Ten Fecks To Give



I had used it to self-medicate, zone out, and throw it at all things in life escaping down the neck of a bottle so I didn't have to face up to whatever was spinning in my universe that month. I had to accept I was addicted to an addictive substance and on the evening that I accepted that fact - my shoulders felt lighter, my world seemed better and the fist digging into my chest for a decade lifted. I knew what I had to do - I had to stop drinking and in doing so I would at least give myself a shot. Not unlike the GIANT FECK moment, I cried big girl tears but they were more out of relief than fear as I knew instantly that not spending hours of my life having internal dialogue about what I would and wouldn't drink would be a relief to the noise in my head!

For me personally acceptance was a huge part of my journey which sounds like a crock of shite coming from an Irish person as I have used the word journey which makes us crawl as a nation BUT it's the truth. Learning that the fecking drinks industry has turned wine o'clock into some rite of passage for women - shocked me. Learning that alcohol increased anxiety and depression blew my fecking mind. Understanding that alcohol is a toxic liquid that is a KNOWN addictive drug yet sold in every supermarket in the world was a fecking low moment for me. I had fecking fallen hook, line and sinker for the myth that alcohol was needed at every celebration in my life, was needed to exist as a mother and a full-time working one at that. That's a load of shite but for decades we have been peddled this nonsense and so we buy into it. For some OBSCENE reason I equated having a glass as some form of women's liberation in the kitchen when in fact it was something so far from that truth that it could have killed me. I had to face reality which for me was I was over drinking nightly and I had to accept that I could not sustain my life with that much alcohol sloshing around my life. Like many women,

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