How to Choose the Right Alcohol Support

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Reclaiming Life: Home Detox & Healing with Dr Aaron Brown

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In a recent episode of the Your Choices Matter podcast, host David Lilley sat down with Dr Aaron Brown, Managing Director of Clean Slate Clinic UK, for an honest conversation about alcohol dependence and what it actually takes to break free. Aaron brings a rare combination of clinical rigour and lived experience: a York Medical School graduate and former GP partner, he faced his own cycle of dependence after shielding through the 2020 pandemic.

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‍Listen to the podcast & learn more

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• Clean Slate Clinic UK: explore the 12-month home detox programme or book a free exploratory call
• Care Quality Commission (CQC): verify clinical registration details
• SMART Recovery UK: self-empowered recovery tools
• Adfam: support for families affected by substance use

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The wine glass

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It was the kind of drawing that usually ends up on the fridge. It had all the hallmarks of childhood: bright colours, stick figures, careful handwriting. But when Charlotte took a closer look at it, her heart dropped.

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In the picture, she was holding a wine glass.

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“I looked at it and thought, oh God. I’m passing this on to my kids,” she says. “They’re going to learn it from the get-go. And that, for me, was the bit that made it not okay anymore.”

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It wasn’t the first time she’d questioned her drinking, but it was the first time she couldn’t look away.

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This wasn’t just about her anymore, instead, it was about what was being normalised. About what her children might quietly absorb as ordinary.

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And standing there with that card in her hands, she knew something had to change.

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“I always knew”

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Charlotte started drinking around fourteen. Boarding school culture made it feel inevitable as everyone drank, and heavily at that. What began as teenage experimentation slowly threaded itself into adulthood until alcohol wasn’t an event; it was simply a part of the day.

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With the exception of her two pregnancies, when she stopped without much difficulty, she drank almost daily.

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“I’ve never met a glass of wine that I didn’t finish,” she says. “I always knew it was probably something I didn’t have the control over that I really wanted to have.”

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For years, that knowing hovered in the background. Around five years ago it became harder to ignore. She began negotiating with herself: spacing drinks with water, setting limits, promising tomorrow would be different. The familiar cycle of trying and failing chipped away at her confidence.

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“I started to feel like it was owning me rather than just being something I did.”

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If there wasn’t alcohol in the house, Charlotte would feel anxious - and she hated that something else had that much influence over her choices. Still, recognising the problem and acting on it were two very different things.

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The help that didn’t land

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Over the years, Charlotte raised her drinking with GPs - never explicitly saying the words “I have a problem.” She would circle around it, hoping someone would hear what she couldn’t quite say outright.

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“The response was very much, ‘You’ll be right. Just cut down a bit.’”

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Looking back, she sees those moments differently.

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“I was calling for help. I just didn’t have the courage to say it clearly.”

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No one dismissed her intentionally, but no one recognised the weight behind what she was hinting at either. And so the years continued. She knew something wasn’t right and she was unsure of what to do next.

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Three years of knowing

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Thinking back, Charlotte says it took about three years from fully recognising the issue to reaching out for support.

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Three years of bargaining that slowly turned into quiet frustration, three years of feeling stuck and unable to make any progress.

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“You almost feel paralysed,” she says. “You know you need help, but you don’t know how to ask for it properly.”

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Each failed attempt at moderation reinforced the belief that she should be able to fix it herself. It was, in her words, “a pretty unpleasant time.”

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Eventually she came across an online community that led her to a programme she could access from home. It didn’t feel institutional or overwhelming, rather it felt manageable.

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She booked a call, then cancelled it.

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“I was probably just scared.”

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She booked again. And for reasons she still can’t fully explain, the day she made that second call she stopped drinking. Not as part of a grand plan, but because something in her had shifted.

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By the time she had her first clinical appointment, she’d already been alcohol-free for nearly two weeks.

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What struck her most wasn’t the structure of the programme, it was the fact that she was finally being heard.

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“It was the first time I’d said it out loud and someone spoke back to me in a language I understood. It was remarkable.”

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After years of minimising and half-admissions, someone responded without dismissal.

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Responsibility with support

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What mattered to Charlotte was that she remained in her own life while making changes.

