Drinking too much at Christmas for some people is simply a case of seasonal overindulgence. You knock them back, maybe cut the rug, and then pay your dues in the morning with a hangover. And then crack on as normal.

But for addicted drinkers it’s a very different story. For both them and their families. The chaos and destruction can be seismic.

We talk to two people – an alcoholic who got sober, and someone who has lived with alcoholics most of her life. Here are two sides of the story…

The alcoholic – Jane’s story

I always knew my drinking was different to everyone else’s. I started early, for one thing. And I don’t mean early in the day, I mean early in life. I went to a strict boarding school that I hated, and by the age of 10 I realised that drinking made everything much more bearable.

As a weekly boarder I went home at weekends where I would simply siphon off booze from the considerable stores at home. Both my parents were ‘functioning’ alcoholics and stocks were well-maintained. I’d fill flasks with brandy or whisky and had a little hip flask I’d nicked from some cupboard at home. So I just used to keep it in my bag. It never occurred to me that this wasn’t normal. I was just pleased to have found a way to cope.

Growing up through my teens and twenties I just threw myself into drinking with considerable enthusiasm. Looking back now my life was – is – a complete blur. At that age there are plenty of willing wild ones to play with. And my drinking at that age never really seemed outwardly much different from anybody else’s. We were all partying, all the time.

I would drink in the mornings – a couple of glasses of wine to get the day off to a good start

But I knew it was different. I mean, looking back now, I knew inside. At the time I was in denial, I thought I was the same as everyone else. But I would drink in the mornings – a couple of glasses of wine to get the day off to a good start, and then during the afternoon and into the evening.

The volume I drank was extraordinary. But it was the possibility of NOT having it that made me know it was wrong. If I went to a party I’d always take spare stores and hide them – the idea of running out of drink was terrifying. I couldn’t conceive of having a day off drinking. I got a stomach ulcer and even that didn’t stop me, when I was coughing up blood. And still I thought I was okay.

If you think you’re drinking too much, please, visit Rehab Today to take their self-assessment quiz on drinking.

Running out of excuses

As I started my thirties, that’s when I really started to feel broken inside, and spiritually bankrupt. I spent my entire life either drunk, or full of remorse. I’d wake up with a sense of dread, and remember things I’d done yesterday. Or the things I should have done, and failed miserably to do.

Obviously the answer seemed to be to just drink again. It made all the worries go away. But inside I was deeply unhappy, and I felt trapped. It never occurred to me that I was an alcoholic. I just thought life was shit – but I knew that three glasses of wine in, it stopped feeling that way. So why would I stop?

Divine intervention

I was cheating on my husband at a drunken party when things changed. Literally. I woke up in someone else’s bed, when I had promised to be back early because he had been looking after the kids all day, and just felt like a shit, and like shit – again.

But the guy I was with was in a worse state and he was crying, and ringing his AA sponsor because he’d fallen off the wagon. I still don’t understand why, but he passed me the phone, and I talked to this sponsor, and in that flashing second, everything fell into place. In AA they talk about the ‘gift of desperation’ and I had that in spades that morning. The timing was perfect. God-given, you might argue.

I don’t think either of us were prepared for how rough the next few days were going to be on me – basically I was having a hangover from about 18 years of drinking

I went home and confessed to my husband, which was messy and unpleasant, but that evening I also went to my first ever AA meeting. It was terrifying. My biggest fear was how it was going to feel when I stopped drinking, how would I cope with the anxiety? I knew how I felt if I couldn’t drink until later in the day, let alone not drink all day! But someone welcomed me in, and I sat and listened, and drank tea, and the rest is history. I’ve been sober 16 years.

I went home after the meeting and told my husband I would keep going back. He was so relieved he sobbed. Can’t believe he stayed with me but he did. However, I don’t think either of us were prepared for how rough the next few days were going to be on me. Basically I was having a hangover from about 18 years of drinking.

I was so ill, I literally thought I might die. The doctor prescribed me some Valium to help me through the worst of the early stages, and that made a huge difference. But actually in a weird way, being so ill really made me even more determined. I was finally able to admit I was sick. My life fundamentally changed.

To say I’m grateful is the biggest understatement possible. I was so desperately unhappy, and I didn’t think I could change. But I could, and I did.

