"What's wrong with mummy?"

‍

Michelle had always been the life of the party. A binge drinker, sure, but not someone who drank every day. Not someone with a "real problem." At least, that's what she told herself - right up until the night her daughter asked a question she couldn't ignore.

‍

Michelle had just arrived home from a beer festival - but the problem was, she couldn’t remember how she got there.

‍

She knows her friends brought her back - they must have, because she woke up in her own house. She'd arranged for someone to watch the kids, and she'd thought they'd be asleep by the time she arrived.

‍

But they weren't.

‍

Her daughter was old enough to ask questions. Old enough to remember when her father had struggled with his drinking, whose relationship with Michelle had ended years earlier. Old enough to see what was happening now and connect it to what had happened then.

‍

"What's wrong with mummy?" she asked.

‍

Soon after, the babysitter had to leave. Michelle was alone with her children, still intoxicated and still barely functional. "Who knows what could have happened," she says now, her voice quiet.
‍

"You think about these things after the fact, and it's pretty shocking."

‍

That moment of her daughter's question cutting through the fog, the memories it dragged up, the realisation of what could have gone wrong - that was the wake-up call she couldn't ignore anymore.

‍

‍

I wasn't a stereotypical 'alcoholic'

‍

Here's the thing Michelle wants you to understand: she never thought she had a real problem.

‍

She'd been drinking since before she was old enough to legally buy alcohol - always the life of the party, always fun and always up for it. A binge drinker, sure, but not a daily drinker. And that distinction mattered to her.

‍

"I wasn't a stereotypical 'alcoholic,'" she explains.

‍

"They call it grey area drinking. I wasn't drinking every day. I wasn't waking up and drinking first thing in the morning."

‍

Michelle knows now that it’s easy to hide in that grey area. Easy to convince yourself you're fine because you can always point to someone worse and say, "At least I'm not that bad."

‍

‍

For years, Michelle stayed fairly stable with her drinking - but then loneliness crept in, life working from home got isolating and the stress built up. And her drinking, which had always been there in the background, started taking up more space in her life.

‍

She told herself it helped. Stressful job, stressful single parenting - all the reasons you think a few drinks will take the edge off. "But it doesn't actually help," Michelle says now. "It just doesn't."

‍

Still, she thought she needed it. More than that, she thought she enjoyed it. The idea of giving it up felt impossible, unnecessary even. She wasn't that bad.

‍

Except the warning signs kept piling up.

‍

‍

The blackouts started adding up

‍

First, there was the polo event.

‍

One of those big day-drinking affairs where everyone's having a good time, the sun's out, the drinks are flowing. Michelle was there with all her friends, laughing and socialising, feeling fine.

‍

Until somehow, they lost her.

‍

She doesn't know what happened. Massive blackout. The next thing she remembers is being alone, trying to figure out how to get home. When she checked her wallet later, she found a card from a safety volunteer who'd helped her find her way.

‍

"Pretty horrible," she remembers. "The anxiety the next day, the regrets, beating yourself up over it." Her mental health wasn't great to begin with, and these incidents weren't helping.

‍

There were other nights where she didn't know how she got home. Little injuries she couldn't explain - nothing massive, but enough to make her wonder. Situations that, looking back, weren't safe. The kind of things you brush off in the moment but that stick with you later, nagging at the edges of your mind. 

‍

And then there was the beer festival - another day-drinking event with friends. Another afternoon that should have been fun.

‍

She arrived home with no memory of the trip. Her daughter saw her in that state. Asked that question. And suddenly, Michelle couldn't brush it off anymore.

‍

"That was probably what led up to me seriously thinking that something needed to change," she says.

‍

‍

The four month break

‍

Not long after that night, Michelle was scheduled to have a planned surgical procedure. Her medical team outlined one key requirement: no alcohol. Her liver needed to shrink before surgery, and she couldn't drink during recovery either.

‍

So she stopped - for four whole months.

‍

"I did okay because it was a medical requirement," Michelle explains. When there's a rule, a reason, a deadline - she could stick to it. Four months alcohol-free. No problem.

‍

She had the surgery, she recovered and life moved forward. But once the medical necessity had lifted, the drinking slowly crept back in.

‍

Except this time it looked different. She wasn't going out to parties or festivals anymore. She was drinking alone at home, and working from home made that dangerously easy.