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“I liked that the responsibility was still mine, but I had support.”

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She didn’t want to be removed from her world; she wanted to learn how to live in it differently. Regular check-ins gave rhythm to her weeks. Meetings that initially terrified her, slowly became grounding.

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“I really struggled to go to the first few,” she admits. “Now I think they’re magic.”

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The combination of structured support and shared experience helped her build tools she hadn’t known existed. Practical strategies, yes, but also a different way of seeing herself.

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One of the biggest shifts for Charlotte was learning not to tie her worth to drinking, or to not drinking.

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“It’s hard to stop measuring yourself against it,” she says. “But eventually it becomes just one part of your story, not the whole thing.”

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Appointments created accountability, and knowing someone would ask how she was going added gentle momentum. Over time, the process felt less like crisis management and more like steady growth.

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“It became a really nice rhythm.”

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More space

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When Charlotte describes her life now, she talks about space.

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Her mornings began to feel spacious, with no headaches and no fog - and that sense of ease gradually extended into her mind.

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“It’s really neat to wake up and just get on with the day.”

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The anxiety that once hummed in the background has softened, and her life now feels more intentional rather than reactive.

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“I don’t tolerate as much crap as I used to,” she says, smiling. “If something’s not good for me, I step away faster.”

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The fear versus the reality

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Before she stopped drinking, two fears loomed large. The first was around socialising and being the “different” person in the room - particularly in a culture where alcohol threads through celebration and grief alike, she worried about standing out.

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The second was that life would be boring.

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“I hadn’t really done anything fun without alcohol involved,” she says. “I thought alcohol equalled fun.”

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However, neither fear materialised the way she expected.

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“No one really questioned me,” she says. “If anything, people were curious.”

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Some even began reflecting on their own drinking in those conversations. And as for fun?

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“Fun is fun,” she says. “It doesn’t matter what you’re holding in your hand.”

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These days, if a passing thought suggests a glass of wine, another voice answers quickly.

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“Almost immediately I think, ‘Oh my God, no you wouldn’t.’”

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As time passed, it felt less like deprivation and more like she had found her new normal.

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The second card

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Recently, her daughter found that original Mother’s Day card, the one with the wine glass.

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“She said, ‘I need to draw that again without the wine glass. Because you don’t drink anymore.’”

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Charlotte pauses when she tells this part.

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The legacy she’d feared, the quiet message that a wine glass is how mum unwinds - has shifted. Not through perfection, but through action. Through doing something hard and staying with it.

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Your discomfort is enough

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If someone is wondering whether they should reach out, Charlotte’s advice is simple.

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“Just do it.”

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But more than that, she wishes someone had told her sooner that you don’t need to hit a dramatic rock bottom.

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“If what you’re doing makes you uncomfortable, that’s enough,” she says. “You don’t need someone else to validate that.”

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You don’t need to meet a stereotype. You don’t need to wait until things fall apart. If you wake up wishing you hadn’t done what you did the night before, or if a small voice keeps asking whether this is really how you want to live - that’s sufficient.

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For Charlotte, acting on that discomfort changed the trajectory of her life.

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“My goodness, my life is so much better without alcohol,” she says. “There’s nothing I miss about drinking. It just becomes normal not to. And I wouldn’t want to go back in a million years.”

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There’ll be another card this Mother’s Day, and this time, Charlotte won’t be holding a wine glass.

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The 10-week wall

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Lauren could stop drinking, that wasn't the problem. She'd done it before, for years actually, and when things got difficult again, she could still manage periods without alcohol. But there was always a wall.

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"I had managed to stop for periods, but 10 weeks seemed to be a tipping point," Lauren says. "I’d get to that point and before I knew it, I’d just be back doing it again."

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She had tried everything: moderation strategies, measuring out drinks, self-education, therapy, naturopaths, diet changes, books, apps, podcasts and sober coaches. All the things.

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Some of it helped, to a point, but nothing stuck long-term. "I just didn’t know why I couldn’t get past that point." And every time she hit that wall, the shame spiral would start all over again.