Making amends

It was only when I stopped drinking that I began to see the damaging effect my behaviour had had on other people and I’ve spent a lot of time making amends. I’ve ruined so many events (so many Christmases full of dramas and tears and honestly, all because of me. That was really hard to admit and face up to, as I have kids). And I’ve really had to put some work in to try and repair the damage I’ve done at home, emotionally. But my focus now is also on taking care of myself, not allowing myself to feel complacent. I know that picking up literally one drink will mean the end of me. It’s like being given a second chance at life and I’m not ever, ever throwing that away.

Booze-free alternatives to spirits and cocktails 

The alcoholic’s child – Sarah’s story

I grew up in ‘an alcoholic home’ which is how it’s described, although of course it’s not the home that’s the alcoholic. It’s people. And for me it was my mother.

As a very young child I remember her being really lovely; engaged and engaging, warm and loving and kind, and involved in me and my life. We laughed a lot. She was clever and funny, and an artist who could fashion pictures out of nothing, delighting me and my brother with drawings of dogs, or sculptures from twisted napkins.

At that time my parents seemed happy enough – they were very sociable and we had a lot of parties, and dinners at the house. And a lot of babysitters – they went out a lot. But as time passed things changed.

Mum was often drunk when we came home from school and that became a bit like Russian roulette

It was when I was around eight or nine years old I really noticed stuff wasn’t right. Our house was always untidy, I stopped wanting to bring friends round because I was embarrassed about the mess. Mum was often drunk when we came home from school and that became a bit like Russian roulette – some days she’d be upbeat and playing music, enjoying it – but often not. Often she’d be scowling and shouting, or crying and telling my brother and me how unhappy she was, sobbing about how our father had ruined her life.

Home was a war zone

My parents seemed to argue all the time. Every day. The coming-home Russian roulette got worse then, because we used to dread dad being there too. That would always make things ten times worse because he was angry and stressed and it felt like we got it from both barrels then.

We’d try desperately to find excuses to go to friends’ houses and just avoid going home but when you’re 11 or 12 years old, you don’t get much choice in matters. My brother and I used to sit at the top of the stairs crying silently and watching them throwing things at each other, watching it get more violent. It was terrifying.

I can picture myself still, a small child, marking the labels on the whisky bottle to see how much she’d drunk, as a kind of barometer

Identifying that the drinking was at the root of the problem, we used to beg her not to drink. She’d promise not to but obviously not keep that promise.

I can picture myself still, a small child, marking the labels on the whisky bottle to see how much she’d drunk. Like a kind of barometer. I didn’t understand that she couldn’t stop. I just thought she didn’t care about us.

Living in mess

The house was absolutely riddled with empty bottles she’d hidden. I was doing my own laundry one day (she’d stopped doing anything like that from the time I was about 11) and everything came out streaked with pink. She’d hidden an entire bottle of Dubonnet in the washing machine. The stuff was everywhere, in drawers, cupboards, under beds…

When she was really bad, really full of fire and anger, she’d take it out on me and my brother because my dad was often not at home. She had this thing where she’d sit downstairs getting more and more drunk and stewing on some invented issue, then come into our rooms when we were fast asleep and just start screeching at us. I remember one night I was fast asleep and the light suddenly went on; she launched herself from the bedroom door at me, slapping me round the head, because I was ‘ungrateful’. To this day I have issues about being woken up from sleep by other people.

Many children in alcoholic homes blame themselves for their parents’ drinking – they believe if they behave better or perform better they’ll make their parent happy enough to stop drinking, that somehow it’s their fault.

I never felt like that. I always knew it was her, even though she tried to say it was me, or my brother or – mostly – my father’s fault. And I was so angry with her. I was angry with her well into my forties.

I went to visit mum in the psychiatric ward they’d put her in to dry out, and she was shaky but OK, and it was like having a glimmer of the person she used to be

The inevitable end

My mother died when I was 18. I had her committed myself once, at the age of 16 when she was so ill she couldn’t get out of bed. I didn’t know what to do – dad had left home and was trying to set up a new place elsewhere – so I called the doctor. He was absolutely horrified when he did the house visit, and sectioned her.

I stayed with my grandmother which was a magical oasis of calm. It was hard to ever imagine going back. Visited mum in the psychiatric ward they’d put her in to dry out, and she was shaky but OK. It was a tiny glimmer of the person she used to be. I was so hopeful for the future.

But she came out and lasted less than a week. I didn’t know enough then to understand that sobriety only sticks when the alcoholic chooses it themselves.

After the hospital called and she had died I felt nothing except relief. I know that sounds awful but it’s true – it had been so horrible for so long and she was so unhappy. Unfortunately in the ‘80s there wasn’t much in the way of understanding for addiction issues, not like there is today, and I wasn’t offered much in the way of support or counseling.