‍

She'd try to set limits for herself, like only buying a six-pack, but then it was so simple to just order more and have it delivered to her door. "So that didn't always work," she says. "And then the weekends were a free-for-all."

‍

But it wasn't just affecting her anymore.

‍

"It wasn't a life for the kids. I wasn't there for them."

‍

That realisation sat heavy in her chest. The pattern she'd sworn she'd never repeat was repeating itself right in front of her children's eyes.

‍

‍

Taking the first step

‍

Michelle remembers seeing an ad for Clean Slate pop up on her Facebook feed. At first, she scrolled past, but then she saw it again. She clicked through, did some research, read what people were saying about it, and saw that her health fund covered the program. 

‍

But what Michelle liked the most, was that it didn't feel like “going to rehab”. There wasn't that stigma, that sense of "this is for people whose lives have completely fallen apart."

‍

"It was actually easier to go ahead with it," Michelle explains. "I was still at home. I didn't have to find alternative care for my kids. Everything was done via telehealth, appointments were easy to book - and honestly? That convenience mattered."

‍

The convenience wasn't just practical. It was psychological.

‍

"There was less chance of backing out because it was so easy. And I could just be in my own home, in my own bed."

‍

You have to do the work

‍

Michelle figured out early that stopping drinking was only the first step.

‍

"You have to do the work," she says, "otherwise nothing's going to change. I realised that pretty early in the piece."

‍

Once Michelle had gone through her supported detox, the regular appointments with her nurse provided accountability. "It was good to have someone to be accountable to and to check in on how things are going and talk through any issues that have come up," she explains.

‍

Then there were the group meetings which provided a sense of connection and community. Michelle explains, "it was great to connect with people that were going through the same process and having similar mindsets around alcohol - because other people don't always understand."

‍

They also became a safe space to figure out how to live her life without alcohol as a crutch, because stressful things still happen, and difficult emotions still come up. 

‍

"I had a friendship breakdown after I gave up," Michelle shares. "Things like that - you don't always know how to navigate them. But you can talk through them in these meetings with other people who may have had the same situations. It's a safe environment."

‍

What struck Michelle was how the telehealth format let her work through real challenges in real-time. She wasn't removed from her daily stressors - she was learning to handle them without alcohol.

‍

But she's clear about this: none of it works unless you actually do it.

‍

‍

What's different now

‍

When Michelle talks about what's changed since she stopped drinking, she doesn't speak in vague terms.

‍

"You don't realise how much you spend on drinking."

‍

All that money that used to disappear into bottles and deliveries she barely remembered ordering - it started accumulating instead. Becoming something she could actually use.

‍

Her physical health improved, and she even quit smoking three and a half months into her journey.

‍

And that confidence showed up at work too with Michelle negotiating a higher-paying job, something she's not sure she would have had the courage to do before. "I'm doing a lot better in my work now," she says.

‍

But it's the bigger life shifts that really illustrate how much has changed.

‍

Michelle bought her first house.

‍

Something that felt completely out of reach when she was spending money on alcohol, when her focus was scattered and her confidence was low.

‍

"I mean, it didn't all happen just because I quit drinking," Michelle is quick to clarify, because she knows how it sounds, how it might seem too good to be true. "But it culminated. And giving up alcohol definitely helped in that regard."

‍

‍

And then there's the shift that matters more than any house, job or amount of money saved: she's now present with her kids. Actually there, not just physically in the room but mentally and emotionally available.

‍

"I'm more present with my kids. They're happier," Michelle says, and you can hear how much that means to her. "I'm looking after their health now, too."

‍

Nine months into her journey, Michelle is clear about her intentions: "I'm 9 months alcohol-free now and don't intend on going back - because I don't need it."

‍

‍

What's the worst that could happen?

‍

When Michelle is asked what she would say to someone who’s worried about a life without alcohol, her answer is characteristically direct:

‍

"What's the worst that's going to happen? You get healthy, you save money. There's no downside I can see."

‍

Before she quit, she thought she needed alcohol. Believed it was helping her cope with the stress of single parenting, the pressure of work, the loneliness - all of it. Those were the stories she told herself - that alcohol was a reward, a stress reliever, something she enjoyed that helped take the edge off. 

‍

"But it doesn't actually help," she says now.

