My head is pounding, the nausea swirls inside, my throat is dry. I try to open one eye but it hurts. Everything hurts. I can hear something, voices buzzing, but I close my eyes again, the room spinning. It’s too bright, too loud…
‘Mummy! We’re going to be late for school!’
My head is really pounding this time.
‘Mummy!’ the voice is louder now, shrill and urgent.
I flick my eyes open, I try to sit, using my shaking hands to help prop me up, the room spinning.
I grasp for my phone, which is buzzing furiously, but I can’t focus properly. What time is it? What day is it? How did I get home? Why do I have so many bruises? Where is my bag? And, more importantly, did anyone see me?
An anonymous celebrity has opened up about how being a ‘wine mum’ led her down a path of alcoholism (stock photo posed by models)
I quickly check the Daily Mail for unflattering paparazzi shots of me looking bleary eyed, stumbling… thank God, nothing. I’d got away with it – for now.
Don’t ask me how I managed to get up and dressed. The truth is, I don’t know. But 20 minutes later, I was driving my kids to school, white knuckles clasping the steering wheel, trying not to vomit in a plastic bag, and definitely still over the limit after yet another evening of ‘just one drink’.
I’d been at some glitzy fashion event where one glass of white wine became two, which by the end of the night became three bottles – all on an empty stomach. Somehow I make it home by some ridiculous hour, collapsing into bed still dressed in my tight, low-cut dress and heels.
It was the third time I’d done it that week. Thank God I’d never worked in breakfast radio or else my career would have been over.
Before you judge me, remember this: I’m not some ditzy Love Island contestant, nor am I a footballer’s ex-girlfriend or some lost OnlyFans ‘star’.
I was successful and divorced. I had my kids half the time, with zero family support and a nasty court battle looming over my head. Then there was another issue I was facing: being in the public eye.
Now, I get it. You may have little sympathy for someone like me. You may think I was leading a glamourous, charmed life, but I can assure you, once the makeup was off, the front door closed and the curtain came down, I was just another lonely, sad and depressed ‘wine mum’ struggling to keep my head above water.
The complimentary champagne at launch parties and premieres soon became bottles of wine alone at home when my kids were with their father.
She would wake up hungover and Google herself to check if her antics had made the tabloids overnight (stock image posed by model)
After my divorce, invitations from old friends stopped coming, my phone went silent. Could you blame me for grabbing it the moment an invite from a publicist pinged in my inbox? It could’ve been the opening of an influencer’s drab salon – I’d be there.
Loneliness does that to you. As I attended more of these events – always papped on arrival looking polished before stumbling out into an Uber a few hours later with a runny nose – I felt something changing within me.
Why was I doing this? You see, not only was I well-known, so was my ex. In fact, everyone loved him, so I was the one they ditched after the break-up.
Dinner dates with other couples dried up (women don’t like to admit it, but we fear our divorced friends want to sleep with our husbands) so what was I left with? I had to make new friends – which is bloody hard after a certain age – so when invitations to C-list events came my way, I jumped at the opportunity. The bar was always open.
After being invited to a string of summery afternoon parties, I discovered a love of daytime drinking – something that had never appealed to me before. Some days I would hit up a posh party at 2pm then head out that night for a full-blown bender. In fact, this would happen up to three or four times a week at the height of my drinking.
My life was a whirlwind of bars, fancy restaurants, nightclubs and fashion runways.
And I won’t lie: at first, it was fun. Who doesn’t love being in the spotlight, with all eyes admiring you, with the camera bulbs flashing at your every move?
I knew how to perfect the paparazzi smile, the rehearsed laugh, the fake modesty (you’ve definitely seen some of my shots – both candid and staged).
I had worked hard in my career and felt I deserved the attention and accolades – but no one warned me with fame comes the pressure to be perfect, funny, beautiful, clever and successful at everything you do, from your job to the way you look and dress, to the way you bring up your children.
The pressure is relentless. No wonder I drank. At first, my drinking was social, then it became unhealthy, and then it became alcoholic.
Yes, that word everyone hates to say out loud: ‘alcoholic’. You don’t hear it so much from celebrities these days. They prefer to talk of ‘alcohol dependency’, ‘my unhealthy reliance on alcohol’, ‘my toxic relationship with alcohol’ – like it’s a bad boyfriend rather than a deadly, progressive disease.
Well, I became an alcoholic. I make no secret of that.
No, I didn’t drink on park benches from bottles wrapped in brown paper bags. But I drank white wine like it was water, and the hangovers were slow, punishing and drawn-out. I would spend the day with regret, fear and shame, all while lying on the bathroom floor sobbing. How had my life come to this?
On the days I had my children, the shame was unfathomable.
Everyone wants to know an alcoholic’s rock bottom. Where do I start? I’ve been thrown out of bars, I’ve broken down in public. With alcohol in my system, dulling my senses and wiping my inhibitions, I have done things I am bitterly ashamed of.
One afternoon, a late-morning event at Fashion Week turned into an all-day affair. I booked an Uber to take me home so I could sober up before school pick-up that afternoon.
I’ll spare you the details, and my memory is hazy, but I remember beckoning the young driver to join me in the back seat, him rolling up my dress…
Minutes later, I was standing in my shower, alone, crying. I had hit an all-time low. I would be hugging my kids in half an hour. How was I going to put on a brave face for them when I was broken inside?
That was the rock bottom I needed. Days later, I called my doctor for help. I was prescribed a medication called Antabuse that I had to take daily which would make me throw up if I drank alcohol.
It’s a pretty extreme drug – and certainly not for everybody. Some have called it the ‘Ozempic for alcohol’ but it really isn’t. Still, for me, it was the circuit breaker I needed.
I also read a book called This Naked Mind by Annie Grace, which made me realise alcohol wasn’t a friend; it was a poison.
I go to 12-step recovery meetings, too. It started daily, but now I’ve been sober for a few years, I go three times a week. Sharing my story with other alcoholics has been a game-changer for me. Knowing I am not alone, that problem drinking is extremely common for women my age, and that support is available has saved my life.
I thought my life would end without my daily wines, that I would become ‘boring’. The truth is, I’ve gained so much more. They say ‘sobriety gives you the things alcohol promised’. In my experience, that has been 100 per cent true.
If you’re reading this and deep down know you have a problem with drinking, I urge you to seek support before the addiction takes over.
Breaking free from the grip of alcohol is tough – but the alternative is far, far worse.
This article includes stock photography. None of the models pictured is the author of the story, nor do they bear any physical resemblance to the author.
