralled out of control to an onlooker with an ounce of sensibility, and when my second husband walked into my life, I was ready to change gear.
I wanted to settle down, and although he too was a heavy drinker, he was responsible and hard working. So we together we restored our forever house in the Dales. For the first couple of years it was tough, living like a tramp in an old caravan whilst we renovated, but I had of course found the local drinking crowd, sniffed them out like a bloodhound, and we did have lots of fun times. I had started to brownout at this stage. Not a full blackout, I did recall some of a heavy night out, but not all of it.
With perfect timing, and without planning, I fell pregnant as the house was almost ready. Without any hesitation or stress, I stopped drinking. Had no desire or craving for it throughout my pregnancy. Although not fanatically religious, I am quite sure that throughout my life I have had a guardian angel with me. To survive one of the car crashes without a scratch was a real miracle, and not to drink whilst carrying my son was another.
These were halcyon days. Baby was born, perfect and beautiful on a hot August day, and as soon as I had tasted the celebration champagne I was craving more immediately. I did resist whilst breastfeeding but it was hard, and I certainly didn’t abstain. I had my baby, my assortment of animals, including a pony and trap, wonderful bohemian friends, idyllic. Whilst I was living my dream however, little did I realise that things in our family finances were going down the pan. Property prices were wobbling, my husbands construction company who were borrowing heavily to restore a large development with security being our fabulous house, and it all folded like a deck of cards.
Everything went. Including my tenuous control of libations. I had baliffs banging at the door, cars being repossessed, the whole gambit. It was no excuse of course, but all alcoholics can find one, and I had plenty.
It’s only when you get sober that you can look back logically to why you may have started to drink hazardously in the first place. Without exception, I have never had a client who has not had some genetic link along the way of a problem drinker. My genetics have passed on to my son, but more of that later.
Rather than holding it together, both husband and I just drank more, he out of guilt me out of fear. We had no courage, that is to put fear into action, we just hid.
The implosion of our life in the Dales, sent me into such a dark and desperate place I ended up in rehab. But rehab with a difference, and the man that quite possibly saved my life.