It's actually hardly surprising that my path led to addiction. My upbringing was marked by a number of risk factors: emotional and physical abuse, early losses, and a father who probably had an addiction problem himself. He used to drink sour cider as early as the morning. My parents made no secret of the fact that, as their third child, I had not been wanted.
Whatever desire I expressed, they decided it wasn't «any good». For example, I would have liked to become a florist, but I was forced to do an apprenticeship as a cook. They punished me for poor marks with ground or beatings. They made me feel that I was worthless.
The thought that I had been unable to give birth to a healthy child tormented me.
I dealt with my worries on my own; even when, as a teenager, my first love and later my best friend died in a road accident. Only once, whilst I was an apprentice, did I pluck up the courage to tell my parents about the sexual assault by a superior. Their message was clear: don't make a fuss. The man was an acquaintance of my father's. I felt ashamed.
A difficult start to motherhood
The pain of old wounds followed me into adulthood. I got married and became a mother. When our son was born, he didn't get enough oxygen. As a baby, he cried constantly. As a toddler, he was hyperactive and also had motor skills problems. The thought that I hadn't been able to give birth to a healthy child tormented me.
Back then, I started turning to wine more often to calm myself down. I stopped when I became pregnant with our daughter. After she was born, I was constantly busy soothing, comforting and looking after her. I felt lonely and inferior. Other mums had happy children; mine were constantly arguing, and the problems with my eldest never seemed to end. On top of that, he was diagnosed with a learning difficulty and ADHD.
When the children were at primary school, I increasingly turned to alcohol to numb my pain . I bought wine in cartons, as they were easy to dispose of discreetly. I decanted it all into small plastic bottles and would take sips from them – at home and at work in the staff kitchen. I knew it wasn't good for me, but I pushed the thought aside. I was a master at denial.
Never learnt to talk about problems
At some point, my mornings began with tremors, from which only wine provided relief. Then they caught on to what was happening at work. My boss was understanding and wanted to keep me on – provided I was willing to seek help. He urged me to tell my husband. I couldn't bring myself to do it. Neither of us had ever learnt to talk about problems. I handed in my notice. From then on, things went from bad to worse.
To give it up, you need to understand deep down that you have to do it for your own sake.
My game of hide-and-seek came to an end when my husband found me on the sofa at lunchtime, completely dazed. Shortly afterwards, I was admitted to hospital for the first time. The thing is: it's not enough just to be told that you have to stop. I was well aware of that. But deep down, I didn't know why I should do it – for my own sake.
After rehab, I stayed sober for a while; two years later, I went through a second stint. I stayed sober for four years, after which it was a bit of a rollercoaster. I was told that my underlying condition was depression. I took medication, but none of the therapy was aimed at addressing the root cause of my suffering. I became increasingly resistant to being dependent on pills. The turning point came when I met a psychologist who understood this.
The knot is coming undone
A lot has happened since then. I undertook further training in essential oils, during which I explored the subject of health in depth. This also led me to come to terms with my own emotional issues. It was as if a knot had been untangled. Today, I advise people on how they can look after their physical and mental wellbeing.
Understanding how the two are linked makes me look after myself. I've stopped taking all my medication and only drink occasionally when visiting friends. Otherwise, I don't feel the need to. Alcohol no longer gives me anything – no sense of stability that I couldn't find in other ways. My addiction had strained my relationship with my children. I'm grateful that we've managed to sort things out and feel connected again.
* Name changed
