My addiction was alcoholism, and I suffered from it from a very young age. I had the inability to leave alcohol alone, and once I started, I couldn’t control how much I drank. This torturous experience eventually led me to self-refer to a rehab in South Wales, where I stayed for several months. But as soon as I returned home, I relapsed almost immediately. No matter how strong the wish or the want was to stop, I had no self-will. I was baffled, confused, scared, lonely, and full of shame.
My alcoholism got progressively worse from my early teens right into my twenties and up to the age of 38, when I finally self-referred again. During those years, I had three drink-driving convictions over a ten-year span, over 20 drunken disorderly arrests, and I was barred from most pubs and licensed venues in Denbighshire. I had multiple injuries—concussions, fractured bones, black eyes, and bruises from constant falls.
I lost all sense of hygiene and self-respect. My relationships failed, and I experienced psychiatric sections, consultations with doctors, drug and alcohol services, and mental health assessments. I was placed on high suicide risk. I lost jobs, I had a failed kidney, and I was constantly moving around. I weighed only six and a half stone. I was over £23,000 in debt, and my family had completely given up on me.
Locally, I was known as the town drunk—people would see me slumped in Rhyl town centre doorways, covered in vomit and soaked in urine. I didn’t see the point in living. I was either intoxicated and antisocial, or unconscious. As soon as I opened my eyes, the race was on to find more alcohol. I had a mental obsession with alcohol, and once I put it in my body, I developed an overwhelming physical desire for more. It was like a thirst I couldn’t quench.
Now, after 5½ years in recovery, I understand that nothing triggered my addiction. I believe I have a genetic allergy to ethanol. When I drink, my body has a different reaction—it sets off what is known as the phenomenon of craving. I wasn’t drinking to escape reality; I was drinking to overcome a craving beyond my mental control. Even knowing the damage alcohol was doing wasn’t enough to stop me. I couldn’t control, stop, or moderate. My condition only progressed. I had no power. This mental obsession was stronger than my will. I was in a hopeless state of mind and body. Everything I tried failed. I wanted to stop drinking—truly—but I simply could not. I was beyond human aid.
Through my journey, I found permanent recovery through a 12-step programme in Alcoholics Anonymous. This programmme enabled me to experience a complete psychic change and a spiritual awakening, which removed my obsession to drink. I now live in freedom. I have an exemption from an internal control. I will never be cured of alcoholism—I am simply recovered from the symptom. The symptom being my inability to leave alcohol alone. That obsession has been removed, and today, I live freely.
I came to North Wales Recovery Communities (NWRC) as a community member on May 25, 2019, after coming out of rehab and relapsing. I was desperate, hopeless, and full of fear.
NWRC gave me something I hadn’t experienced before: a sense of belonging. I was surrounded by people who understood, who didn’t judge me. For the first time ever, I felt safe enough to be honest. I told the truth about how I drank, how I felt—all the stuff I had hidden out of fear of rejection. NWRC gave me a safe space to just breathe.
There was no pressure, and for the first time, I had a glimpse of hope. I joined in group sessions, fitness activities, cooking, walks—and most unexpectedly, I had my first proper belly laugh sober. It might sound silly, but that belly laugh has stayed with me. It reminded me I was still alive inside.
I was travelling three hours each way on a bus from Rhyl to get there. I attended groups like Moving On in My Recovery, Alcoholics Anonymous, SMART Recovery. I loved being around others who were just like me. I enjoyed the walks and the chats with staff members—all of whom were in recovery themselves. That gave me hope. They had been where I was, and they were now living free.
After several months of coming as a community member, I was offered a room to move in permanently. I became a resident in February 2020, just before the first lockdown. It was the best decision I’ve ever made. Being a resident gave me 24/7 care, structure, and support. It laid the foundation for everything I’ve built since.
I listened, I took the advice, and I gave it my all—because nothing else I’d tried had worked. The staff and other residents had this light in their eyes… and I wanted what they had. They had peace. They had freedom from pain. I wanted that too.
My biggest success in recovery is being a present, reliable mum to my 28-year-old daughter. I can support her emotionally, financially, and just be there for her—something I couldn’t do before.
I also found love—I got married at 40 (better late than never!). I got my driving licence back after an 8-year ban. I’m now a reliable employee, and I’ve even managed to build savings—which still surprises me!
But above all else, what makes me happiest is that I can now help others. When someone comes to me and says, ‘I’ve got a drinking problem—can you help?’—I can honestly say, ‘Yes, I can.’ That’s the real gift.
I am truly, deeply grateful to every single person at NWRC—and especially to James and the entire NWRC team. Without these people, without that place, I honestly don’t know where I’d be. NWRC is where my recovery truly began.
I arrived as a desperate, drowning woman—and NWRC saved me.
The memories I carry from that time are just wonderful—full of warmth, connection, and hope. I got the chance to give back while I was there too. I took over from Arlene as the cleaner, picking up some domestic hours around the house, which I really enjoyed. From there, I went on to learn parts of the role to become an on-duty officer, supporting the residents directly.
Now, I still help out on bank shifts, and it’s just amazing to come back and be able to help newcomers walking through those doors—knowing exactly how they feel, because I’ve been there.
It’s a real gift to be able to turn my pain and suffering into purpose. To give back. To offer hope. To show that recovery really is possible.