My own recovery

Basically I left my home town, ran away to London and lived a really wild life for years, unconsciously recreating the chaos and madness I’d grown up with, partying, drinking, taking drugs – I got into the rave scene which was great for a while, I managed to lose a good few years in a euphoric fantasy. And I’ve lost count of the number of boyfriends I’ve had who’ve been alcoholics or addicts. I was a mess.

I finally found peace in Al Anon, which is the flip side of AA, for the friends and families of alcoholics. I actually ended up going one night because I’d broken another relationship with my mad behaviour and whereas normally I didn’t care, with this one I cared enough to finally consider that perhaps the reason stuff kept going wrong in my life might have something to do with my own behaviour.

Anyway I went to this meeting in pieces and it changed my life. I finally realised that alcoholism had made me ill too, even though I wasn’t an alcoholic, and was able to change my own behaviour. I got the guy back, by the way, and we have been together for about 12 years now! I’m living proof that you can definitely fix the damage, but it takes work, and it takes humility.

[Names supplied]

If you’ve been affected by this article or you’re worried about your own, or someone else’s drinking…

Alcohol Awareness Week – find out more

Alcoholics Anonymous has a helpline, which is manned 24/7 – call 0800 9177 650
If you prefer email, you can also use help@aamail.org

If you’re worried about someone else’s drinking – or indeed your own wellbeing – Al-Anon is a good place to start

If you’re a teen (for ages 12- 17) who has parents or family members or friends whose drinking is making you worried, there is also Alateen

General advice about addiction – not just alcoholism – can be found at Addaction

Sam Harrington-Lowe

Sam is Silver’s founder and editor-in-chief. She’s largely responsible for organising all the things, but still finds time to do the odd bit of writing. Not enough though. Send help.

The post Alcoholism – the drinking, the damage, and the dread of Christmas appeared first on Silver Magazine.

Right chaps! What is this nonsense about men and midlife crisis? We see a lot of stuff in magazines and online about women and how it’s fine to grow old disgracefully and wear what the hell you want and speak your mind and generally be STRONG, and I’m behind that 100%. Just getting that out there right now, before you all sharpen your pencils.

In fact I’m behind that whatever age you are, frankly. Go sisters, I’m right there in that corner. Do what the hell you like.

BUT what about us poor fellows?!

When we hit a ‘certain age’ and want to go all crazy we get accused of having a midlife crisis. Where is our support network? Where are the comments I want to read like ‘Hey boyfriend, you do your thing and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise because you’re an absolute king’? We can be Instagram stars and live our best lives after 50 too, you know.

Joking aside, there really is a bit of a tilt here. A quick search of the web this morning and the phrase ‘signs of a midlife crisis’ turns out a ton of lists that basically take the piss out of us chaps.

And yet when I suggest that it’s ‘my time’… I’m having a midlife crisis. “Why don’t you get a motorbike and dye what’s left of your hair pink?” guffawed one of my best mates.

As I’ve got older (64, since you ask) I’ve found – much in the same way I see women defiantly claiming – that I feel more ‘myself’. I have more self-confidence, I am less worried about the small stuff. I speak my mind, I am kinder to other people. Amazingly, I am solvent and free to do as I please, within reason. I try and help causes, and I have raised three amazing children who all now have their own lives. And have left the nest reasonably happy and able to fly. I’ve hung on to an amazing wife who never stabbed me or anything. I’ve done OK.

But it’s okay for women?

And yet when I suggest that it’s ‘my time’ and maybe I’ll do some new stuff, my wife and family – and my friends – all laugh at me and tell me I’m having a midlife crisis. “Why don’t you get a motorbike and dye what’s left of your hair pink?” guffawed one of my best mates.

Well – why not indeed? The bike – well who wouldn’t want to throw caution to the winds and head out on the highway? I don’t have a great deal of hair, and I’m not convinced pink would suit my colouring. But dammit, shouldn’t I be able to do that if I wanted to?

How to spot a ‘midlife crisis’

Signs to look out for (apparently) include going vegan, signing up for sporting challenges, reaching out to old lovers, reaching out to MUCH younger new lovers, buying a toupee, getting a tattoo, buying expensive toys like Lamborghinis (if only), learning to play an instrument or joining a band, taking up an extreme sport, going to Glastonbury… you get the picture.

