When I was 37 and the mother of an adorable four-year-old whose life revolved around Peppa Pig, pesto pasta and soft play, a psychologist told me I had an “alcohol use disorder”.
I liked the sound of the word because it sounded medically treatable, not like something I was accidentally catching, like a virus. But most of all, I liked the word because it didn’t have the same embarrassing ring to it as “alcoholism.”
In contrast, a diagnosis of “alcohol use disorder” was one I could support. A couple of weeks of sobriety and a few more intensive therapy sessions would almost certainly turn me into the kind of person who could have one glass of red wine with dinner. Or maybe two, and still prefer to open another bottle and keep drinking, rather than have three or four or 15 and forget about dinner.
That’s the person I was when I confided in the psychologist at the central London rehab centre where a sober friend had taken me after it was clear that my attempts to stay sober were about as unsuccessful as Rishi Sunak’s election campaign.
As I tearfully nodded along to the diagnosis and imagined a life of drinking like every other mom I knew, as opposed to Keith Richards 1979, the psychologist said something that made me want to have a chilled glass of rosé, or maybe even a bottle.
When Bryony Gordon was 37, a psychologist told her she had an “alcohol abuse indication,” the medical term for alcoholism.
“In your situation,” he said gently, “you really only have two choices: continue your drug addiction or recover from it.”
My mouth dropped open in shock: I’m an addict?! But I was doing Reformer Pilates twice a week!
He nodded and explained that “alcohol use disorder” is actually just a medical term for alcoholism. I left, furious, but a few months later, a bad night of “binge drinking” sent me back to rehab, determined to let go of denial and get better.
That was almost seven years ago, and I have not had a drink since, going about my day.
I was reminded of that horrifying moment in my life when I read a report showing a 57 percent increase in “heavy drinking” among women over the past three years: While it remained stable among men, the number of women admitting to “heavy episodic drinking” increased from 13.8 percent to 21.7 percent.
A spokesman for Alcohol Change UK described the World Health Organisation’s findings as “heartbreaking”, but what I find most troubling is the careless language used to describe problem drinking.
“Occasional heavy drinking” is the new euphemism for unhealthy drinking, and it’s exactly the kind of thing I used to justify my behavior when I was downing two bottles of wine every night (or six or seven pints of beer, if I wanted to take a break).
“I’m not an alcoholic,” I would tell myself as I found my arms opening the fridge and reaching for another bottle, “I just tend to drink heavily sometimes when I’m stressed.”
At the time, I described myself as a “drinker,” and by all definitions, that is exactly what I was. I drank large amounts of alcohol in a short amount of time with the sole purpose of reaching oblivion. But I never woke up craving alcohol. In fact, I often woke up with a strong sense of shame and vowed never to drink again. So I’m not an alcoholic, right?
“I don’t drink during the day!” I pleaded with my rehab psychologist.
“Not yet,” he replied, explaining that alcoholism is like an elevator that goes ever downwards: You can get off on any floor you like, but if you get back on it will just take you ever further down.
Eventually, I realized I might as well drink all day because I spent all day thinking about it – thinking about what I’d done the night before when I blacked out, or planning when I’d get my daughter to bed so I could have my next glass of cold wine. All of the rules I had around alcohol – no drinking before 7pm, no drinking in front of my kids, no spirits – I thought I was in control.
But in reality, they were evidence of the power of alcohol over me. I wore the words “drinker” like armor, protecting me from the dreaded critical thought that I might have something in common with that old man drinking out of a paper bag on a park bench.
But after just a few days in rehab, I realized that many of us cling to this stereotype to escape the fact that alcoholism comes in many forms: Contrary to popular belief, alcoholics wear Sweaty Betty leggings and do Reformer Pilates.
This is why my heart sinks when I read words like “excessive drinking”: because while there are no doubt many people for whom the occasional “binge drinking” will do no harm to their body or mind, there are also many who use these words as an excuse to delay the inevitable — that is, to accept that it’s much easier for them to not drink than to “just” have a drink or two.