‍

It took those wake-up calls to make her see that her relationship with alcohol wasn't what she'd convinced herself it was. But here's the message Michelle wishes someone had told her years ago:

‍

"You don't have to be the atypical or stereotypical ‘alcoholic’. I knew I had an issue with my relationship with alcohol, but I wasn't the stereotypical ‘alcoholic’." She pauses, making sure the words land. "Grey area drinking - I wasn't drinking every day, I wasn't waking up and drinking first thing. Doesn't mean you can't get help with the impacts alcohol might be having on your life."

‍

"You don't have to hit rock bottom. I had a few rock bottoms along the way, and they definitely give you wake-up calls. But let's not go all the way to the bottom."

‍

You don't have to lose everything to deserve help. You don't have to fit a narrow definition of "bad enough" either. If alcohol is impacting your life, your relationships, your parenting, your health, your sense of self - that's enough.

‍

‍

Clean Slate Clinic, in partnership with national addiction charity Adfam and the University of Sussex, published a landmark white paper on alcohol dependence in the UK, launched at a panel event in London in January 2026, chaired by leading addiction psychiatrist Dr David McLaughlan and featuring former Health Minister Dr Dan Poulter. The research, based on nationally representative polling of over 2,000 UK adults, set out to understand why alcohol harm continues to rise even as average consumption falls, and what needs to change.

‍

The headline finding is that nine in ten people drinking at clinically risky levels don't consider themselves heavy drinkers. This isn't denial. It's a structural problem. Most people measure their drinking against those around them, not clinical guidelines, meaning millions of people are at risk without knowing it. Hospital admissions for alcohol-specific conditions remain at nearly 340,000 a year, and the economic cost to England is estimated at £27.4 billion annually.

‍

For those who do recognise a problem, the barriers to getting help are significant. Long NHS waiting lists, fear of stigma, and the cost of private treatment are the three biggest obstacles, not lack of awareness. This means information campaigns alone won't close the gap. What's needed are services that are discreet, affordable, and accessible without requiring time off work.

‍

The research also sheds light on who is most affected. Almost a third of full-time workers meet clinical criteria for higher-risk drinking, including many earning £50,000 or more. Work stress is the most commonly cited reason for drinking among this group, nearly twice the general rate. And the problem is evenly distributed across the country and across political constituencies, meaning it cannot be solved by targeting specific regions or demographics.

‍

The white paper concludes with a clear call to action: alcohol services need to move away from crisis-led, in-person models towards earlier, digitally-enabled intervention. Medically supervised home detox can reduce the cost of treatment by up to 85% per episode compared with inpatient care, while allowing people to get support without stepping away from work or family life.

‍

For a deepdive into these issues the full paper is available here.

When normal life feels extraordinary

‍

Lisa now walks to the beach every morning from her new place. It's less than five minutes away - the prettiest beach in town, she says. There's a nature reserve nearby. Her mum is there with her. Everything just... works.

‍

"Everything I touch turns to gold," she told her nurse recently. She had to stop and think about that.

‍

"At first I thought - I'm so lucky," Lisa says. "But I don't know if it's all luck. Now, when I look at the good things happening to me - it's normal. Good things can happen. It's just that because I was drinking, because my life was always chaotic or boring or blending into one... that was my normal."

‍

Six months ago, Lisa's normal was very different.

‍

‍

When wine o'clock kept creeping earlier

‍

By her mid-fifties, Lisa had what she now recognises as a high-functioning alcohol dependence - though she was in denial about it at the time.

‍

She'd wake up in the morning saying, "This is it. This is the last day." She was still working full-time, still caring for her mum, still functioning. But life was becoming increasingly isolated and overwhelming.

‍

"Now that I look back, it was probably the alcohol that was becoming overwhelming," Lisa says, "Or the alcohol consumption was making everything else overwhelming."

‍

She was a home drinker and recalls having glasses of wine scattered around the house - in the bathroom, the bedroom, and anywhere else that had slipped her mind. If it was raining on the weekend, she'd look at the weather and think: That's the go-ahead for me to stay home and drink today.

‍

"That justified my actions at that point in time", she explains. 

‍

In the meantime, wine o'clock was creeping earlier and earlier. Five o'clock became two o'clock, and then she'd be in bed by eight because she’d drunk too much. Then she’d wake up and do it all again.

‍

"I was sick of waking up feeling sick," Lisa says. "I was sick of just trudging through days, waiting till five o'clock came so I could drink."

She also knew that her drinking was affecting her health, having received poor liver function results years ago. Lisa explains, "I was starting to get really lazy. My weight was fine, but I wasn't exercising. I was just... plodding through life."

