“Rock bottom isn’t always a crash — sometimes it’s a quiet series of compromises you don’t notice until you’ve lost too much.”
— From someone who finally saw clearly
Opening Reflection
That was my binge drinking story. Not sudden. But obvious — in hindsight.
I didn’t hit a wall. I slid down it — slowly, over years.
Losing parts of myself without realising how bad it had become.
From the outside, I looked like I was holding it together.
Decent job. Decent clothes. Still showing up.
But inside? I wasn’t functioning. Not really.
I was just getting through the days. Lying to myself — and everyone else.
I didn’t know how to stop my binge drinking story. I didn’t even realise how bad it had become. Until suddenly, I did.
To the Reader
If you’re reading this late on a Sunday, scrolling through blogs and wondering whether it’s time to change…
You’re not alone.
I used to do that too.
The anxiety after a weekend binge. The panic that something slipped out.
The quiet shame that builds over time.
The private Google searches:
- “Do I have a drinking problem?”
- “Can I stop without AA?”
- “Am I an alcoholic if I only drink at weekends?”
- “Best excuse to call in sick UK”
- “Will my liver recover from binge drinking?”
You don’t need to have all the answers yet.
Just know this — change is possible.
You can hit rock bottom without making a sound.
And you can still come back.
I didn’t know how to stop binge drinking. But I know now — the earlier you listen to the signs, the less you’ll lose.
The Descent
My drinking story started like many in the UK.
Pints with the lads. Nights out. Raves. Family drinks. Holidays abroad — sun, spirits, stories. It’s seen as a part of growing up.
I was fit, sociable, sharp. Drinking felt normal — part of being young.
But even then, I drank more than most. I ignored that.
Gradually, it became my go-to.
First to relax. Then to cope. Then to hide.
As life got harder, the drinking got heavier.
I became a dad — young. Then again. And again.
Three beautiful daughters I love with everything I have.
But I was already slipping.
I wasn’t a daily drinker — not even close. And down the line, that might have saved me.
But the binges? They were brutal. Short, sharp, and often secret.
My mental health was spiralling. The binges got longer. The recovery harder.
The shakes. “The Fear.” That post-binge panic where you feel like your heart might explode.
The anxiety so bad, I honestly thought I might die.
I knew then I had to figure out how to stop binge drinking.
But I ignored it. You feel indestructible — until you’re not.
We moved to a new town for more space. A bigger house for a growing family.
But the relationship? It was already broken. No love left.
And I was more isolated than I’d ever been.
Ashamed. Overwhelmed. Drinking more than ever.
Money was tight. But there was always a way to find alcohol. Credit. Loans.
Another sign ignored. At one point, we were around £30,000 in debt.
Alcohol played a huge part in that. When you have a problem, you always find money. It becomes a necessity. A sole focus.
Where It Got Worse – A Binge Drinking Story
There was emotional and physical abuse in the home — something I avoided admitting for years.
It had a huge impact on my drinking — and on my life.
Living with someone who struggled with mental health was incredibly difficult. That too was hidden, for complex reasons.
I could’ve left. I could’ve called social services. I didn’t. That’s on me too.
One night I did leave — then stupidly turned back. I wish I hadn’t. I wish I had gone. A sliding doors moment.
What if? I’d bet a very different life. I weighed up my own happiness against the sake of my children. That trade-off? I don’t even see the balance now. How does a human balance that up?
I told myself I drank to cope. But really? I was lost. I didn’t know who I was anymore.
I blamed others. Pressure. Stress.
But addiction doesn’t care who you blame. And alcohol never solves what caused the pain — it just delays the fallout.
I’ve read everything now — trauma, ACEs, relapse, co-dependency, grief.
I’ve sat in counselling. I’ve been to groups. I’ve walked hospital corridors and listened to stories that echoed my own. Some were wildly different. Others eerily familiar.
Every story is unique. But certain themes repeat. The loneliness. The lies. The fear.
Once the fog began to lift, I lived it. Heard it. Got lost in it. Survived it.
The fact I still have my health — and the job I do — is nothing short of a miracle. I only saw that later.
But back then? The drinking ramped up. So did the anxiety.
