She didn’t think she was an alcoholic, but Sarah Connelly is glad she went to rehab.
Like most people she knew, Sarah enjoyed a drink. But the death of her dad made her look at her drinking in a new light.
“I’D VISIT DAD AT THE CARE HOME EVERY DAY, THEN DRINK MYSELF TO SLEEP.”
On a morning in March 2019, I woke in a hotel in Sydney after a huge night. Something was tugging at my brain, something important. I grabbed my phone and read the text, my heart pounding as I skimmed the first four words. Straight away I knew my Dad was going to die soon.
The drink-fuelled argument my husband and I had had the night before was forgotten and he forgave me, again. We both knew my dad had endured two years of hell, just to be given this final death sentence; and he was 15,000km away.
Five years earlier I had travelled back to the UK to care for my mum who had been diagnosed with terminal cancer. I left my boys, then five and two, with a hurriedly hired au pair, but
Mum died while I was in stopover in Dubai. Now Dad was facing a similar fate and the nightmare began all over again. I organised a flight and help for my family, and headed straight for the airport lounge in search of oblivion.
During the next three months before Dad died, I lived on adrenaline, jet lag and wine. I made three trips home that I barely remember, other than the horror of watching Dad deteriorate and suffer the lack of dignity he’d been so afraid of. I’d visit him at the care home every day, then go back to his house and drink myself to sleep.
A LINE IN THE SAND
On the day Dad died, I had a moment of clarity. For years I had watched him drink, and whilst his cause of death was not officially linked, I knew his overall health would have been dramatically impacted by it. My own enthusiastic drinking had also bothered me for quite some time and I would look with admiration at anyone who had done the year off the beer, or similar lengthy period of abstinence.
So, that morning, holding Dad’s hand, I decided that I would stop. Not for a month, or two, as I had many times before, but for good. Admitting I needed help was hard, but one day, in a routine GP check-up I blurted out that I was worried about my drinking. As the words left my mouth, I felt shame, relief but mostly terror. Was I that bad? Did I really have a problem? I did. This was not just because of the volume I was drinking (I know many who still drink more than I did at my worst) but because it was a problem for me. I didn’t want to live life at 70 per cent anymore, and I hated the constant internal negotiations. Imagine what I could be doing with my time instead of arguing with myself about when I could next have a drink?
My GP directed me to a psychiatrist who ran a two-week detox/rehab programme. I didn’t think this was an option for people like me. I wasn’t destitute or on the street, I had a successful career, I was happily married and I liked my life but he explained the success rates were very high for what I now like to call ‘up-streamers’ (people who could end up in dire straits but aren’t quite there yet). He said, “You get into it, get it done and you’ll be fine”. What had seemed unnecessary and extreme now seemed approachable, and oddly, quite exciting.
My preconceived ideas about rehab were still there. I felt I would be out of place and I still wasn’t convinced it was for me. However, six weeks later I packed my bags and took the leap.
I would love to say it was easy, that I was brave and fearless. But the truth is, at first, I wanted to run away, as fast as I could. Because I realised I was terrified of not drinking. It had been in my life for so long – it was medicine and my social crutch, and the idea of life without it was unfathomable.
So, on day one I had a decision to make. Stay or leave. I wasn’t a prisoner there, I could leave at any time, but my promise kept me there, as well as the promise of freedom. On admission to the programme, regardless of your situation, you are treated as a serious
Not drinking is the safest option if you are breastfeeding or pregnant.
addict in need of full detox measures. Bag searches and breath tests were humiliating, and the warnings of what was likely to happen to me physically in withdrawal made me feel like I was definitely in the wrong place. Luckily, I didn’t experience any shakes or tremors, and in the first few days I felt like a fraud. But as time went on and I attended the sessions, I realised that rehab could actually benefit anyone.
THE REALITY OF REHAB
It was nothing like the movies. There were no ‘introduce yourself’ moments or sharing of deep, dark secrets. It was a bit like being at university, with lectures presenting theory and scientific research and methodologies. Every day we approached a new topic, practised mindfulness and were asked to consider things like our value systems, dreams and goals. It was a life skills program, where you got to know yourself better, approach life in a different, more present way, and develop more compassion for others (and yourself). I was inspired by the people I met – doctors, musicians, actors, lawyers, parents, people I would relate to in the outside world. I didn’t get to know their stories, I didn’t need to, but they were some of the kindest, creative and most sensitive people I have ever met. There was acceptance, a lack of judgement, and normalisation of our problems that was as powerful, if not more powerful than the lectures.