In the end, “alcoholism” is just a word, and I’m very lucky to have refused to let it kill me.
But people really do. And so many do. They try to prove to themselves until the day they die that they’re not an alcoholic. They spend their whole lives afraid of other people’s judgments, never realizing that the judgments their own mind makes when they realize for the umpteenth time that they can’t drink “normally” are the worst judgments ever.
So call it excessive drinking if you want, call it alcohol use disorder if that makes sense to you, but just know that a life without alcohol is possible, and what’s more, it is indescribably beautiful.
Since going through rehab, Briony has taken it one day at a time and has been sober for almost seven years.
A recent report found that “heavy drinking” among women has increased by 57% in the past three years (file image)
If Sir Keir Starmer wins next week, we will enter a new era: the era of a “First Lady” who refuses to recognise herself as First Lady. So far, Mrs Starmer (known to her friends as Victoria) has done an admirable job during this election campaign of refusing to be a figurehead.
In fact, given how rarely Queen Victoria appears in public, we can assume she only makes appearances for the King (as she did at a state dinner for the Emperor and Empress on Tuesday night) and the Queen (to see Taylor Swift at Wembley Stadium).
Tis the season to indulge in FOMO. After watching everyone at Royal Ascot and Taylor Swift last week, the next obstacle to my Instagram envy is Wimbledon, which starts on Monday.
One thing I don’t think I’ve missed is Glastonbury. The only time I went was in 2009 when I was 28 and couldn’t sleep for three days and ended up with viral conjunctivitis. Now it’s one of those events you can watch on TV from the comfort of your own home.
Many are concerned about Jennifer Lopez and Ben Affleck’s relationship, but what concerns me more is that she has started flying economy class, as seen this week when she traveled to Europe without a private jet.
Insiders say she’s trying to project a more “down to earth” image, but as someone who only flies in cramped cattle class, I’m not fooled. The most down to earth thing to do at 35,000 feet? Shouting with joy at the possibility of making a left turn!
Have you ever wondered how to get a bikini body quickly? Don’t worry, I have the answer. First, get a bikini. Then, put it on your body. That’s it. You’ll have a bikini body in no time!
Will Victoria become the first ‘invisible first lady’?
If Sir Keir Starmer wins next week, we will enter a new era: the era of a “First Lady” who refuses to recognise herself as First Lady. So far, Mrs Starmer (known as Victoria by her friends) has done an admirable job during this election campaign of refusing to be a figurehead.
In fact, judging by how rarely Queen Victoria appears in public, we can only assume she will make an appearance for the King, as she did at a state dinner for the Emperor and Empress on Tuesday night, and when she went to see the Queen, aka Taylor Swift, at Wembley Stadium.
Sir Keir Starmer and his wife Victoria attended the Taylor Swift concert at Wembley Stadium last week.
Many are concerned about Jennifer Lopez and Ben Affleck’s relationship, but what concerns me more is that she has started flying economy class, as seen this week when she traveled to Europe without a private jet.
Insiders say she’s trying to project a more “down to earth” image, but as someone who only flies in cramped cattle class, I’m not fooled. The most down to earth thing to do at 35,000 feet? Screaming with joy at the prospect of making a left turn!
No FOMO in Glasgow
Tis the season to indulge in FOMO. After watching everyone at Royal Ascot and Taylor Swift last week, the next obstacle to my Instagram envy is Wimbledon, which starts on Monday.
One thing I don’t think I’ve missed is Glastonbury. The only time I went was in 2009 when I was 28 and couldn’t sleep for three days and ended up with viral conjunctivitis. Now it’s one of those events you can watch on TV from the comfort of your own home.
Briony says she is so happy to be able to watch this year’s Glastonbury Festival on TV from the comfort of her own home.
Self-Confidence Clinic
Have you ever wondered how to get a bikini body quickly? Don’t worry, I have the answer. First, get a bikini. Then, put it on your body. That’s it. You’ll have a bikini body in no time!
