- Libby Robertson, 35, from NZ, struggled with alcohol addiction
- On a holiday in 2015, she’d start drinking from the moment she woke up
- Quitting booze nine years ago, she’s positively thriving
Here she shares her story in her own words.
Sitting at the pub with some mates, I basked in the afternoon sun while we sank beers.
It was 2015, and the familiar warmth of alcohol made me feel cosy and safe.
Hours later, after the sun had set, my friends waved me goodbye. But instead of going home, I stayed and kept drinking solo, ordering booze until the last call, before making my way to a nightclub.
For me, this was an average night out.
I’d had my first taste of alcohol when I was just three years old, stealing a sip from my grandpa.
In early high school, I enjoyed bubbly beverages on weekends with friends, or even occasionally alone. I’d steal the grog from my parents’ liquor cabinet.
‘Drinking made me feel warm and fuzzy.’
And by 15 I had a fake ID. I’d sneak into clubs with mates and always get blackout drunk.
At school on Monday, I’d be filled with shame and anxiety, having no recollection of my weekend antics. But it wasn’t enough to turn me off the booze.
Despite the terrifying blank gaps in my mind where memories should be, drinking made me feel warm and fuzzy.
At uni, I’d sometimes sneak tequila in my coffee cup during the day, so I’d be slightly buzzed for the party later.
Incredibly, I was a high achiever and passed all my exams, earning a degree in psychology.
After graduation, I travelled and partied in the UK and Europe, working in hospitality. I also lived in Australia for two and a half years, and consumed alcohol most nights of the week. My drinks of choice were white wine, beer, and anything with tequila.
My boyfriend at the time had enough of my drinking habits, saying I became a bitter and aggressive person when I was drunk.
I was riddled with shame, but I couldn’t give up my lifestyle. I also took up smoking and dabbled in party drugs on weekends.
My boyfriend broke things off with me and I moved back to New Zealand when I was 24.
A couple of months later, in January 2015, I met a guy on Tinder named Dane, then 27. We began dating and I quickly fell in love with his kind soul.
During the day, we’d go on tranquil dates such as nature walks and trips to the beach. But at night, I swilled glasses of grog and became abusive, violent and nasty – both in general and even toward Dane.
I was apologetic the next day if I felt I’d done or said something awful. ‘What did I do?’ I’d wince.
At least once a week, Dane picked me up from a nightclub where I’d either been kicked out for being a nuisance, or had fallen out the door at last call.
‘‘This needs to stop,’ he pleaded.’
‘This needs to stop,’ he pleaded. His dad tragically died from liver failure when Dane was a teen and he worried I was headed in the same direction. But it still wasn’t enough for me to kick my addiction.
Several months later, in August 2015, my bestie and I travelled to South East Asia for a holiday. I’d start drinking from the moment I woke up, and didn’t stop until it was time to go to bed. One evening I blacked out and took off with my mate’s wallet and passport.
‘Libby!’ she screamed when she finally found me on the street in my pyjamas.
The next morning I was so hungover and ashamed.
‘I’m worried that your behaviour isn’t normal,’ she sat me down. ‘You’ve been jeopardising my safety.’
Her words were a hard pill to swallow.
Arriving home, I tried to stop, but then my drinking spiked. After work I’d polish off at least one bottle of wine almost every night, and on weekends it was even more. I was downing up to 10 bottles a week. On a night out, I’d down any kind of drink, and order four quadruple shots of tequila at last call.
In January 2016, after a year of dating, Dane had finally had enough.
‘We’re over,’ he said, after I’d lashed out at him.
When he wasn’t looking, I jumped out the bedroom window – two storeys up – and landed smack bang on the concrete.
I’d do things like this when I was super drunk – like running into oncoming traffic for instance, if in an angry state while intoxicated.
I was too drunk to feel much pain, but a neighbour heard my groans, and called an ambulance.
‘What happened!?’ Dane asked, running out of the house, realising I’d fallen.
At hospital, doctors found I had only a mild concussion and I was able to leave in less than 24 hours.
‘You’re very lucky to be alive,’ said a doctor.
‘I need to give up the grog for good.’
I was also interviewed by the mental health team.
‘I’d never do that in a million years sober,’ I explained, saying I was a whole other person when drunk. I didn’t want to die.
The confronting ordeal had me thinking back to my bestie’s words in Laos.
I need to give up the grog for good, I realised.
I signed up to Alcoholics Anonymous and began attending therapy. Quickly I swapped wines and spirits for non-alcoholic beer, flavoured soda water or ginger beer. I listened to dozens of self-help podcasts and spent hours walking in nature rather than sitting at the pub.
Once I’d proved to Dane I’d changed, we got back together. ‘You don’t deserve the way I’ve been treating you,’ I said.
Two years into my sobriety, we cycled the South Island, where Dane proposed. Then in November 2018, we had a ceremony for our family before eloping to Bali.
I realised how much I enjoyed waking up feeling fresh and without any anxious head noise or debilitating hangovers.
Dane and I even left our jobs to start careers as business and life coaches.
Helping others navigate from booze and shame to freedom and health has been super rewarding.
Today I’m nine years sober – and counting.
Now that I have a taste of what life is all about, I’m never turning back.