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The second time around

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Lauren had been alcohol-free for years. She'd done the work, found her footing, and moved forward. Then 2020 happened and Lauren went through a marriage breakdown, COVID and a move. So many things changed at once, and drinking slowly crept back in.

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From the outside, Lauren was still functioning. She ran her own business working with horses, supporting people through equine therapy. She showed up for work, held it together, but inside she was falling apart.

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"I felt myself becoming unhealthy. I just didn't seem to have the energy and drive that I wanted," she remembers. "And I was definitely isolating myself. It becomes a really private process."

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The worst part was the disconnect between how she was supporting others, and how she couldn't seem to support herself.

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"The work I do with my horses, supporting people - I don't want to be a fraud. I don't want to be doing this and then running in the door and having a drink. That just doesn't add up for me."

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She knew there were other ways to be, to live and to take better care of herself. But knowing and doing felt like completely different things.

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The illusion of “willpower”

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Lauren kept setting goalposts. "I'm going to be 50 in three months. I'd really like to not be drinking at that point." Fifty came and went, and still nothing changed. Then New Year's, then another birthday - more goalposts she just couldn't meet.

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"It puts so much pressure on you, and you’re really hard on yourself for not being able to do it. For not having the willpower, the strength - whatever. You say terrible things to yourself over that inability to change."

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It wasn't from a lack of trying. Lauren was always searching, whether it be online, or through different books and programs - she’d constantly be looking for the answer, convinced it had to be out there somewhere.

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The 12-month factor

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When Lauren found Clean Slate online, a few things drew her in. First the privacy of being able to be at home, the ability to do the maths on what she was already spending versus what it would cost. And most importantly, the 12 months of ongoing support.

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"That was the biggest thing for me, knowing that I would have someone for that long-term period. Because I knew three months was okay, but as soon as I went past that point, I was back in deep."

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She signed up and soon after received a call from her nurse, Fiona.

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Working with Fiona was different from the start - it was a softer approach with no big production. After the preparation phase, Fiona asked: "Have you thought about when you’d like to stop?" Lauren said no, not really. Fiona responded, "Let's just do it tomorrow then."

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But it wasn't a straight line from there. Lauren dipped in and out, the pattern she'd always had, except when it happened this time, Fiona helped Lauren to reframe her experience.

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"She just took the ‘bigness’ out of it. For once, it didn’t feel like a big deal. And that taught me, and my nervous system, not to panic about it."

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Instead, Fiona helped Lauren notice patterns. "How does that feel? What was going on?", she’d say. Constantly assessing that process and what may have been happening. Every check-in, Lauren had something to explore: a course, a book or someone to read about. There was always something to investigate.

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"Being curious about the what’s and the why’s is a big part of recovery."

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The missing piece

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Through their conversations, Fiona had been noticing things - patterns in how Lauren talked about being overwhelmed, about anxiety and the way she approached her work and her life.

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"It was almost like sabotage, but it wasn't on purpose."

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And then Fiona asked: "Have you ever looked at having a mental health diagnosis? What about ADHD as a possibility?"

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Lauren knew there was research around later-in-life diagnoses for women, and she knew that women were often overlooked as children - but she'd never connected it to herself.

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"I did some reading, checked it out, and was quite shocked at how my whole life had potentially been affected by this without me knowing. It gave an explanation to so many things."

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She found a psychologist, got diagnosed, and started medication. "That was probably the biggest game changer for me."

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Because suddenly, the pattern made sense. The 10-week wall made sense. The way she'd been trying to regulate herself through alcohol - it all made sense. She'd been self-medicating without even knowing it.

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"As soon as I went through that process and got the diagnosis, alcohol just became irrelevant." It was the final piece of the puzzle.

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Care of self, not self-care

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The ADHD diagnosis opened the door to understanding so many other things affecting Lauren's wellbeing. Perimenopause was hitting hard, she had been dealing with bouts of sleeplessness, hot flushes at night, extremely low iron levels that were almost debilitating, things she'd just been trying to push through.

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"You think you’re okay, even as things are getting worse. But actually stopping to do that ‘care of self’ stuff - that’s something else entirely."

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She makes a distinction: not "self-care" in the luxury sense, but "care of self". The foundational things your body actually needs like food, water, supplements - the basics.