Missed events. Made-up excuses. Hangovers that lasted days.
The house looked fine. The job looked fine. I looked fine.
But inside? Chaos.
I became self-centred. An egotist. ‘Poor me.’ I drank selfishly.
I got up for my children — they were never in danger — but I should have protected them more.
The marriage was long over. No love left. Just shouting and silence.
My ex drank more than me. It was toxic. Hers was hidden. She never got up at weekends. Ever. Her hangovers increased her temper. I got up, but was not truly there either.
One day, Maisie — my youngest — joked, “Let’s drink wine and have a fight.”
She was trying to be funny. But it gutted me. That was her normal. How our actions were effecting the girls. That’s only one connotation she will have of alcohol. Aggresion. instability.
I went to the GP many times. Did quiet chemical detoxes at home. Another sign not heeded.
Lied constantly — told myself I was in control.
Then my dad died. I unravelled. Epically. Longer, more intense and frequent binges. Alcohol went into orbit. Grief took full swing. I was a complete mess and looking back had a full on breakdown.
My children were grieving too — and had to deal with me as well.
Eventually, I landed in hospital. Just one night. New low point on my binge drinking story. Scared that finally I had done some damage.
“You’re not withdrawing anymore,” a nurse told me. Bloods all normal. Liver? “Perfect” apparently.
It should’ve been a turning point.
But I carried on.
That was just the start of the darkest chapter.
Relapses. Lost time. Lies. Damage. The binge drinking story was like a runaway express
I was still functioning on paper. But I was losing everything — slowly.
The shame is the worst part.
I now know my kids were going through ACEs — Adverse Childhood Experiences — while I was pretending I was fine.
Missed birthdays. Mood swings. Absences. These things shape a child. You can’t undo them.
I can’t fix the past. But I can own it.
This blog is for me — but also for them.
I can rebuild finances. But not time.
I can’t go back and cook tea with them. Take them to the park. Plan those little days out they deserved.
They happened — just nowhere near enough.
Maisie saw glimpses of the best of me — and the worst.
When I left the family home, she got many calm, happy times at our new house.
Walks in the country. Cooking her favourite soup. Her dolls. Her art sets.
But by then, the drinking had progressed. Whilst still relatively short, binges became far sharper.
I tried to shield her from them. But I couldn’t. Not fully.
This story is for all three of my girls. The victims of my binge drinking story. Hurt. Damaged. Never their fault. Like many children, innocent victims of their parents.
One day I hope I can help them heal. Acknowledge my part. Maybe even rebuild the kind of relationship we had when they were young.
Divorced dads often have to reconnect. Many will have to atone – like I do now.
Rock Bottom? It Wasn’t.
That hospital visit should’ve been the end of the descent. But it wasn’t.
If only I’d listened then.
It got worse. Much worse.
But maybe if I had listened, I wouldn’t be here now — rebuilding.
The truth is, I was already losing everything — I just didn’t know it.
I kept finding new things to lose. New chances at happiness. All slipping away from past choices.
Now? I’m 97 days sober. My liver — is, somehow, perfect. So are my other organs.
Even the doctors were shocked.
So was I. But that can’t last forever.
No visible damage. One doctor calls me “The Comeback Kid.”
He’s seen me at my worst. I never want to see him again.
I’ve had more helping hands than most.
Why? Maybe because I’m a decent guy. Maybe they saw something worth saving.
Maybe it’s because of the job I do — helping others. Not the stereotype you’d expect.
I won’t waste the chance.
Next time, I’ll share what came next, the very worst part — and how I stopped being a quiet statistic. Eventually my binge drinking story would end. Along the way it got far worse, places I never expected to be. Not proud of how it ended up, but maybe that makes me thebest person to tell a binge drinking story that could belong to anyone.
Still climbing. Still sober. Still rebuilding.
If you’re new here and want to know who I am and why I started this blog, read more about me.
If this resonated with you…
You’re not alone.
If you’re struggling, please reach out to someone — even if it’s just a friend or a helpline.
Change is possible. You are not your mistakes.
For UK-based support:
And if you’re looking to understand how childhood experiences shape adult lives, start learning about ACEs. It might help explain more than you ever realised.
