My relationship with alcohol was the classic slow burn. At first, it was just a Friday night thing, the way to let loose after a stressful workweek. Wine with the girls, a couple of beers with colleagues. Then, it became a glass of wine when I got home to “take the edge off.” That nightly glass turned into two, and before I knew it, the bottle was my companion every evening.

I never thought I had a problem. I wasn’t the type you see on the street, disheveled and slurring. I had a job, a house, a family who loved me. I hid it well. The wine bottles discreetly stashed in my recycling bin, the way I’d subtly top up my glass whenever the room was empty. But inside, the lie was eating away at me.

The breaking point was… ordinary, truthfully. A Tuesday after work, I came home, and without conscious thought, reached for the bottle. Yet, when I uncorked it, a wave of disgust washed over me. I stared at the blood-red liquid, not seeing the relaxation it used to promise, but the weight it had become.

Quitting wasn’t easy. That first week crawled by, each evening a battleground.

Here’s what I learned:

Don’t do it alone: I found online support groups filled with people walking the same path. It made the loneliness bearable, knowing I wasn’t the only one out there fighting.

Swap out the ritual: My evenings revolved around that glass of wine. I replaced it with herbal tea, a fizzy drink… anything to break the autopilot habit.

Be kind to yourself: There were slip-ups. Hating myself only made things worse. Instead, I’d remind myself that each sober day is progress, not perfection.

Years later, I can’t pretend cravings never resurface. But they’re fleeting whispers, not the roaring demands they used to be. Sobriety hasn’t made my life magically perfect. There are still bad days and stress. The difference is that I face them with a clear head, with genuine strength. My evenings are no longer spent in a blur, but filled with truly living – connecting with my kids, rediscovering hobbies, or simply being present in a way I never was before.

If you’re struggling, if you’re reading this and recognizing even part of my story in your own, please know you’re not alone. Quitting is hard, but I promise you that the life on the other side is so worth the fight.