I’ve sacrificed a whole ton of dreams to support my family – whom I love without reservation. But the truth is that there is a huge list of things I didn’t do, because I put them first

So explain to me why any of these are bad ideas. All these things sound like fun to me (no, not the lovers, for the benefit of my wife who is probably reading this). But really – aren’t a lot of these the things most of us would always kinda like to be doing, but during your child-rearing or career years didn’t have the time or the money to do? That’s certainly been my experience.

It’s my time!

I’ve sacrificed a whole ton of dreams to support my family – whom I love without reservation and have absolutely no regrets about doing so for them. But the honest truth is that there is a huge list of things I didn’t do, because I put them first. On the one hand, I’m proud of that. On the other – well, now that’s not my primary function, isn’t it time for me? Just a bit?

In the interests of even-handedness I should probably identify that men having a midlife crisis often do so as as a result of something happening to them. And of course they’re not just for men.

Bereavement is right up there for turning your life upside down; empty nest syndrome, illness, retirement, depression, fear of mortality, partners leaving, the weight of caring for elderly parents, loss of jobs – all these thing and more can really knock one sideways, and the ‘crisis’ is often simply nothing more than a coping mechanism.

In those situations, surely it’s sympathy not ridicule that is needed. Jeez, whatever gets you through the dark days, hey? If this is you, by the way, maybe look for some kind, professional help with whatever darkness you’re coping with – and if this is someone you know… well, stop laughing at them.

But what about the reasonably-happy-but-slightly-bored-and-restless blokes like me? Surely we should be allowed to grasp the nettle?!

If I’m going to have a Midlife Revival I want it to rock with its cock out. God love us, we are not here for very long

Some of the ‘signs you’re having a midlife crisis’ items I’ve seen on various lists are just stupid. A piece in The Telegraph suggests concerns like ‘only reading books when you are on holiday’ or ‘taking out a direct debit to donate to a charity’ are an indication.

Sorry, but what sort of crisis is this?! It sounds to me like the same sort of crisis I might have on a wet Sunday afternoon with nothing to do except watch the rain trickle down the window and be trying to decide whether to wipe the window sill or not.

If you’re going to do a thing, do it properly

If I’m going to have a Midlife Revival (and it’s time we stopped referring to it as a crisis) I want it to rock with its cock out. God love us, we are not here for very long. If you’ve hit 60 and there is a long list of stuff you want to do, you should bloody well start planning it. Now.

So here’s my Midlife Revival list. I’m planning to try and tick off as many of these as I can in the next ten years, if I’m lucky enough to live that long.

MIDLIFE REVIVAL LIST – 11 THINGS TO DO WHILST I STILL CAN

1. Get to Glastonbury again. If I really put the effort into it, I would absolutely love to do Burning Man.
2. Pick up my guitar. I’ve got some other friends who used to be in bands and I’m totally into a ‘dad band’ and doing some local pub gigs if I can persuade some of the others. I will force my kids to come.
3. Do a class that’s normally seen as ‘female’ such as a pottery group or maybe even a cookery class. I’m not much cop in the kitchen – I’d love to be able to make some amazing dinners for my missus.
4. Do Route 66. I know, I know. This has to be one of those right up there on the MLC lists. But I want to do it.
5. Read more books. As in, put down the smartphone and pick up something made of paper and print, and immerse myself in other worlds.
6. I have to face it – the receding hairline is now beyond help. So it’s a short clip for me next week – I’m going to buzz it all off, down to a No2 or so. BUT I’m also going to explore wearing dapper hats, and more caps.
7. And talking of dapper – my adult life has largely been spent rushing around working or parenting. I would dearly love to try dressing in a more sartorial way. I’d like to get a couple of proper suits made, and try to dress formally at least once a week like an adult. And use a silver-topped cane.
8. Take better care of my physical health. I’m not about to sign up for a Tough Mudder, but I could eat better, take some vits, do more exercise. I’ll feel better too.
9. Give up alcohol.
10. Just kidding about that last one. But try to drink more discerningly, talk less bollocks, and learn more about wine. Start to build a wine cellar.
11. Give something back. Not quite sure how. But I’m sure I could put my years of experience and my freer time to good use, doing something for other people. So that’s on the list. It’s at the top really, it was just more fun to blaze straight in with the festivals.

Use the hashtag on Twitter, Facebook and Instagram to tell us more about your own midlife renaissances and revivals. Men of the world, unite for your right to parrrrrrrtttttaaaay.

#midliferevival

Men’s Health Week

Adam Archway

The post Men! It’s not a midlife crisis. It’s a midlife revival appeared first on Silver Magazine.

