I remember a time when my world was a whirlpool of chaos, spinning uncontrollably, with alcohol as the unrelenting current pulling me deeper. I’m from Lisburn, a place where the pub is the cornerstone of social life, and for me, it became a trap.

It started innocuously. A pint after work with friends, a few more on the weekends. Soon, the drinks began to stack up, blurring weekdays into weekends. I was the life of the party, or so I thought.

I worked as a carpenter, a trade where precision is paramount. But as my drinking worsened, so did my handiwork. I remember this one day, shakily holding a saw, my hands trembled like autumn leaves in a gale. The blade slipped, gashing my palm. That was my livelihood slipping through fingers dampened by more than just blood. My boss, a stern man with a heart of oak, gave me a look of mixed disappointment and concern. It was then I realized, this was no longer just about me.

The lowest point, the eye of my personal storm, was a night I can barely piece together. Staggering home from the pub, I collapsed on my front lawn. The cold dew of the grass seeped through my clothes, but I was too numb to move. The next morning, my neighbor, a sweet old lady, found me lying there, a pitiful heap of unfulfilled potential. Her words stung sharper than the brisk morning air, “Noel, you’re better than this.”

I still didn’t learn though. Later that year, I visited the doctor with a pain in my abdomen. The doctor’s words were a cold awakening: “If you don’t stop, you’re heading towards liver failure.” I was crumbling, not just in spirit but in body too.

I had to quit.

Change didn’t come easy. It was a grueling climb out of the pit I’d dug myself. But I started, one shaky step at a time. Sobriety didn’t wave a magic wand over my life, but it did something better – it gave me clarity.

I joined a local support group, finding solace in shared stories. I replaced the pub with the park, where morning jogs replaced night-time binges. I found peace in woodworking, not as a job but as a craft.

I stand not just as a man who overcame addiction, but as a lighthouse of hope for those still battling. I volunteer at the community center, sharing my story, showing that it’s never too late to rewrite your narrative.

From the chaos of addiction, I found clarity in sobriety.

It’s a clarity that shines brighter each day, illuminating a path I once thought forever darkened. For anyone out there lost in the storm of addiction – there’s a lighthouse waiting to guide you home, to a life where every sunrise is a promise of hope and every sunset, a celebration of survival.