On 17 September, I made a choice.

Waking up from 15 hours of lost time, at a friend’s house, when I should’ve been home the day before. I had clarity. Enough.

I’ve shared before about my understanding of addiction, mental health and it’s implications on my life. I started this site and public speaking career to document my journey after realising I suffered with workaholism that led me to burn out, depression and severe anxiety. I wanted to be accountable and honest. To help others stuck in the same pattern I was in, unsure what to do.

But here I was, again. Stuck in a pattern. Unsure what to do.

I had tried periods of sobriety several times before. Long periods. I never drank or used at work. I was “highly functioning”. Sure, I enjoyed a work party, but nothing illegal and I’d always find my feet again. Quickly. I’d often be first in line for coffee at the office the next morning when everyone else complained of headaches and “missed trains”, first in the meeting room ready to go, first to put my hand up to take on more work to make up for the voice in my head that was telling me I needed to prove to everyone I was worthy. That I was “OK”.

Yet, days or weeks would go by and the voices and feelings would build. The longer I ignored them, the louder they got. Voices telling me I earned it, I had cause to celebrate, I had gone long enough, that I’m young, everyone else does it too, that I’d had a hard day, week, month, year, that only boring people stay sober in their 20s.

I knew I had a problem with workaholism and radically changed my life to combat it. I’ve built this platform on that self-acceptance. Yet, I was unwilling to accept this part of me, the part that only I truly knew (or so I thought).

On 17 September, I asked for help.

Today, I am 60 days clean and sober and grateful for every moment of that time. It is a choice I do and will continue to make. One day at a time.

On my birthday last month, in Addiction Awareness Week, I shared a post on Instagram:

“Every year I dread my birthday. This may be a surprise to those who’ve attended parties I’ve thrown in houses, clubs and pubs for over a decade. Parties filled with people, booze and everything else. Parties where outside I was dressed to the nines with a huge smile, and inside I felt alone, anxious, and desperately depressed.

This year, turning 29, sober for the first birthday since I turned 15, I felt calm. After a weekend with close friends and their partners in a house on the coast, I took myself to a cabin in the countryside for some much needed offline time.

Notifications completely off (which I’m continuing with now). Social media and work apps deleted. Airplane mode on bar a few hours to call family. Phone used solely as a camera or locked in a box. Music from tapes, birdsong or rain hitting the cabin roof.

I read a lot. I prayed. I meditated. I walked. And walked. And walked (love my legs). I cooked. Ate. Slept.

Matthew Perry’s death hit me hard. I prayed on it. Meditated. Walked. Slept.

I can confidently, honestly, share: I believed I would be dead by 29. Today, I’m so grateful to be alive. Sober. One day at a time, working towards a new, peaceful – hopefully long – life.”

This will continue to be part of my journey, and I will endeavour to be open and honest. I may share my story one day, if, when and where it is safe to do so, but today: I accept myself.

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Over the last 60 days, a prayer I used to hear at Catholic school has returned to me. I don’t identify as a Christian, but it’s a prayer I believe was brought back to me on purpose, and a message I would like to leave you with:

Saint Francis of Assissi Prayer

Lord, make me a channel of thy peace;

that where there is hatred,
   I may bring love;

that where there is wrong,
   I may bring the spirit of forgiveness;

that where there is discord,
   I may bring harmony;

that where there is error,
   I may bring truth;

that where there is doubt,
   I may bring faith;

that where there is despair,
   I may bring hope;

that where there are shadows,
   I may bring light;

that where there is sadness,
   I may bring joy.

Lord, grant that I may seek rather 
to comfort, than to be comforted;
to understand, than to be understood;
to love, than to be loved.
 

For it is by self-forgetting that one finds.

It is by forgiving that one is forgiven.

It is by dying that one awakens to eternal life.

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If you identify with any of the thoughts shared on my site and feel you would like to talk to someone, please reach out to your GP. Information, services and helplines for those struggling with, or impacted by someone else’s, addiction can be found on the NHS website and a list of UK and global organisations to reach out to here. If you ever feel like things are too much, please call Samaritans on 116 123.