07/07/2025
In honour of Alcohol Awareness Week, we’re proud to share Charlotte's story. This week is an opportunity to open up conversations, reduce stigma, and highlight the strength it takes to seek support and make lasting change. This story is one of resilience, recovery, and hope — a reminder that with the right support, recovery is possible.🩷
Charlotte’s Story..
Drinking started for me when I was about 13 — out on the park with other kids, sneaking out at weekends. Despite everything, I always did well at school. I wanted to be a PE teacher, and I made that happen. I went to college and university, qualified, and got the job I dreamed of. I loved it. Work was my escape, and no one knew what was really going on. My grandad was an alcoholic for 25 years, though I only found out when I was 15. He died when I was 16. That was traumatic, but in my family, it wasn’t really dealt with, we just tried to move on. Around the same time, I met my ex-husband. There was a lot of partying, drugs, and drinking — but I held down responsibilities: looking after his alcoholic mum, running the household, and working. I didn’t think I had a problem, because I was functioning.
Things worsened. I lost my job as a PE teacher — the job I truly loved. I was going into work shaking, trying to hide it. I stopped doing after-school sports. My standards dropped. Eventually, after a difficult incident with a colleague, I resigned. I couldn’t manage my emotions anymore. I was angry. Drinking. Spiralling. Even when I started working again later, alcohol followed me. I was caught with drink on me and went through a formal investigation. Alcohol didn’t just affect my personal life — it took away the career I’d worked so hard for.
But things began piling up. His mum died of alcoholism. His dad died of cancer. Then his sister died due to an alcohol-related injury. I was smoking w**d daily, taking co***ne on weekends, and drinking heavily. My grandad developed dementia. I was prescribed Sertraline and started taking street diazepam. Vodka and wine became part of my daily life. I had bottles hidden all over the house.
My grandad’s funeral was on a Wednesday. My wedding was that Friday. I was 26, grieving and in turmoil. My parents — together for 30 years — had just split up, also because of alcohol. I knew deep down I shouldn’t have got married, but I clung to the fantasy: the house, the family, the kids. I didn’t want to see the reality.
At 31, I went into another rehab, came out — and carried on drinking. I left my husband, who often encouraged drinking even when he knew I couldn’t stop. I moved in with my mum, who did everything for me. But I took the P*** — disappearing, blacking out, ending up in dangerous places. I got beaten up. Psoriasis covered my body. I’d steal alcohol. Some of my family cut me off. My brother told me I might as well be dead.
At 34, I’d had enough. I went to a Christian rehab and stayed for two years. I detoxed cold turkey. That place saved my life. My mum, though not a drinker herself, had very much been in my addiction with me — trying to hold everything together. I’d put her through so much. While I was in the rehab, I divorced, lost my nanna, and found my faith. God carried me through.
After leaving, I went to Lindale — but relapsed quickly. I walked in with an ego, thinking I had it all figured out, I thought I was fixed. I ended up at a Pathways house (non abstinent house), still drinking. One day, when they came to breathalyse me, I had a seizure. My key worker walked in just as it happened. If it had been the weekend, I might not have made it. That was my rock bottom. For the first time, I didn’t want to be alive. I was hospitalised, then moved back into a recovery house. That was 26th February. I’ve been sober since.
At first, I couldn’t even get on public transport. I was scared to walk down the road. I was quiet and guarded. But listening to the other women, I thought: I want some of that. Caroline, one of the team, supported me, listened, and challenged me in a loving way. My confidence grew. I threw myself into the groups, and started to open up.
Now, I can get on a bus or train by myself. Just 12 weeks ago, I was a shell of a person. Now I smile. I mix with people. I wake up and look forward to the day. It’s real — not an act. I’ve started volunteering at Lindale, sitting in on groups. I’m taking it slow. I’ve got courses lined up at Fircroft College. I have hopes, but I’m taking it one day at a time.
I recently visited family home for the first time in two and a half years. I was anxious, overthinking, expecting the worst — but I handed it over to God, and it went well. My brother’s speaking to me again. I’m going to his wedding in August. People include me now. Before, they avoided me — knowing I’d use events as an excuse to drink.
What would I say to others? Even when you can’t see it, there is help out there. You think no one cares, that you’re alone — but you’re not. You have to open up. Recovery is hard. But nothing good comes easy. What you put in, you get out.
Once, I couldn’t take care of myself, even feed myself. I weighed seven stone. Now, I cook, I clean, I budget. I take care of myself. I sleep eight hours a night — without anything in my system. That’s what recovery has given me. Losing my job because of alcohol was one of the hardest things.
But now, I want to use what I’ve been through to help others in recovery. That’s where I see my future and I am hopeful.🙌
