There is a place in hell reserved just for me and I don’t have to leave my mortal body to go there; I simply have to pick up a drink and I’ll be there in no time. This I sadly know all too well as I have been down that hole not once, but twice. The first time was not my fault, I became addicted to an addictive substance that is alcohol, my return journey to hell was all down to me…. Some weeks ago, I hosted my very first Hola Sober support group which is a closed meeting . It is both a gift and a privilege to take a seat in this sacred space and the desire to give the best meeting possible was uppermost in my mind. I was nervous and excited and had a list of ‘what if's to share with Susan and Alex. Just be yourself and maybe share some of your journey was their advice and as I trust them with my life I did just that. The part of my journey that I chose to share was the piece that causes me the most horrendous guilt and shame, and we call it RELAPSE code word for hell. After sixteen whole years of being on the right side of the glass, I fell and when I fell, I fell hard. Back in 1999, my sobriety was the greatest gift and my proudest achievement and I was hugely grateful. I had finally thrown off the shackles of addiction to the alcohol that had both ruled and ruined my day to day life. Now I could finally be the wife, mother, sister and friend that I was always meant to be. Real, authentic and present. After the first year of adjustment, attending meetings, aftercare, making my daily morning promise and grateful evening thanks, I finally found my feet in the sober world. I no more wished to return to drinking alcohol than I would to have my teeth pulled out with pliers and no anaesthetic! Life was good, better than good, I saw everything with new bright eyes. My children were the focus of my world and sobriety became my natural way of being. NE THE STORY OF
L I NDA RE DMOND
The years passed and it gradually became something that I barely gave a thought to. I’d got this. It had long since stopped being a priority, and as time went on it went further and further down the list of things to take care of and nourish. Eventually, it wasn’t even on the list. And although I couldn’t see it at the time, it was a very grave error on my part to neglect the golden ticket that was sobriety. I stopped going to sobriety meetings. AA was not the right fit and in Ireland of old, there were no other options available . I no longer made my daily promise or evening thanks. I wasn’t passing this gift on to others in the grip of addiction, as is the way in sobriety - you pass it on. The truth was I’d forgotten sobriety even was a gift! Life throws curve balls at us all, nobody escapes that reality. I lost loved ones, encountered trauma, grief, and pain in varying degrees and throw in menopause, some empty nest syndrome and you have some serious issues to deal with. But throughout all of this, I never considered picking up a drink, not once. I was a hormonal mess, depressed, but drinking wasn’t a thought I’d ever entertained until I did. Enter stage left that bitch Moderation Mary, a clever cunning witch, with her subtle whispers spinning in my head. How nice it could be, how inclusive it could feel to have just a couple of glasses of wine. After all, I’d handled every curve ball sober and a few glasses would take me out of the margins back in the fold of socialising. I wouldn’t feel so alone. I’d be fine and I would be the exception to the rule. These thoughts became bigger and bigger. The blunt reality is connection was what I was longing for, not alcohol. My mind was a raging turmoil and I had no sober space to help me unravel it and so I caved and I went there . I turned my proudest achievement into my greatest regret. And we all know how the reality plays out - in no time at all alcohol had me bound and shackled again.
| AUGUS T 202 1 • HOL A SOB E R |
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