Why mummy gave up drinking

It’s been a minute. Well actually, it’s been over a year since I put pen to paper to write a blog. It’s been a constant feature on my ‘mum list’ – always hovering near the bottom of the priority pile. And since I never get close to the end of a list – which is like a never-ending game of Tetris – there are inevitably a few things that simply never get done. 

The last year has been busy and stressful. And today is the first time in a long time that I’ve reached the bottom of my list. I’m currently sat in a café inside Waterworld – a huge pool complex with a shed load of waterslides. I’m sitting alone – fully dressed – drinking a latte and feeling about as peaceful as I’ve ever done: delighted that I have the time and space just to sit and write. 

My husband on the other hand, is currently being run ragged – dragged around slide after slide by our three boys. I don’t feel in the slightest bit guilty. We share the load, and today is my turn for some well-needed respite! I’ll resume my mum duties later, inevitably when the feral crew demand feeding. But for now, I feel remarkably relaxed, despite the smell of chlorine and screaming children – because peace has been something rather elusive to me for the past 12 months, that now, I appreciate every moment I can get.

In March this year, I found out I was pregnant. I’m forty-three years old, have two sons (now 8 and 11) and a stepson, aged 10. Despite the daily chaos and carnage already overwhelming my life, I was delighted, and we all quickly adjusted to the idea that we would have a little person joining our mob. I took an early blood test and found out we were having a boy.

The company that runs the blood test sends through a delightful, anxiety-inducing slideshow that reveals the gender right at the end. We were both hoping for a girl, so when “It’s a BOY!” flashed across the screen, we let out a perfectly synchronised, entirely unfiltered:

 “FFFFUUUUUUCCCCCKKKKKK!”

More testosterone. More carnage. But we laughed, quickly realising that a little boy would act as a living toy for the older three, and they might actually prove themselves useful and be pretty good (free!) babysitters.

Three months into my pregnancy, I started to bleed. I wasn’t worried. It happened with both of my boys and all was fine, so I duly drove off to the Early Pregnancy Unit, telling my husband that I was fine to go alone – and there was no need to cancel his latest tattoo appointment. When the ultrasound technician started to scan, I started to worry. She didn’t say a word and there wasn’t a flicker of a smile. After what felt like an eternity of silence, I finally braved whispering the question ‘Is he ok?’ 

‘I’m so sorry Rachael, he doesn’t have a heartbeat.’ I did though. I felt like my heart was going to drop out of my chest. I’d not made any room for there being something wrong. I didn’t see the point in worrying – but the effect of this was that I went into shock, and other than calling my husband to tell him (mid-tattoo session) that our baby had not survived, I don’t remember the rest of that day.

I do remember the couple of days after though. Looking down at my already significantly protruding belly – knowing that my baby was still in there – was horribly distressing. I was told by the hospital staff that I would have to wait a week for the D and C operation, but my belly quickly started contracting. I spent the next 12 hours in effective labour and wound up needing the surgery anyway. A painful and traumatic experience that was completely unnecessary, if the surgery had only been carried out sooner. The physical and emotional pain were extraordinary.

Four years ago, I would have dealt with this trauma by drinking. I would have blocked out my emotions for as long it took for them to wear off. I wouldn’t have been present for that period of grief. I would have been catatonic for the most part. How different this experience was.

I’m in no way denying that the grief was difficult. The first couple of months were a mixture of tears, anger and lost dreams. It’s not an experience I’d wish on anyone or ever want to repeat – but I would 100% recommend sobriety as a means to getting through anything. Feeling emotional distress is tough, but the healing is also much quicker. It’s also never a ‘rock-bottom’ kind of grief. I was sad, but I knew I would get through it. I knew if I just felt the pain and processed the grief, eventually, I’d be ok.

It’s been seven months since I lost my little boy. I’ll probably always wonder ‘what if?’ I don’t think I’ll ever walk past baby clothes in the supermarket and not feel the pang that I didn’t get to buy those cute first shoes again. I’ll probably never again hold a newborn baby without feeling some sense of loss. But I am ok. Actually, I’m not just ok. I’m happy. Really happy. Because my life overall is filled with blessings, and no one gets through any significant period of time without experiencing sadness or loss. It’s par for the course unfortunately.

It’s Christmas day next week. I can’t wait to see my boys faces when they open their gifts in the morning. I can’t wait to eat my body weight in cheese and meat. I can’t wait to make mocktails and ride out the day watching back-to-back movies with our beautiful family. And as I finish writing this blog, I might just get myself another latte before my husband comes back with the mob. Delightful.

Christmas is a lovely time of the year, but for so many it can be a really painful time too. If you’re drinking and in the place of ‘rock-bottom,’ I can promise that where you are now — that level of pain where you feel you’re mentally face-planting the concrete — doesn’t exist in sobriety. Yes, life can be very painful, but those horrific depths of despair caused by a cortisol, anxiety riddled cocktail of chemicals and hormones, are absent. You can’t remove grief, but you can remove alcohol – and my Christmas promise to you is this – you WILL feel better without it, whatever hardships you’re currently dealing with, sober, it’s infinitely easier.

I know that my peace is about to be imminently disrupted by fighting in the car, and there will probably be blood drawn before sunset. I may even start ripping my own hair out before bedtime. But sober, I will find peace again. Hopefully in a location that smells less of chlorine and more like a spa.

Merry Christmas all xxx

You can also visit me at http://www.sobermama.co.uk and on Facebook – at ‘Sober Mama’ using the QR code below. From there you can also find my Facebook group ‘Sober Mama’ for useful tips and advice for getting and staying sober. Our group is a community of like-minded, incredible women who lift each other up and support each other. Join us!