One minute you’re young and fun…

Susan on the beach, wearing a cap saying “Na labhair liom”, Irish for “Don’t speak to me”.

The next you're in Crocs and a corset, wondering why it's so much work to just get a damn rest…

I’m writing from a place that isn’t my usual – but the piles of washing and the endless screen-time negotiations have followed me here. Questions like “When can I have a phone?” and the dreaded “What’s for dinner?” fall on my ears like nails down a blackboard. But the view from the kitchen is lovely this year, and I’m happy out.

It was touch and go as to whether I’d make it on holiday at all – my back seized up three days before we were due to leave, and I was baby stepping around the place, wincing with prescription-strength painkillers. One minute you’re young and wondering if your backless semi-front of a top is too frumpy, and the next, you’re in Crocs and an orthopedic corset. But I made it and cautiously sank in to the sea to take the weight off. Aaaaah.

August is my birthday month – what? again? already? – and it also marks five years since I stopped drinking. A milestone. A marker. Something to sit with I think.

I’ve been reflecting on that strange, please-never-again season back in 2020 – the year of Covid and closed borders and daily cupcake and banana bread baking, and every episode of Colombo ever aired. My daughter cried that she wanted the true real world, and my son was ecstatic:

“You mean we have to stay at home with you? I’ll get a blanket and let’s hit the couch!”

So much has changed since then, and yet so little. The kids have grown so much since 2020 — taller, louder, more themselves. And since then, taking alcohol out of the picture was when I got to really see it all.

I didn’t know what I needed — only what everyone else needed from me.
It’s a cliché at this stage, but I grew present.
No more just ticking boxes.

I could say I changed my life when I stopped drinking, but I didn’t.
I started living it.
Slowly, awkwardly, often uncomfortably — but fully.

I could say I changed my life when I stopped drinking, but I didn’t.
I changed how I live it.

I keep noticing how much more myself I feel, even in the stubborn mess and sometimes-overwhelm. I came home to myself.

I still have the same job, the same family, the same changing body, and my same messy mind. The shift has been internal: how I meet life, how I rest, how I cope, how I sometimes don’t.

Alcohol dulled my edges and stunted my growth in ways I didn’t fully see until I stepped away. It had stalled the healing I didn’t know I needed, and destroyed my self-trust, my already sub-terranean self-confidence.

Now, five years on, I keep noticing how much more myself I feel, even in the stubborn mess and sometimes-overwhelm. I came home to myself. The way I was a stranger to me is hard to explain, but I just didn’t know what made me tick. Now, even in the expat guilt for not going home-home this summer, I know I have to tend to myself. But still, sorry sorry sorry!

I need quiet. Feet in the water, and the sound of the sea. Hugs with the kids who are growing (leaving me!) so fast. Back home, I’d split myself into smaller pieces. Every time I open my pocket-sized harbinger of doom (phone), I’m reminded that the world is literally on fire. You don’t need me to list the ways. And yet, with all that, I bet, I know, you’re doing your best.

Maybe that phrase lands awkwardly in your chest.
Maybe you immediately think: No I’m not. I could be doing more.
Maybe you shake your head and try to think of something practical that needs your attention.

And maybe that’s the thing. Maybe you don’t need another thing to do, or another life hack to make it easier.
Maybe you just need to hear: You’re allowed to stop. You’re allowed to rest.

Real rest isn’t easy though. I got my sleep back when I stopped drinking wine, but the rest of rest took me years.

Stillness can feel like a threat. When everything’s spinning - the news, emotions, social feeds, laundry cycles - sitting still with yourself can feel unbearable. Like your skin is too tight. Like your brain might implode. Like you might cry?

I was told in a meditation class, to watch my thoughts flow past like a gentle stream through a field. Mine morphed into a raging torrent of crashing foamy waves, taking the banks with it.

I know you know.

And this, by the way, is why alcohol works so well.
It’s the perfect nervous system override.

It slows the speed to 0.5 for a while.
Smooths the rough. Muffles the noise.
So easy. So effective.
So… defeating.

Because it keeps us stuck in the whirl. It delays our chance to stop.

And if you’re carrying a quiet worry about your drinking – even a vague unease, a niggling something – it’s an invisible bag to lug around with everything else, that no one else can see. A big backpack full of stones. Each one a “shouldn’t have,” a “should,” or a “just the one.”

What if you could put it down? Ease your shoulders?

What if this one thing didn’t have to take up space in your head this summer?

What if rest didn’t come in a glass?

What if you could find it in the sky, or your breath, or five quiet minutes alone in the loo (without your phone)?

When I’m feeling that way - overwhelmed, nervy, twitchy and unsure what to do next, I need a system. I need something to tell me what to do.

HALT (Hungry, Angry, Lonely, Tired… and Thirsty too) has literally helped me put the cork back in the bottle many times.

And here’s another one of mine:

SIPP

Scan for sensation: How are you actually doing? What’s going on in your bod? Tired? Buzzy? Bored? Overstimulated? Tummy? Shoulders?
Intention: What do you want in this moment, right now? A lie down? A hug? A real conversation? Another bloody cup of tea?
Play the tape forward: How will that drink really feel an hour from now? Tomorrow morning? You know how it goes, right? You know how you’ll feel when you don’t.
Practice your moves: What’s one small, doable thing you could do instead?
Look at the sky. Walk around the block. Stick on a playlist. Text someone. Hit something?

I’m not going to tell you to “Quit drinking and change your life!”
But maybe start living a little of your life without booze, just for a while.
See what it’s like.

You don’t have to change your life.
You don’t have to do it all.
You need a little time and space to live differently.

Still moments.
A good cry.
A proper laugh.
A backpack set down.
A long exhale.

You’re not behind.
You’re not failing.
You’re not doing it wrong.
You shouldn’t be doing more.

You’re carrying a lot. (Too much)
Put one thing down.

Start there.