Two weeks sober.



Yesterday at 11pm, I toasted two weeks of sobriety with a pint of Erdinger Alkoholfrei beer and an ice pack on my knee after a formidable fall following seven hours of moving house for a friend. And I felt like shit. Yesterday was the first day that I really wanted, no needed, a drink.

We’ve moved house a couple of times over the past few years and have been lucky enough to have plenty of notice to get organised. Unlike yesterday, where we found ourselves with 24 hours and about 30 minutes notice. Each time we’ve moved house, either for us or helping friends, the pinnacle of all of the hard work, tears and heavy lifting is the pub and a pint glass filled with delicious, amber nectar; the ultimate thirst quencher when you are hot, sweaty and tired. The experience of sitting around with the people you love, retelling stories of the day and winding down with a drink is what you work so hard for.

Only yesterday, I couldn’t do that. Instead, after seven hours of heavy lifting and fifteen thousand steps, I tripped whilst loading the car on our final trip and smashed to the ground like a sack of shit. Now, I’m little use to anyone with a bruised knee and a smashed up hand. So alongside being exhausted and hungry, I ended up being embarrassed (wait, humiliated), in pain and furious with myself. With not even a rewarding beer in sight.

Instead of going down the rabbit hole and drowning my uncomfortable feelings in a sea of alcohol, I acknowledged them, I refused to write (blaming tiredness instead of pure obstinance), I ordered a takeaway and after icing my knee, I went to bed and slept like a… Well, a normal person who sleeps through the night. It’s amazing what physical exertion can do for your sleep quality.

Today, I’ll be raising a nice cup of herbal tea (I haven’t decided which blend yet) to two weeks of sobriety. Even if yesterday was a difficult day and I really wanted to cave, I did not and that is a great reason to celebrate.

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