No hole goes on for eternity

Reflections on a journey to recovery – Part 3

If you’re reading this, and you’re a professional – thank you. “Together” I did it.

If you’re reading this, and you think you’re me?

Don’t be afraid of “Them”.

Be afraid of what it is within you that made you recognise me.

Don’t fall as far as I did.

Or, do. Fall. Fall, and see what happens. Eventually, you’ll wake up on the cold hard floor, because no hole goes on for eternity. 

When that day comes, and it will, YOU ARE NOT ALONE. 

There are more of us than you could realise. And alcohol is everywhere babe. Everywhere. It’s going to be hard. It’s going to hurt. Actually hurt. You’re going to have to defend your choice of sobriety when “The Girls” want to go out for cocktails. Remember this though – you aren’t alcohol. Your best dress and killer heels, your shapes on the dance floor, your presence – that’s not alcohol. That’s you…

You’re going to hate this. Sobriety I mean. Parts of it with be so alien to you, to society, that you may wonder why on earth you’re doing it. Nobody outside of the circle of trust will understand it, and they may actively try to dissuade you. You’re going to get really good at finding ways around the craving, ways around ordering a bevvy at a restaurant. Friday night at 5pm, that glass won’t be your enemy. It’ll never be your friend, but it won’t be your enemy. It will be filled with something better than booze.

You’re going to get smart. Proud, and fiercely protective of your journey.

You’re going to want to get off your head. I know, believe me. I still do.               But when I understood that no drink (and I have indeed had many good nights on the sauce) would ever make me feel the way I wanted, it became easier.

 You’re going to have to prove yourself to a blur of faces, and at times it’ll feel like they are not on your side. Don’t get me wrong – I got good people. I was lucky. 

And one day, a hundred and twelve, a thousand and twelve days from now…

You may find what I found this morning.

A hundred and twelve days later, I woke up with my face smooshed into my son’s shoulder.

He’d had a nightmare, but hadn’t woken me up for comfort. What he did instead was to sneak into my bed and cuddle up.

“Baby? Morning, you ok? What’s up love?”

“I had a bad dream….”


“Yeah” he sighed. “But you were there. No more monsters.”


My name is Sara. I am an alcoholic. I have a 100+ reasons why I could drink, because the pain will never go away.

But I am not alone. And Together, I can do this.

With Hope, with Choice, with Regards,


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