I saw many people transform. They started to stand taller, laugh more and make eye contact. I think a big part of this is that there was no shame. We were all the same. And as time went on, I started to feel like I really could do this, for good.
After 10 days of no alcohol and learning about the downsides of drinking, I realised that my brain had been abused, and that I’d deprived myself of my ability to evaluate many things clearly and confidently. This new-found clarity was the thing I’d been searching for and every day I became more present and committed to holding on to it.
On my last day of the programme, two things happened that cemented my resolve to put all I’d learned into practice. After my final session I went to the hairdresser, only to be offered champagne on arrival. I wanted to say yes, purely out of habit, but I didn’t.
I tried out my new phrase, “I was drinking too much, so I stopped”. The girl’s response was unexpected, she told me she desperately wanted to stop drinking, that she was bored and tired of the drinking culture she was in and she asked me for tips! Instead of feeling outcast, I felt empowered, strong, even admired.
The second event was when an old flatmate called. I hadn’t seen her for eight years and we were big drinking buddies. After my appointment I popped into her hotel bar to say ‘hi’. She and her sister were on their way to being quite drunk. I watched them, as non-judgementally as possible. I saw the vacant eyes, the false confidence and the uncertainty in their body language. I saw me. I saw how others saw me. I sipped my soda, and I knew this conversation wouldn’t exist for them tomorrow.
In the past I had convinced myself everyone was as drunk as I was, that I was in control, funny, confident, intelligent even, but no, I realised in that moment that I was just a simple, boring drunk. I told myself, ‘This is freedom’. The first 10 minutes was torture, at 15 minutes there was a little discomfort, at 20 minutes a mild pang of loss ... And then enter real life, alive, present, in charge with my eyes wide open. And at this point, I think I became addicted to not drinking.
DIARY EXTRACT
“It’s Sunday 27 October; I’ve been ‘out’ for three days. I’m sitting in a hotel room on the Mornington Peninsula. It’s 5.15pm. In the last 72 hours I’ve sat in the business class lounge, my business class seat, a black-tie function, a formal dinner, and done a 4.5-hour winery tour with long lunch. Instead of fighting against the urge to drink, I find myself interested to explore how I managed to keep saying ‘no’. There were definitely tug-of-war moments, but at no point did I feel close to caving in. Perhaps it’s because I have just stepped out of my rehab bubble and everything I’ve learned is still at the forefront of my wine-battered brain?
As the arrival drinks are offered, I scan for water, soft drink, anything that will occupy my right hand to temper my anxiety. And 20 minutes in, I realise, it was just fear of boredom. Mostly I was scared of finding out I am boring. I was wondering how I would fill the tank of silence without my social oil when I decided, for once, that instead of focusing on my own performance I would I look at how other people behave … perhaps because I’ve never really noticed before. With not a small amount of horror, I see that most people don’t drink a glass of wine in five minutes. They can sit on a glass for at least one course and some, for the whole event. I’m fascinated and appalled. In the past, one glass would have survived five minutes tops in front of me. I am faced even more poignantly with how much I used to drink, and with the fact that in every moment of my life where alcohol was present, I wasn’t.”
It was this realisation (and my 20-minute rule) that helped get me through to New Year and beyond. I had many ‘sober firsts’: my annual award night, family Christmas, New Year’s Eve and a trip to New Zealand. Far from not enjoying myself, I loved it all because I was really there, I could decide who I wanted to talk to, I could remember everything, and I could leave whenever I wanted.
I’ve also found alcohol-free drinks that I love, from champagne to shiraz. I still feel like I’m having something, but it doesn’t mess with my head.
It’s now more than six months post-rehab and I have no urge to drink. I wake every morning feeling well rested, clear and motivated. My relationship with my family has improved and, most affirming of all, my kids love that I don’t drink. I’ve even had the children of some of my friends say they wish their parents didn’t drink. “It’s so boring,” one said.
I’ve also launched a website, soberupside.com.au to provide a resource for other people who want to cut back or quit alcohol.
Looking back now, I can’t say for sure that I would have addressed my drinking without my parents’ deaths. I am grateful I was pushed to my edge, because my life has never been better. Alcohol is everywhere, our society condones it and we use regularly – be it to relieve discomfort or to amplify excitement. It’s hard to imagine a life without it. But like any habit, with the right tools and support, it can be broken. VISIT MiNDFOOD.COM
With more time on our hands and more stress in our life, alcohol may seem like a very good idea at the moment. But is this coping strategy doing us a lot more harm than good? mindfood.com/alcohol-at-home