When mum hugged me, it felt like hugging a stranger

My mum was an alcoholic. When the clock hit twelve in the afternoon, it was that time. And that meant she turned into someone horrible.

My mum loved going to the pub, and to my friends she was a laugh, the life and soul of the party. But at home, honestly, she was argumentative and unreasonable.

It always felt like you were walking on eggshells the moment we walked through the door.

I got the call

After trying to get her to seek help, she would say we were ganging up on her. Eventually, she decided to move out so she could drink in peace.

Then one day, I got the call – you know the one. The call that tells you they’ve died. The one you knew was coming and waited for every day.

But even when it finally came, it was still a shock. I can’t remember exactly what I felt. Some relief, some guilt, and a lot of upset. So many different emotions.

I realised I might have a problem myself

It wasn’t until some time after she passed that I realised I might have a problem myself. I drove into the pub car park after walking the dogs, like I always did.

But this time was different. I felt awful – constantly needing a drink to get over that drained, empty feeling I could never seem to shake. I thought to myself, I’ve had enough of this. I’m not doing it anymore.

It’s not like I’ve got a problem – I’ll just give up. That’s it, I’m done. I didn’t even park; I just drove back out. At that point, I decided I was never drinking again. Ever.

A week went by, and I really struggled. That surprised me, because I’d taken several six-month breaks before with no issues whatsoever.

So why was this different? Because before, I always knew that in six months I could drink again. It was like looking forward to a holiday – you knew it was coming, so it was easy.

This time, saying never again was harder than any break I’d ever taken. That’s when I realised I obviously did have a problem – whether it was habit or addiction, it was real.

So I went on Facebook and poured my heart out. I said I’d stopped drinking for good. That gave me accountability – if I drank now, I wouldn’t just be letting myself down, I’d be letting everyone down. And that’s what kept me sober when the thoughts crept in, when I wanted to get smashed after work.

The first four months passed, and to be honest, I was disappointed. I thought I’d feel amazing, but I still felt pretty rough. That’s the point where I can see how people relapse. If this is what sobriety feels like, what’s the difference?

But I persevered, and at around seven months there was a huge shift. I felt incredible – the only way I can describe it is feeling fifteen again, before drinking took over. I had bundles of energy.

Emotions came back too

But emotions came back too. The ones I’d buried deep for years to survive that dark period of my mum being drunk, angry, and loud, while my dad was preparing for brain tumour surgery.

I had to be strong. As my dad always said, “Never cry, boy.”

So I didn’t. I held everything in. Now I was left with all these emotions and no idea how to release them.

Pen went to paper

I’ve always been musical, but when I was drinking, I had no motivation. So I decided, just for myself, to write something. It had to be rap. I remembered being in my bedroom, listening to Eminem, Dre, and Xzibit.

There was one song I’d play loud to drown out the shouting and screaming from downstairs – Alkaholik. She’d hit the ceiling with a broom, telling me to turn my TV down. She’d even mute her own TV just to check if she could hear mine, then shout if she heard even a whisper.

So pen went to paper. It started as memories, but it became something more. I began to ask: How did she get to this point? What made her turn to alcohol?

Her past had shaped her future

That’s when I realised her addiction was an illness, not a choice. Her past had shaped her future. That realisation allowed me to forgive her – to a degree.

Enough to move on with my life, but not before trying to share my story and help kids who are living in the same situation today.

I’d briefly met Calum Best through another project, and I kept seeing his posts about Nacoa. That’s when I realised I could share their material, raise awareness, and also release my own song to tell my story.

It took me a while to hit that post button, but staying sober and focused gave me confidence. So I did it.
The response was overwhelming. I shared it across all my social media, and then Nacoa reached out and said they wanted to use it on their site.

I said yes immediately. That was almost the dream – to get it onto a platform where it could really resonate with someone.

Anyway, I’m rambling now. Please listen to this song – the story of a boy growing up with an alcoholic mother and how it affected his family.

When she hugged me, it felt like hugging a stranger. It’s a shame I never really knew what having a mum felt like. But the lessons I learned will stay with me forever and help me be the best dad I can be.