‍

‍

The long shadow

‍

Over a decade before, Lisa experienced a series of traumatic events. What followed were years of being in survival mode - hypervigilance, fear, and alcohol as the only thing that made her feel strong enough to keep going.

‍

"At first I was using it to numb my emotions," Lisa says. "It felt good when I was drunk - like I could handle anything."

‍

She was drinking till two in the morning, then getting up and going to work at four, running on adrenaline and alcohol.

‍

She was jumping at everything, even running red lights out of fear.

‍

"In the scheme of everything else going on, the drinking was under-appreciated," she explains. "Which I'm not blaming anyone for. And I don't blame myself either. But that was my turning point."

‍

For many years, she carried that weight, and it would take time before she was ready to put it down.

‍

Lisa had tried to quit drinking twice before in her thirties, doing seven-day inpatient detox programs.

‍

"It felt like a bit of a holiday," she says. "Seven days with no alcohol, some exercise. I got a little bit out of it. But as soon as I got out, I went straight back to drinking." Lisa explains, "I was a home drinker, and my alcohol consumption had become so much of a habit, I needed to break that habit in the place where I was doing it."

‍

‍

The night everything changed

‍

One night, after a few too many scotches, Lisa sat down at her computer. She'd been thinking a lot about what was going to happen to her, and she knew that she didn’t like the way her life was progressing.

‍

"I just was sick of it," she says. "I was just ready."

‍

She Googled something about alcohol support and Clean Slate Clinic came up. At-home detox. She read it and thought: That is me. That’s exactly what I need.

‍

She completed the suitability test and booked a call for 8:45am the next day.

‍

"I thought, 'Yeah, this call sounds good,'" Lisa remembers. "Then I woke up thinking, 'Crap, what have I done?’"

‍

But that immediate follow-up call changed everything.

‍

"It didn't give me that second chance to back out," she says. "And it certainly opened my eyes up when I was sober."

‍

After speaking with Andrew, a lived experience member of the Clean Slate team, Lisa finally felt like someone understood what she was going through - and she realised that she was ready to make a change.

‍

‍

"I'm more scared about what life will be like without it"

‍

Lisa told her family and friends about starting the program, feeling excited (and terrified).

‍

"Everyone was overwhelmingly supportive," she says. "They kept asking, 'Are you scared?' And I said, 'Yeah, I am scared. I'm more scared about what life's gonna be like without it than actually doing the detox.'"

‍

She visited her daughter before starting the detox, planning to go out with a bang. But something had already shifted.

‍

"I hardly drank anything. But when I did, I was really quiet and I was present," Lisa says. "My daughter just said, 'Wow.' Even when she offered me wine at two o'clock on the weekend, I'd say, 'You know what? I don't even feel like one.' I was already working on it - it was just coming naturally for me."

‍

When she got home, she started the preparation phase of the program. And within two weeks, she’d had an epiphany and decided to retire and move interstate.

‍

"There were really, really good barriers," Lisa says. "But I looked at my life and thought: the ducks need help lining up. You have to pull them. You can't just wait."

‍

‍

Going from strength to strength

‍

Lisa then went through her detox at home while packing up her entire life. 

‍

On day one, she put her Fitbit back on and started exercising again - something she hadn't done in years. She set goals every night for the next day. She dealt with the stress of relocating. And she just managed it.

‍

"I just took control," Lisa says. "I just did it."

‍

She now plays simple games with her mum every night, like Scrabble, and they laugh until they cry. "We haven't laughed so much in years," Lisa says.

‍

Sometimes when they're doing something together, Lisa tells her mum: "You know what? I wouldn't have been able to do this if I was drinking." 

‍

‍

Lisa takes a moment to reflect, sharing, "Life was just too hard before; it had one massive, day-in, day-out barrier. And now that barrier's gone."

‍

Lisa's relationship with her children has also changed completely, with both having seen her through tough times.

‍

"When my son used to call me - I look back now and I think he was only calling because he felt he had to," Lisa says. "There was no real conversation, probably because he thought I'd forget - which I would. My memory was terrible. I'd have serious conversations at nighttime and have no idea the next day. Now when he calls me, it's just... different. It’s real."

‍

"I'm double as good at everything I was scared of"

‍

Lisa's biggest fear before quitting drinking was losing herself.