Happiness in adulthood is a U-shaped curve. Not to be confused with U and Non-U – the U in this case is visual, an emotional bell curve. And the good news is that it goes up as you get older.

A global study conducted by Warwick University academics David Blancheflower and Andrew Oswald in 2008 found that in the UK we are happy and carefree in our younger adult years, slowly dropping down in our 20s and 30s before hitting ‘peak depression’ at the age of 44, and then steadily rising in happiness again as we age.

Across the world, the bottom of the curve hits different ages although there isn’t a huge variation, with the mean across all countries coming in at 46. But with all studies the general outcome was the same – every one had a U-shaped curve, and after 46, the only way is up.

HOW DOES THIS WORK?

Firstly it’s obviously worth pointing out that not everyone will have the same experience. Many of the factors that make us happy or depressed – relationship happiness, career success, life satisfaction, parenting – can happen at any time of life.

But as a rule of thumb, the U-shaped curve looks a bit like this….

We hit the ground running as we come into our youthful adulthood, aspirational and ambitious, and full of energy. As we work up through our 20s and 30s we achieve the goals we set out to score, but despite reaching those targets, we find it’s not all it’s cracked up to be.

…by the time we enter our 40s we’re disillusioned, questioning our life choices, maybe craving even more than we already have

As we lengthen into our late 30s, dissatisfaction creeps in, along with the ‘is that is?’ sensation, and by the time we enter our 40s we’re disillusioned, questioning our life choices, maybe craving even more than we already have. Often though, the slump isn’t about anything in particular, it can just be a slump. And by 44-46 we are likely to be at the lowest point, happiness-wise, of our whole lives.

But the good news is that seeing it through means there’s good times coming. And by 50 you’re well on the ascendant again. Assuming you’re lucky enough to get that far, 70 looks awesome, and that time between 50 and 70 is probably the best happiness zone of your life.

WHY IS THIS?

Firstly, looking at why our 20s and 30s are harder, it’s perhaps important to appreciate the pressure we put ourselves under. Pressure to look good, attract a mate, get the good job, have the nice home, travel the world, have money, have kids… it can feel like there is a lot to do.

Once we hit our 40s and we’ve done quite a lot of these things, there can perhaps be a sensation of there not being much left to do. Our vision is still skewed towards the ‘outward’. We’re also likely to be in positions of care – perhaps for our kids, or elder parent, often both. With work pressure and financial burdens added to the mix, it’s no wonder our 40s can look a bit grim.

As we age though, we become more aware of the smaller things in life bringing us greater pleasure. There is less pressure to ‘perform’ and certainly far less of a need to CONform. The freedom that age brings has a lot to do with this happiness upswing.

TELL US MORE ABOUT THIS FREEDOM AND HAPPY UPSWING

So firstly it’s rather lovely to identify that research shows this isn’t really about money or personal possessions or success in a material sense. It’s far more about the fact that as we age, we connect more with the things in life that actually bring us real happiness.

…in amongst that is also the joy of feeling happier with ourselves. Feeling less of a need to compete or strive for material success, less of a need to please other people

Appreciating the small things in life, being grateful, helping others, and enjoying friendships are just some of those things. As we get older we tend to feel more appreciative and thankful for love, life, and relationships. And engage with hobbies, creativity and improved social and familial relationships.

But in amongst that is also the joy of feeling happier with ourselves. Feeling less of a need to compete or strive for material success, less of a need to please other people, and an overall feeling of being more content with ourselves as human beings. And giving fewer f**ks.

Volunteering and helping others is something else that brings happiness, and in our latter years we have more time for this. And perhaps as the inevitable draws nearer, we come to realise that there’s no point sweating the small stuff. We are less likely to feel stress, regret, or experience negative emotions generally. Life’s too short, right?

Jonathan Rauch, author of The Happiness Curve: Why Life Gets Better After 50, said in a Guardian article last year that he wishes he’d known what was around the corner when he was in the trough of the curve because, “It’s worth the wait.”

So we’re here to tell you instead. If you’re in the doldrums and you’re at the front end of your third life, take heart. It’s only going to get better.

#InternationalDayofHappiness

Sam Harrington-Lowe

Sam is Silver’s founder and editor-in-chief. She’s largely responsible for organising all the things, but still finds time to do the odd bit of writing. Not enough though. Send help.

The post The U-shaped curve of happiness – why we are happier after 50 appeared first on Silver Magazine.