My name's Ulrika Jonsson & I'm an alcoholic – I was on knees swigging a bottle at 11am then one day I made cry for help
Not a drop of alcohol has passed my lips in just over a year.
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For family and friends, it's been a cause for great celebration, it's viewed as a major feat.
My eldest daughter even offered to take me out for a celebratory meal.
For me, the run-up to this anniversary has been the cause of much trepidation and a sprinkling of fear. But, most of all, it's been a realisation. Because this is my life now.
The day I surrendered and accepted I had a problem with alcohol, I knew I couldn't just give it up for a while.
I knew I couldn't just cut back in the hope that I'd be cured, because alcoholism is a disease for which there is no cure.
There is a solution, but there is no fix.
I was trapped in a vicious cycle of hell. Even with my best friend calling me one Saturday morning to tell me to get help because I clearly had a problem, I refused despite the unbearable shame I felt.
Alcoholics are selfish creatures. Yes, having a problem with alcohol meant I was an alcoholic.
Even though I would NEVER have admitted it at the time.
Then came June 5 last year. A hangover day much like any other, really. I sat on the sofa with my liver and brain pickled in equal measure, wrapped up in the blanket of shame, and something made me reach out for help.
Ulrika Jonsson speaks out during Sober October about overcoming binge drinking
I typed a message that read, quite simply: 'I can't do this any more' and sent it to a friend who was five years' sober. And that's how a life of sobriety saved my life and my sanity.
There is every possibility I could have given up drinking by myself — my obstinance can be a virtue — but I wouldn't have been able to heal myself and reach the level of emotional sobriety I have today without the support of other ex-drunks and a programme to guide me.
Saved my life
It has saved my life in more ways than one. And, without sounding too evangelical about my journey, I've had a spiritual awakening and found an inner peace I never knew possible.
I'm a different person to the Ulrika I was over a year ago.
I've learnt more about myself in the past year than I did in my past 56 on this planet.
Has it been easy? Nothing easily gained is ever worth having, I say.
I've not had the temptation to pick up a drink, but alcohol is impossible to avoid — it's everywhere.
What to do if you think are an alcoholic
IF you're struggling with alcohol addiction, the most important thing is to recognise the problem and seek support - You don't have to face it alone.
Seek Professional Help
GP or Doctor – A medical professional can assess your situation and provide advice on treatment options.
Therapists or Counsellors – Talking to an addiction specialist can help address underlying causes and develop coping strategies.
Rehab or Detox Programmes – If physical dependence is severe, medically supervised detox may be necessary.
Consider Support Groups
At the beginning, I would look lovingly at a glass of red wine when I went out for a Sunday roast.
But knowing that a drink would not make things better, and it would never just be the ONE, stopped me from picking it up.
I found Christmas difficult initially and, disconcertingly, Easter was even harder, with family around me drunk and laughing at things that just weren't funny. I had a couple of dates earlier this year, when I knew the social lubricant of alcohol would have calmed my nerves and allowed me to hide beneath a veil of intoxication.
But at least I was able to be my authentic self — to be more discerning and accept that these men were just not for me.
Sobriety comes with a hefty dose of honesty, which can be as welcome as it can be unwelcome.
So, this journey goes on. It's not a destination. It will only end with my dying breath.
I've yet to learn the exact damage my drinking might have inflicted on those around me.
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I think of my children and how worried about me they were. How I must have scared them. How torn they must have been between wanting to say something and just hoping I would come to my senses.
I have amends to make. I have character defects to accept and improve. I have to remember to live in the moment and that whether I'm one year or ten years' sober, for me it will continue to be one day at a time.
I still have alcohol in the house. Removing it would make no difference to me. I believe if I really wanted a drink, I would go to buy it.
I have no objections at all to others drinking around me but, by Christ, people can be annoying when drunk!
At least it's not me doing the crazy stuff, dancing on the tables or doing things I will quickly forget or regret.
Nor do I wake up with punishing hangovers and terrifying anxiety or even a new haircut because the rum thought it was a great idea to give myself a new look the night before.
Beautiful things happen in sobriety. Good things come your way. Beautiful people come into your life, too.
People without judgment who fundamentally care for you and understand you. That has been my greatest reward.
Don't get me wrong, life has continued to throw me curveballs. I'm just better equipped to deal with them as a sober person.
Sobriety comes with a hefty dose of honesty, which can be as welcome as it can be unwelcome
I have a history of alcoholics in my family on my mother's side, but I don't have decades of alcohol abuse behind me. I didn't become addicted after the first sip of Pimm's at the age of 14 when I first got drunk.
My drinking history is quite unremarkable. It didn't result in me losing my job, my marriage, my children or even my driving licence. I didn't get arrested or end up in jail.
I wasn't a vomiting mess that couldn't get her kids ready for school in the morning. I wasn't a violent drunk. Which is why it might be helpful for anyone else out there to note that alcoholics come in all shapes and sizes and many live among us in plain sight.
But the few years running up to my decision to quit, I was clearly drinking for the wrong reasons and I had no control over my cravings. I was a binge-drinker who drank to black out.
Heavy shame
A perfect storm of life led me to self-medicate, to soothe away life's ills and sharp edges; to quell my crippling anxiety by drinking neat rum from the neck of the bottle while kneeling into the cupboard underneath the stairs.
There is nothing quite as 'sobering' as admitting to dropping to your knees at 11am and sticking your lips around a bottle of 40 per cent alcohol; feeling it swiftly burn your throat and immediately extinguish your anxiety, fears and self-loathing.
Drinking was 'my thing'. It was a personal and private activity I had all to myself. I foolishly believed it was harmless because it didn't affect anyone else, so it was nothing anyone could take away from me. And I loved it. It made me feel instantly better and helped me cope with life.
It killed my feelings of being overwhelmed; it relaxed me and made me a much nicer person. I thought . . .
See, the one thing I had established by the time my drinking got completely out of hand was that I simply wasn't cut out for life.
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I just couldn't cope. Everyone else seemed on top of everything while I was constantly swimming against the tide.
I was forever traipsing through fields of molasses; perpetually found myself on the battlefield of life utterly unarmed. I was just no good at it.
While I made no specific plan to end my life, my hope was eventually that alcohol would destroy me. I was a solitary drinker.
But what might have started out as fun very quickly, and without fail, ended in blackout. I couldn't just have the one drink. What weirdo does that?
I wasn't seeking light inebriation. I wanted the full anaesthetic effect. My self-esteem and self-worth were so bad, I believed the drink would make me become someone else.
Or better still, nothing at all. I had such crippling anxiety about the present and future, which was coupled with past ordeals, that I was desperate for my feelings just to STOP.
Because I didn't initially drink every day, and because my life looked impeccable from the outside, I convinced myself there wasn't a problem. I was still in control.
However, I know now that those close to me saw a different picture. They heard my slurred voice on the phone; saw my drunk eyes betray me; worried about my volatile and highly strung demeanour and mood swings. They grew tired of repeating things to me that my blackouts had erased.
It took months to rid myself of the heavy shame that drinking brought.
Now, I realise I was really ill — both physically and spiritually — and that makes me go a bit easier on myself.
In short, I'm grateful to my alcoholism for bringing me to where I am today: a life of honesty and integrity; of clarity and calm and being the person I never believed I could be.
My name is Ulrika and I'm an alcoholic. And I have chosen life.
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