‍

"I thought I wouldn't be funny. I wouldn’t be confident," she says. "I'll be the third wheel. I'll be the stick in the mud. I'll be boring. I won't want to go anywhere."

‍

She laughs now at how wrong she was.

‍

"I cannot be any further from the opposite," Lisa says. "I'm funny, I'm confident, I'm fit, I'm strong. And I'm still the life of the party." 

‍

She’s now replaced the scattered glasses of wine with green juice, sharing, "It wasn't because I was craving wine. It's just that every time I went to pick something up, I would think of wine. So I put green juices around instead."

‍

‍

From the minute she wakes up

‍

"When people ask about my favourite part of the day, I say: from the minute I wake up, everything is my favourite," Lisa says. "I look forward to my walk, to getting home and having coffee, to going out for lunch, to my nap. I look forward to everything."

Lisa’s now been alcohol-free for six months. She's retired. She's living near her daughter and her grandchildren. She's caring for her mum. And she's at the beach every morning.

‍

‍

"I used to think this was a holiday," she says. "Like, I'd be doing something and think, 'I'll have to go home soon' - because in my head I was on a holiday. Then I’d have to remind myself, 'This is real. I live here.'"

‍

Everything she touches turns to gold. But it's not luck. It's what happens when the barrier that made life too hard - the day-in, day-out habit that blended everything into one - is finally gone.

‍

"Good things can happen," Lisa says. "It's just normal now. And normal feels extraordinary."

‍

If this story brings up difficult feelings for you, or if you or someone you know is struggling, support is available. Please contact Lifeline on 13 11 14 (24/7) or visit lifeline.org.au.

The party she never thought she'd have

‍

Shellie spent an hour hiding out the back before her 60th birthday party began. She was nervous. Anxious. Convinced that maybe ten or fifteen people would show up - if that.

‍

When she'd told friends she was planning a party, her first thought had been: Who will I invite? No one will show up. But the RSVPs kept coming. Ten became twenty. Twenty became forty. By the time the day arrived, sixty people had said yes.

There was something else unusual about this party: it was completely dry. No alcohol.

‍

"It's not often you go to a dry party," Shellie says. "I felt guilt about it - how can I say people can't drink at my party? But people kept telling me, 'It's your party, you do what you want.'"

‍

Standing in front of those sixty people - some who'd known her for 45 years, some who knew her whole story - Shellie made an announcement: she was also celebrating a year of sobriety.

‍

"Some knew in the room that I was on that journey and some didn't," she remembers. "But it was just so empowering to be in that space without alcohol, with so much love and fun and good times."

‍

What Shellie discovered that night was something she'd feared would never be true: people loved her for who she was. Not for being fun at the party. Not for having a drink in her hand. Just for being Shellie.

‍

"I thought if I took the drink out of my life and I wasn't fun at the party, I would have nobody," she says. "But they still love me for who I am."

‍

The bottle was her best friend

‍

For most of her life, that hadn't felt true at all.

‍

Shellie started drinking at 12. By her late fifties, she was a binge drinker - a bottle of vodka in a night, alone, in isolation. She didn't drink every day, and for years, that's how she convinced herself she didn't have a problem.

‍

"I always made allowance for myself that I don't have a problem because I didn't drink every day," she explains. "But my biggest fear is when I do drink, I can't stop."

The bottle became, as she puts it, her best friend. It helped her cope with emotions she didn't know how to handle. It quieted the anxiety that made social situations unbearable. It numbed everything.

‍

"When I have a drink, everything just goes away. It's a miracle," Shellie says. "I don't have to stress or worry about anything. But then it's the after effects - the impact it has on the quality of my life."

‍

‍

Those after effects were severe. Shellie lives with bipolar disorder, anxiety, and depression. For years, her drinking and mental health crises fed into each other in a relentless cycle. Life stressors would trigger binges, and binges would trigger mental health episodes. 

‍

"You put the two together and they just feed into each other," she says.

‍

Her children had been on this journey with her since they were born. They'd seen the hospital visits, the relapses, the disappointment and worry. Shellie carries the memory of her son's face when she told him she'd started drinking again.

‍

"The disappointment I saw in his eyes really broke me," she says. "As much as he was supportive and said, 'Mum, what are we going to do about this?' - just seeing that disappointment... those are all little snippets that stay in my head to remind myself not to pick up again."

‍

She'd tried to get help before. Seven years earlier, after losing her mum, she'd spent six weeks in an inpatient rehab over Christmas - "one of the hardest things I've done." But she'd left saying she'd drink socially again.

