Leap and the net will appear. How to shake the familiar hell.

Day 18 - 31 daily tips to stay sober through Dry January

Our nervous system is programmed to protect us. Seeking out patterns in our environment to keep us safe, it’s what makes us choose fight or flight when we encounter a perceived threat.

I remember an overwhelming feeling towards flight, walking home as the sun came up over a sleeping Southsea in 2011.

A cyclist was making ground on me, a mobile phone tucked between his shoulder and ear as his legs gained momentum. Co-ordinated groups on bikes had recently been targeting people walking home alone late at night in the city, and something didn’t feel right. I felt the grip of my shoulder blades clenching. A cold shiver quivered through my back and I was gone, darting into a 24-hour petrol station as the cyclist beckoned towards me. It was a snap decision which saved me from being mugged and meant I got to go home, laptop intact.

I’ll always be thankful for those primal instincts that night, but they’re also the very thing that can hinder change. In a world where (outside Portsmouth) less immediate threats are lurking round every corner, our intrinsic desire to avoid the dangers of the unknown can really hold us back. It stopped me in my tracks for years.

We find comfort in the familiar, and our nervous system will always lead us that way even when it doesn’t serve us well: to choose a familiar hell over an unfamiliar heaven.

The familiar hell represents those situations that, despite being upsetting, disappointing or uncomfortable, are ones that we understand and have experienced before.

Even when a situation is toxic, we can find comfort in the familiarity of a discomfort we know well. It’s what keeps us stuck in all manner of unhealthy cycles.

15 years ago, it took me back into the arms of a physically abusive partner over and over. Shuffling back to our shared house with the dull rings of two heavy black eyes she had given me two nights ago, my heart was heavy but I knew how it would play out. It wasn’t the first time.

I’d curl up on our bed, she’d sit at the end of the bed staring down at her hands and sobbing her heart out, saying how sorry she was and that it would never happen again. I’d forgive her, and then it would go back to a semblance of normality for a while. My heart would be heavy and my light would feel a little dimmer than before, but it was a path well tread. I knew those feelings well.

Raining punches on my face as I stood under the unforgiving lights of a Thekla lock-in was an escalation from previous times, and my flatmate sat me down to tell me that it couldn’t go on. An actual intervention. But I knew where I was if I stayed. Familiar. I preferred that to the unknown, unfamiliar pain and upheaval of leaving.

In making a decision to live a life free from alcohol you’re going completely against the fabric of what you know. It’s stepping away from all the safety of familiarity: the way you cope, the way you celebrate, the way you escape. What is my life without all of this? That fear of uncertainty held me down for so long.

So if it’s feeling hard to take that step, I see you. We’re programmed to fight this with every inch of our being.

And if you’re finding it hard not to fall back on familiar patterns, then know I lost count of how many times I walked through that front door with a heavy heart. It is possible to break free. From toxic relationships and from alcohol.

Making meaningful change is frightening, but it’s from change where the most profound transformation and successes can come.

I’ve never been happier than where I am right now: living in sobriety with my soulmate and best friend. I wouldn’t be where I am if I hadn’t leaned into the discomfort of the unknown. Taken a chance on what could be.

“Leap and the net will appear”. I promise.