Dear Richard Madeley: ‘How can I rebuild trust after years of alcoholic chaos?'
Dear Richard,
Roughly six years ago, in my mid-20s, I found my life pulled out from beneath my feet. Nothing extraordinary, but a redundancy and the end of a long-term relationship quite simply crushed me. Prior to this I'd always considered myself a fairly resilient, capable individual. Not so. My response was one that surprised me and those around me – I simply hit the self-destruct button. In my case, that meant hitting the bottle. Hard.
Safe in the oblivion that followed, I took consolation in the fact that I'd likely not live long enough to see the impact of my behaviour. Yet, a few years down the line, after extensive medical intervention, I find myself in near-perfect physical health. This is great and unexpected news, and I can't help but feel somewhat proud to come out the other side unscathed.
However, the biggest problem now faces me: nobody wants to know me any more. Close friends, family, acquaintances – all have cast me aside. This I, at least to some degree, expected. I wasn't, however, prepared to be written off. I've never been a troublemaker and have never intentionally done anybody (besides myself) any harm. I certainly don't blame anyone for their caution, but to go from a fairly popular, friendly member of the community, to someone widely dismissed as a 'wrong 'un', is hard to take.
I'm hesitant to leave the area I live in. I've been here all my life and I still feel a little too delicate to start anew. It's been hard enough finding a new job, considering the black hole in my CV. Should I simply give it time?
I've been sober for more than a year now. I'm not a bitter person, but I feel I'm being served a lengthy punishment from which a reprieve seems increasingly unlikely.
– LS, via email
Dear LS,
'Yes. Yes. Yes,' is my answer to the question near the end of your honest, almost self-lacerating letter. You must give it more time.
I fully realise that 12 months of sobriety, to you, feels like a lifetime. Presumably, the alcohol-poisoned years that preceded them are pretty much a blur, whereas now you experience every sober minute in sharp relief.
But those around you will inevitably set this last year against all the long chaos that went before. Unlike you they'll remember everything that happened in all its excruciating detail. And they're probably suspicious; they'll need more evidence that you've genuinely – and permanently – changed before they risk investing in you again.
I'm not saying that's right and I'm not saying it's fair. But as you're discovering, it's part and parcel of your journey back into the world of sobriety.
So yes, you must be patient. By your own summarised account you treated those around you badly in the troubled past. That's not your fault: you were ill. But whatever wounds you inflicted you have to allow time to heal – which, in most cases, they will. Just give it time, LS, give it time.
And, yes, in the meantime, be proud of yourself. You deserve to be. You've hauled yourself out of the pit. Well done.
Try Our AI Features
Explore what Daily8 AI can do for you:
Comments
No comments yet...
Related Articles
The Sun
an hour ago
- The Sun
Make your dad feel extra special this Father's Day by sending him a message in The Sun on Sunday
THIS Sunday is Father's Day and we want to know why YOUR dad is the greatest. So if you want to send your dad – or the father figure in your life - an extra special message this Father's Day, now you can with the help of The Sun on Sunday. 1 Email us in your messages of love and appreciation – and we'll print a selection of them in this Sunday's paper. You can tell him why he is the greatest, send him a poem or simply say how much you love him.
Telegraph
2 hours ago
- Telegraph
Fisherman catches rare lobster twice in two weeks
A fisherman has caught a rare blue lobster twice in a fortnight. Marc Newton, 35, hauled in the brightly-coloured crustaceans from the English Channel just 12 days apart. The fourth-generation fisherman, from Beer, Devon, caught the electric blue lobsters despite extreme odds, which some marine biologists have estimated are about two million to one. The rare colour is caused by a genetic mutation, which prompts the over-production of a certain protein. Mr Newton released the lobsters back into the waters on both occasions. The family fishing boat, Bess, is skippered by his father Jim, who has been fishing since he could walk. Mr Newton said: 'Our family has been supplying fresh local fish from our shop on Beer beach for the last 45 years. 'We're now the fourth generation carrying on this tradition.' He wrote in a social media post: 'Here he is again. On the left, we caught what looks like the same rare blue lobster as the other day. 'What do you think? Same or a different one?' Blue lobsters have been caught near Plymouth, Polperro, and Bangor, Northern Ireland, in recent years. It is even rarer for lobsters to be white in colour – only about one in 100 million are. In 2019, an albino lobster was caught near Scarborough, North Yorkshire, and donated to the National Trust. The lobster's appearance was caused by a genetic defect called leucism, which leaves it with no pigment in its shell. Blue lobster is considered a delicacy, and starred in a lavish state dinner hosted by Emmanuel Macron for King Charles in 2023. The Élysée Palace spent close to €500,000 on the September visit by King Charles and Queen Camilla, which included about €40,000 on wine. The starter of blue lobster and crab was inspired by Louis XIV 's tastes. The feast was executed by a team of 45 chefs led by Yannick Alléno, Anne-Sophie Pic and French pastry chef Pierre Hermé, all of whom have Michelin stars.
Telegraph
2 hours ago
- Telegraph
Don't let a vocal minority silence Britain's ancient church bells
There used to be a tradition that ringing church bells would drive out evil spirits. Now it's the bells that are being driven out. The latest set of chimes to fall foul of complainers are in Mytholmroyd. It's a small West Yorkshire village, best known as the birthplace of Ted Hughes. Perhaps it was the bells of St Michael's Church that inspired the late Poet Laureate to write in one of his rhymes for children about a bell's 'clang of mumbling boom'. But that clang was far from mumbling for three residents who said they were being kept awake all night by the chimes, ringing every 15 minutes. A noise abatement order imposed on the bells means they now can't be rung at all, so for the first time in 100 years they have fallen silent. There have been similar ding dongs over church bells elsewhere in the past few years: in both Witheridge and Kenton in Devon, in Helpringham in Lincolnshire, and in Beith in Ayrshire, usually by people saying that chimes through the night in these rural neighbourhoods are ruining their sleep. As someone who lives in a city, used to police helicopters overhead, ice cream vans blaring their tinny tunes, trains rattling past, and crowds of students staggering home at night under the influence of numerous intoxicants, I have to say I do find the noise of the countryside rather disturbing. Here in the city, these noises are part of a constant soundscape. In the country, there is an enveloping silence, but then you will be jolted into wakefulness by a cockerel's piercing crow, or a huge piece of farm machinery rattling past, or a herd of cattle lowing their way to milking. But a church bell chime, surely, is in a minor key compared to these other rural interruptions? For me the sound of bells is, well, music to my ears. Despite the planes flying into Heathrow over my head and the police sirens blaring outside my door, I can still hear the sound of a bell nearby, which rings regularly to mark Divine Office being said in a local monastery as well as the Angelus at noon. On Sundays, a peal of bells sounds out at a nearby church, and on weekday evenings too you can hear the ringing, as the tower captain and his team practise Plain Bob Major or Grandsire Triples or one of those other extraordinary mathematical formulas, known as changes, that make up bell-ringing. But the kind of change we don't want is something so quintessentially English as bell-ringing to disappear because after a few people make a fuss, officialdom steps in. The bells of Mytholmroyd were silenced when just three people objected – but the 1,200 residents who wanted the chimes to continue had their petition ignored. It's a growing pattern: a few complaints put an end to chimes that had been loved by communities for generations. Yet there's more at stake here than bells. It sounds a death-knell for our tradition of going with what the majority want.