‍

"Which I can't drink socially and I can't drink at all," she says now.

‍

The cycle continued. When her GP suggested connecting her to alcohol and other drug services, Shellie walked out.

‍

"I said to her, 'I don't have a problem. I don't know what you're talking about,'" she remembers. "My picture of an ‘alcoholic’ was someone sitting in the gutter or down a laneway drinking out of a paper bag. I used to always go, 'That's not me. So I don't have a problem.'"

‍

‍

"Nanny, you were very silly last night"

‍

It was her grandson who first planted a seed of change.

‍

Shellie had started spending more time with her daughter's family, where weekend drinking was acceptable and normal. She was fun, laughing, the life of the gathering. Until one morning, her grandson looked up at her and said: "Nanny, you were very silly last night."

‍

"That really touched me," Shellie says. "I thought, I need to be a nanny and a role model to my grandchildren."

‍

But the real catalyst came on a camping trip with her daughter's family. Shellie drank so much that she nearly fell into the fire, and then she blacked out. 

‍

"That was my scary turning point," she says. "I could have fallen into the fire. Imagine how much my life would be different. I may not even be here."

That image stayed with her. As did another growing fear: she was getting older. Recovery from binges was taking a week instead of a day. She lived alone. What if she fell? What if she hurt herself and no one found her?

‍

"As you get older, if that was to happen here at home on my own and I was to have a fall or knock myself out or break a hip - who's going to find me?" she explains.

‍

Approaching 60 became a moment of reckoning. Shellie found herself asking: how do I want my life to look for the future?

‍

‍

"I choose not to drink again"

‍

When Shellie's therapist from Mind Australia mentioned Clean Slate Clinic, Shellie went online and completed the suitability test. She was 59, scared, and still telling herself she didn't really have a problem.

‍

But she reached out anyway.

‍

"That fear - I always go back to that memory of falling in the fire," she says.

‍

By the time she connected with Clean Slate, Shellie had already stopped drinking. The camping trip had frightened her enough that she quit on her own, determined not to start again. This meant she didn't need the formal detox week - instead, those check-ins became additional support time with her nurse.

‍

"What I found is the program is flexible to your needs," Shellie says. "It's not a one-box-fits-all program."

‍

From day one, Shellie was matched with Carol, a nurse who would stay with her throughout her entire journey. And something about Carol made all the difference.

‍

"Carol's background and her experience made a big difference," Shellie explains. "I just saw her belief in me - the belief that she had in me that I would get through," Shellie says, her voice catching. "She held that torch of hope where I didn't hold that myself. I just thought, you know, I've done this my whole life, it's just going to be another cycle."

Carol became Shellie's cheerleader, celebrating milestones when Shellie couldn't celebrate herself because she was too afraid of failing again. The appointments gave Shellie something else she desperately needed: accountability.

‍

"I don't want to hop on the screen and let anyone down," she says. "And knowing that I have an upcoming appointment, I can get things off and out of my headspace. It gives me the opportunity to look at things in another light, and then I go away and reflect and try to bring that into my life to move forward."

‍

Shellie also started using the "I Am Sober" app, setting mantras and goals. Her mantra this time was different from seven years ago. Not "I'll drink socially again." This time: "I choose not to drink again."

‍

The program worked around her life. Appointments were flexible. She could do everything from home, allowing her to work through her daily stressors as they came up.

‍

"These stressors in life - we're in them every day," Shellie says. "By doing the program online, I could live and cope with all those stressors - rather than having to face them on the other side of my treatment.”

‍

‍

Discovering the other side of the fence

‍

Shellie has a metaphor for what her life feels like now versus before.

‍

"I spent my life on the side of the fence where the grass was dry - drought season," she says. "But now I'm on the other side of the fence where the grass is greener, the flowers are popping, the rainbows are out. Can you imagine that vibrance? That's just how my life is now."

‍

Fifteen months alcohol-free, the changes are both profound and practical.

‍

The brain fog is gone and her memory has improved immensely. She used to struggle to remember names, but now "there seems to be a lot more space up there to retain information." She's working three days a week. Her health and fitness have improved. And most importantly, she finally feels in control of her mental health.

‍

"I'm a lot more balanced than what I have been," she says. "Bipolar is chaotic already, and when you put the drink on top of that, it just explodes. But now I'm quite balanced. I'm engaging in life, I'm being a mum and a nanny and a good friend."