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"When you're drinking, you rely on the sugars in what you're drinking to support you through the day. You don't worry so much about food. But when you stop drinking, there's that really well-rounded support system that you have to put in place for yourself. And you have to notice when things aren't quite right."

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Movement and mindfulness became important too: just walking down the bike track with the dogs, and being present with the animals she works with.

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"Whatever they're doing, you’re with them and you’re watching them. You’re not thinking about other things."

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And she became protective of her energy and her space. "I'm very careful about who I share my time with now, because that's all part of what keeps me healthy and on track."

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What's different now

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When Lauren talks about how her life has changed, the list is comprehensive. "There’s more time in every day. More things get done. There's this new-found strength and confidence in my ability to set my mind on things and be able to do them."

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For years, Lauren had beaten herself up, telling herself she was weak because she couldn't stop drinking. Now she sees her own strength clearly.

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"There’s more clarity, more drive and direction. I can make good, clear decisions quite easily. There's a sense of freedom where you can just pick up and do anything at any time. You don't have to think about, 'Can I drive my car? Can I do this?'. There's nothing holding you back."

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The physical transformation has been significant. Lauren had been watching herself put on weight week after week, feeling like this was just how things were going to be now. Now she's gone from "I just keep going in this direction" back to physically feeling like herself again.

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But perhaps most striking is the transformation in her work. Lauren runs programs for women, working with horses to support people through difficult experiences.

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"The difference in my ability to do my work has been chalk and cheese." Focus and procrastination were things that she'd struggled with her whole life - but now, they were beginning to feel easier.

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"I haven't mastered it yet, but I've definitely improved a great deal."

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And through all of this - the ADHD diagnosis, the perimenopause support, the foundational care and the boundary-setting - Lauren has arrived at something profound: "I feel more myself than probably I ever have."

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Finding awe

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Whilst on the journey of consuming endless amounts of content, there was one idea that stuck with Lauren. It was from Julie Goodwin’s book, who was a past MasterChef winner that’s been open about her own journey with mental health and alcohol - and the idea was simple: awe is the answer.

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"Being in awe of something - nature, birds, whatever completely enthrals you and takes you somewhere else. That’s a big help."

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For Lauren, that's often found outdoors. Taking in light, beauty, nature, trees, birds, the sky, and being surrounded by animals who require her full presence. "That’s become my thing."

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Sometimes she needs a change of scenery, but mostly, she's found her rhythm in the life she's built, surrounded by horses, dogs and the natural world. "Give me a paddock or a bushwalk and I don't care about much else."

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It's about everything else

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When Lauren thinks about what she'd tell someone considering reaching out for help, she comes back to one thing. "Just do it. What have you got to lose? The all-around support, the learning about yourself that you do in the process - it doesn't even become about the alcohol. It's about everything else."

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For Lauren, "everything else" was discovering she had ADHD, understanding why her nervous system worked the way it did, and recognising the perimenopause symptoms that were making everything harder. And finally, learning about foundational care, not as a luxury, but as a necessity.

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"We grow up and we don't learn that stuff. We don't learn nervous system regulation and awareness. So we seek it in other places."

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For her, that other place had been alcohol, but it was never really about the alcohol itself. It was about trying to regulate a nervous system that worked differently than she'd understood. Trying to function through perimenopause without support, and trying to manage overwhelm without the right tools.

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Once she understood those underlying pieces - the ADHD diagnosis, the medication, the awareness of what her body actually needed - the 10-week wall disappeared. Not because she suddenly had more willpower, but because she finally understood what was actually going on.

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"It's a very soft, gentle process of relearning how to regulate - how to be okay."

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Walking, being active, being surrounded by animals who ground her, taking in beauty and nature, and choosing carefully what gets her time and attention. These aren't strategies to avoid drinking. They're ways of building a life that actually works for who Lauren is, a life where alcohol becomes irrelevant because she's found better ways to take care of herself.

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And on the other side? She's more herself than she's ever been.

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If this story brings up difficult feelings for you, or if you or someone you know is struggling, support is available. Please contact Samaritans on 116 123 (24/7) or visit samaritans.org.

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