I did it with wine in hand
The Myth of Rock Bottom
You don’t have to lose everything to choose yourself.
There’s this stubborn belief floating around in our culture that you can only go sober once you’ve hit some mythical rock bottom. Like there’s this one catastrophic moment—flashing lights, broken glass, dramatic tears—that gives you permission to change. A permission slip signed by your own destruction.
But that wasn’t my story.
I’ve had my fair share of those dramatic, messy moments. I’ve been that person: screaming during a breakup, acting like the world’s biggest arsehole to people I loved, trashing places, sleeping for an hour before pretending to be “fine” as my son came home from a weekend away. I’ve been so hungover I could barely function. And still—I didn’t stop.
Even as a kid, I saw the consequences of drinking up close. My dad, yellow from jaundice and yellow fever, sitting us down to tell us he had limited time left if he didn’t stop drinking. And he did stop—for less than a year. Then it was back to business as usual. That taught me two things. One, drinking can take everything from you; and two, knowing that still doesn’t always stop people.
That’s how powerful this thing can be.
So no—my decision to quit didn’t come when I hit the lowest point. It came after the chaos. It came quietly, in a crowd of people, holding two glasses of wine, waiting to go into a comedy show.
Let me rewind.
A month earlier, I’d been at a Frankie Boyle gig. I’d drunk all day—on the way there, in the hotel, at lunch, in the bar, back in the room, and again before the show. I don’t know how I still have a liver. I was loud, gobby, chatty (too chatty), talking to strangers like we were best mates. I shouted something at the end of Frankie’s set—thankfully not during. Classic drunken me. The next day was hell. Shame. Regret. Anxiety. All of it.
Still didn’t stop.
Then, a month later, I was standing at another venue. Same vibe. Crowd of people. Two glasses of wine in my hands. But this time, something inside me just said: No. Just… no. I didn’t want them. I asked my partner if he wanted them. He didn’t. I could’ve dumped them, handed them to someone else, flushed them—I didn’t care. I was done.
No meltdown. No ambulance. No police report. Just a moment of clarity.
You don’t have to burn your life down to rebuild it.
We need to bust the myth that sobriety only comes after you fall to the floor. That you need to be crawling through the dirt, begging for a lifeline. You don’t. You can just decide. Quietly. Calmly. On a day like any other. You don’t need permission from pain.
In fact, I think I stayed stuck for longer because of that myth. I thought I hadn’t earned sobriety. I hadn’t suffered enough. Wasn’t dramatic enough. But all that did was keep me drinking. Trapped in a spiral of shame, fear, and guilt.
That’s why I’m writing this—for anyone waiting for the sky to fall before they make a change. You don’t need to hit rock bottom. You just need a moment of clarity. You need to say: “Not anymore.”
I’ve been sober now for over 411 days. It’s been messy and magical, hard and healing. But it started with a single, quiet choice. And if you’re even thinking about making that choice, then you’re already on your way.
If you’re ready to try—just try—here are some UK-based support options:
- NHS Alcohol Support – For honest, straightforward help and access to free local services.
- Reframe – A science-based app to help you reduce or quit drinking, with a UK user base.
- Alcoholics Anonymous UK – Anonymous peer support and regular meetings (in-person and online).
- Drinkaware – Advice, tools, and a self-assessment if you’re unsure where you stand.
- Soberistas – A supportive online community, especially great if you want connection without formal steps.
- SMART Recovery UK – Cognitive-based peer support for anyone choosing to change addictive behaviour.
Final thought?
You don’t need to be on your knees. You don’t need to hate yourself. You don’t even need a reason anyone else would understand.
You just need a moment of quiet, a glass you choose not to drink, and the belief—however small—that life could be better without it.
And from someone who’s stood in that crowd, holding that glass: it absolutely can be.
If this resonated with you—stay in touch.
I write honestly about sobriety, shame, strength, and starting again. No fluff, no filters, no pressure.
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You’re not alone. And you don’t need to hit rock bottom to rise.
Not For Me, Thanks 
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