‍

‍

The emotional shift is perhaps the biggest change.

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"I'm now experiencing the positive emotions of life," Shellie says. "Before it was all black and grim. But now I can see joy and happiness and fun."

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She's also proud of herself in a way she's never been before.

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"I would always go through life feeling worthless and helpless and unloved and minimised," she says. "But today I'm proud of myself. I'm proud that I can be there as a mum and as a nanny to my grandchildren. I'm a lot more present."

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When her son and his partner announced they were expecting a baby, they said something that stays with Shellie: "It's even more reason to stay sober."

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"That's always in the back of my head," she says. "As much as I'm doing it for me, the drain it puts on the family when I ring them up and say I've started drinking again..."

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She trails off, then adds: "I want to live today. There were many times throughout my life where I didn't want to live, but today I want to live. And I'm living a sober, happy, healthy life now."

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"You have to be brave"

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When Shellie thinks about what she'd say to someone considering reaching out for help, someone who's scared of what life might look like without alcohol, her message is straightforward.

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"You have to let down your barriers and be humble," she says. "There is help out there, and it's okay to get help. The people you're getting help from have the professionalism and the knowledge. They can teach you so much that can assist you on your journey. But you can't stay stuck where you are and not have quality of life without trying."

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She also wants to challenge the narrow picture of what addiction looks like - the same picture that kept her from getting help for so many years.

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"I used to think an ‘alcoholic’ was someone in the gutter with a paper bag," she says. "That's not me, so I don't have a problem. But I was a high-functioning binge drinker. I didn't drink every day, but when I did drink, I couldn't stop. You don't have to fit that stereotype to need help."

For older people especially - people in her generation - Shellie wants them to know they're not alone.

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"You don't hear stories about people like us - it's more the younger ones," she says. "But in our generation we go through a lot of stressors too. Kids move on. There's loneliness. You're feeling isolated. Your body changes as you age. It's okay to reach out."

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She also emphasises something that was critical to her own recovery: addressing mental health and addiction together.

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"Mental health and addiction - the two come together," Shellie says. "If that stuff had been addressed early and looked into, my journey may not have been as chaotic. The two need to work together. There's enough stigma with mental health, but then you put addiction on top of that - that's more stigma. Let's remove the stigma and move forward and get the help."

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Her final message is simple: "You have to be brave."

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The torch of hope that Carol once held for her? Shellie's holding it now, too.

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Former health minister and addiction psychiatrist Dr Dan Poulter is calling for urgent reform of alcohol services, warning that outdated pathways are failing millions of people who need support. Writing the foreword to a landmark white paper co-published by Clean Slate Clinic, Adfam, and the University of Sussex, Poulter argues that digital-first care is no longer optional, it's a clinical necessity.

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The report, based on a survey of over 2,000 UK adults, found that NHS wait times and stigma are the biggest barriers stopping higher-risk drinkers from seeking help. Digital services, Poulter argues, directly solve both.

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Clean Slate Clinic's remote, medically supervised detox programme is this model; discreet, flexible, and built around real lives. Read the full article in Digital Health.‍

A new report from Clean Slate Clinic, supported by Adfam and the University of Sussex, has found that nine in ten people drinking at clinically risky levels don't consider themselves heavy drinkers. The research is prompting urgent calls for a digitally enabled redesign of alcohol services, moving care out of hospitals and into people's everyday lives.

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Clean Slate Clinic's Clinical Director Dr David McLaughlan highlights the gap that needs closing: “We’ve seen virtual wards successfully reduce admissions in respiratory and cardiac care. Yet alcohol withdrawal, which has been estimated to cost society £27 billion a year, continues to be managed through inpatient stays. Digital pathways allow clinicians to monitor patients remotely during that high-risk window and intervene before they return to A&E.”

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Pia Clinton-Tarestad, Clean Slate's Co-founder and CEO, added: “I know from personal experience how supervised, remote-based detox programmes can help patients get safe, structured treatment earlier, without disconnecting from jobs, family and daily life. Our evidence shows that the Clean Slate Clinic model can help the NHS cut readmissions by almost half, while increasing sustained abstinence from around 30 per cent to 70 per cent.”

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Read the full article here

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We've been enjoying the Ministry of Health Tech podcasts, and were delighted when they covered our White Paper. They talk about the key takeaway in the paper, the issue of Britain's 'hidden drinkers'; 1 in 10 Brits drink excessively without knowing that they're at risk.

