It seems that one of my longest lasting triggers is, ridiculously enough, ironing. Not that I do a lot of it, but when I did it was always in the evening, with a continually topped up glass of white wine at my side. This was such a strong link in my mind that over the last nearly 8 weeks I have avoided the occasion of the offence, and kept ironing to a bare minimum and at different times of day. This evening I felt strong enough to test the water. I was fully prepared to just stop if it made me too twitchy, but I was fine for an hour’s ironing in front of the box with a glass of lovely non-alcoholic treat drink in place of the wine.
This feels like yet another example of one simple fact.
I thought that the wine was the only way I could make my unbearable life bearable, whereas in reality it was the wine MAKING it unbearable.
I’m on my way, folks.