When I was 37 and the mother of an adorable four-year-old boy whose life revolved around Peppa Pig, pesto pasta and soft play, a psychologist told me I had “alcohol use disorder.”
I liked the sound of this, because it seemed like something medical and treatable, and it wasn’t my fault, like some kind of virus I had caught by accident. But mostly, I liked the term because it didn’t sound as embarrassing as the word “alcoholic.”
Instead, “alcohol use disorder” was a diagnosis I could accept. With a couple of weeks without drinking alcohol and a few intensive therapy sessions, I would almost certainly become the kind of person who could have just one glass of red wine with dinner. Or maybe two. Instead of three, four, or fifteen and actually forgetting about dinner, I’d rather just open another bottle.
That was the kind of person I was when I found myself opening up to this psychologist at a rehab center in central London: a sober friend had taken me there after it became clear that my attempts to “reduce my drinking” were proving to be fruitless. almost as successful as Rishi Sunak’s election campaign.
I nodded tearfully at the diagnosis and imagined a life where I drank normally, like other mothers I knew, instead of like Keith Richards in 1979. Then the psychologist said something that made me want to reach for a glass of chilled rosé. Or maybe even a bottle.
When Bryony Gordon was 37, a psychologist told her she had an “alcohol misuse order”, which is a medical term used to describe alcoholism.
“In situations like yours,” he said quietly, “there are really only two options available: you can either remain in active addiction or recover from it.”
My jaw dropped. Me, an addict? But I did pilates on a reformer twice a week!
He nodded and explained that “alcohol use disorder” was actually the medical term for alcoholism. I stormed off, but a terrible night of “drunkenness” a few months later landed me back in rehab, where I decided to leave denial behind and try to get better.
That was almost seven years ago and, taking it day by day, I haven’t had a drink since.
I was reminded of that terrible time in my life when I read reports of a 57 percent increase in cases of binge drinking among women over the past three years. While it has remained stable among men, the number of women admitting to periods of “episodic heavy drinking” has risen from 13.8 percent to 21.7 percent.
A spokesperson for Alcohol Change UK called the results of the World Health Organisation survey “heartbreaking” but what worries me most is the cowardly language being used to describe the problem of alcohol consumption.
“Heavy episodic drinking” is a new euphemism for unhealthy alcohol consumption, and it’s exactly the kind of phrase I would have used to try to justify my behavior when I used to drink two bottles of wine a night (or six or seven pints of beer if I felt like a break).
“I’m not an alcoholic,” I would have told myself, as I found my arm opening the fridge and reaching for another bottle. “I just have a tendency to go through periods of heavy drinking when I’m stressed.”
At the time, I described myself as a “binge drinker” and by all definitions, that was exactly what I was: I drank large amounts of alcohol in a short space of time, with the sole intention of achieving oblivion. But I didn’t wake up wanting a drink. In fact, I often woke up feeling intense shame and vowing never to drink again. So he couldn’t be an alcoholic, right?
“I don’t drink during the day!” I pleaded with the psychologist in rehab.
“Not yet,” he replied, before explaining that alcoholism was like an elevator going down: you could choose to get off at any floor you wanted, but if you went back up, you’d go lower.
In the end, I realized that I might as well be drinking all day, given that I was thinking about drinking all day, either obsessing over what I might have done the night before when I passed out or planning when I would put my daughter to bed. and I could have my next glass of cold wine. I thought all the rules I had about alcohol (never before 7 pm, not in front of my daughter, no alcoholic beverages) meant I was in control.
But in reality, they were proof that alcohol was controlling me. I had taken those two words—heavy drinker—and used them like armor to protect myself from the horrible, judgmental thought that I might have something in common with an old man sitting on a park bench drinking from a paper bag.
But after a few days in rehab, I realized that many of us focus on this stereotype in an effort to avoid the fact that alcoholism has many different looks. Contrary to popular belief, she also wears Sweaty Betty leggings and does reformer Pilates.
And that’s why my heart skips a beat when I read phrases like “drinking to excess.” Because, while it is true that there are many people who can afford to drink excessively from time to time without it harming their body or mind, there are also many people who use these phrases as an excuse to delay the inevitable: accept that, for them, it is much easier not to drink than to “just” drink one or two.
In the end, “alcoholism” is just a word, and I’m so lucky I refused to die on a hill above it.
But people do, they really do, and in very large numbers. They go to their graves trying to prove that they are not alcoholics. They spend their entire lives fearing the judgment of others, not realizing that the worst judgment of all is the one your own head creates when you repeatedly discover that you can’t drink “normally.”
So, if you want, you can call it drunkenness. If it’s okay with you, you can call it alcohol use disorder. Just know that it is possible to live without alcohol and, better yet, it is incredibly beautiful.
After some time in rehab, Bryony takes it one day at a time and hasn’t had a drink for almost seven years.
Recent reports revealed a 57 percent increase in binge drinking among women in the past three years (file image)
If Sir Keir Starmer wins next week, we will enter a new era. That of the ‘First Lady’ who refuses to define herself as a First Lady. So far, Lady Starmer – or Victoria, as she is known to her friends – has done a stellar job of refusing to be sugar-coated during this election campaign.
In fact, if we go by her rare public appearances, then we should only expect Victoria to come out to the King (as she did on Tuesday night, at a state banquet for the Emperor and Empress of Japan), and the Queen (aka Taylor Swift, who she went to see at Wembley).
‘Tis the season to indulge in a little fear of missing out. After seeing everyone at Royal Ascot and Taylor Swift last week, the next hurdle for my Instagram envy is Wimbledon, which starts on Monday.
The only thing I don’t feel like I’m missing? Glastonbury, given that the one time I went, back in 2009 when I was 28, I stayed up for three days and ended up with viral conjunctivitis. That’s an event I’m more than happy to watch on TV, from the comfort of my own home.
Many people are concerned about J Lo and the status of her relationship with Ben Affleck. What worries me most is that he has chosen to fly economy class, as seen this week when he traveled through Europe without his private jet.
According to those in the know, she’s trying to give a more “down to earth” image, but as someone who can only afford to fly tight in the cattle class, I’m not fooled. The most basic thing to do at 35,000 feet? Scream with joy at the prospect of being able to turn left!
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Will Victoria be the first invisible First Lady?
If Sir Keir Starmer wins next week, we will enter a new era: that of the “First Lady” who refuses to define herself as such. So far, Lady Starmer (or Victoria, as she is known to her friends) has done a stellar job of refusing to be the girl on the receiving end during this election campaign.
In fact, if her rare public appearances are anything to go by, then we should only expect Victoria to come out to the King (as she did on Tuesday night, at a state banquet for the Emperor and Empress of Japan) and the Queen, aka Taylor Swift, whom she went to see at Wembley.
Sir Keir Starmer and his wife Victoria at the Taylor Swift concert at Wembley Stadium last week
Many people are concerned about J Lo and the status of her relationship with Ben Affleck. What worries me most is that he has chosen to fly economy class, as seen this week when he traveled through Europe without his private jet.
According to those in the know, she’s trying to give off a more “down-to-earth” image, but as someone who can only afford to fly tight in cattle class, I’m not fooled. Safest thing to do at 35,000 feet? Shout with joy at the prospect of being able to turn left!
No FOMO about Glasto
‘Tis the season to indulge in a little fear of missing out. After seeing everyone at Royal Ascot and Taylor Swift last week, the next hurdle for my Instagram envy is Wimbledon, which starts on Monday.
The only thing I don’t feel like I’m missing? Glastonbury, given that the one time I went, back in 2009 when I was 28, I stayed up for three days and ended up with viral conjunctivitis. That’s an event I’m more than happy to watch on TV, from the comfort of my own home.
Bryony says she is more than happy to watch this year’s Glastonbury Festival on TV from the comfort of her home.
Trusted clinic
Have you ever wondered how to get a bikini body almost instantly? Well, fear not, because I have the answer. First, get a bikini. Second, put it on your body. And that’s it – instant bikini body!