Pia Clinton-Tarestad, Clean Slate's Co-Founder and CEO talks about the benefits of the Clean Slate programme, the issues that were raised in the White Paper, and her experiences of being 'Patient 1'.

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Listen to the Podcast here

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Read the White Paper (co-authored by The University of Sussex and Adfam) here

We're delighted that the Integrated Care Journal (UK) has reported on our White Paper (published January 2026). They write, "Based on a nationally representative survey of more than 2,000 UK adults, the report finds that NHS alcohol treatment pathways are undermined by the “foundational assumption… that individuals at clinical risk will recognise their drinking as problematic and will therefore seek help, accept referral, or respond to messaging targeted at ‘heavy drinkers’ or ‘problem drinkers'".

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They go on to quote Dr Dan Poulter (a Conservative MP from 2010-2024 and former Parliamentary Under-Secretary of State in the Department of Health) who provided the foreword to the White Paper, "“It’s not about introducing more services in the health service,” he said. “It’s about designing different services that reflect how alcohol risk is actually identified and how the NHS operates under unprecedented capacity pressures [...] Moving from self-identification to objective screening, in parallel to offering digital, community-based withdrawal services, will help people avoid reaching crisis point and subsequently placing avoidable pressure on the NHS and costing billions."

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The full article can be found here.

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The White Paper (co-published with Sussex University and Adfam) can be found here.

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Asking for help with alcohol or drug dependence is hard enough without having to worry about whether the service you've found is actually any good.

The problem is, quality varies. Some providers are doing excellent, evidence-based work. Others are taking advantage of people at a vulnerable time. From the outside, it's not always obvious which is which.

So how do you tell the difference? There are three things worth checking before you commit to anyone.

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Are they registered with the CQC in their own name?

Any service providing medical treatment in England should be registered with the Care Quality Commission. That's the baseline. But watch out for providers who claim to be "CQC accredited" through a third party—that's not the same thing.

If you're unsure, you can search for any provider directly on the CQC website. If they're not listed under their own name, ask them why.

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Have their outcomes been independently verified?

Anyone can claim a 90% success rate. The question is whether anyone outside the organisation has actually checked.

Look for providers whose results have been evaluated by a university, research body, or other independent organisation. Self-reported statistics and cherry-picked testimonials don't tell you much. Independent verification means the data has been scrutinised by someone who doesn't have a financial stake in it looking good.

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Do they offer proper aftercare?

This one matters more than most people realise.

Detox deals with the physical side of dependence. It gets you through withdrawal safely. But on its own, it doesn't address the reasons you were drinking or using in the first place. Without structured support afterwards, relapse rates are very high.

This isn't a fringe opinion. NICE guidelines are clear that detox should sit within a broader treatment programme. Any provider offering detox as a standalone service—particularly if they're vague about what happens next—is cutting corners. It might be cheaper upfront, but it's not setting you up for lasting recovery.

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Ask difficult questions

If you're weighing up your options, take your time. Speak to a few different providers. Ask them about their registration, their outcomes, their aftercare. A decent service will be happy to answer. If someone gets defensive or evasive, that tells you something.

There are good people doing good work in this space. But you have to be discerning, because not everyone is.

Clean Slate Clinic is registered with the Care Quality Commission (Provider ID: 1-22152371205). If you'd like to talk through whether we might be a good fit, you can book a call with our team.

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J2 ARMS are commitment to going beyond traditional recovery coaching and offer a comprehensive, compassionate approach. Their programmes are designed to empower individuals and organisations at every stage of their journey. Here’s how they provide support through their three support vehicles:

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- Corporate Wellness Support Initiatives

- Partnership Support ventures

- Individual Coaching Support Pathways

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Visit J2ARMS to learn more.

Pia Clinton-Tarestad, Co-Founder and CEO at Clean Slate Clinic talks with The Snow Foundation. Pia discusses the growth of Clean Slate Clinic as a social enterprise and its mission to change the way addiction is viewed.

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Watch the interview here

During home detoxification, it is essential that the person undergoing treatment is supported by a partner or friend. Provide the following document to your chosen support person so they can actively and safely participate

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For more advice or information please contact us

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Download the PDF:

Clean Slate Clinic - Support person information.pdf

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Download the Word doc:

Clean Slate Clinic - Support person information.docx

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Preview: