Hi There

A quick catch up

Hi there.
I have been neglectful of my page of late.

Time got away between posts and my motivation waned.

I didn’t think anyone was reading.

I forgot why I am writing this blog.

I started this blog for freelance writing purposes. It was required of me to set up a page and start running a blog (at my own cost) in order to have a freelance article published online (Paid less than said cost) I was also required to continue my blog in order to be invited to write for this online publication again. The invite never came and that’s no biggy really. When I set up this page I wondered what I could possibly share that others might wish to read. Then it struck me. My recovery from alcohol dependence is the biggest thing in my life. I know many others struggle from addiction and so off I went. I hoped that somewhere in my words that even just one person may benefit. I also hoped that readers would enjoy my writing. Something amazing began to happen. I thoroughly enjoyed the process and it became very therapeutic for me also.

I can’t identify now where I was at personally when I stopped sharing. I didn’t write for a day or two which slipped into a week, 2, a month etc……

Up popped self, pride and ego –

No one is reading anyway why bother – Silly because I had discovered I was largely doing this for myself and if others read then great. if someone was helped FANTASTIC..

I’ve had feedback and suggestion that I am writing my blog out of ego – No. It became a simple process of enjoying what I was doing. An outlet for my struggles and emotions. A genuine desire that my words may help another.

I had other things to do – Well.. there’s always ‘other’ things to do. Sometimes I forget what is important to me and do other things that provide a quick gratification. I neglect things that have a less noticeable, slow but sustainable result.

I have a tendency to overthink things and I got into my head questioning my motives and wondering if this was a grab for attention. I have recognised that in the past I have been someone who needed attention. I’d tell you otherwise and that I hated both yet I have covered myself in attention grabbing tattoos, was competing in my sports to receive the accolades, I’d never do something small; if I going to enter a run I wouldn’t just do the 10km I’d do the marathon, I entered a 110km overnight paddle race on the Hawkesbury River when I had been paddling just 6 months (I was on a SUP and stacked it at 77km and quit. Ouch for my ego) In rehab I kept the attention on me by loosing 12kg anorexic like while most putt the weight on… Attention attention attention… So i began to wonder if this was another manifestation of that.. You know what it is not. I enjoy this and if others do too that’s great.

I’m back 🙂

Kite for life

Getting back to Water 🌊

Time for a change of pace here on my blog.

I have an addiction to alcohol and red wine is my poison. I chose the name for my blog as Turning Wine to Water to reflect on my passion for water sports as an integral part of my recovery process. My love of the ocean, surfing, kiteboarding and stand up paddle has been a therapeutic and at times spiritual process. When I am in the water I feel connected. Connected to myself, my inner child, to the universe and I am reminded to be grateful. Grateful just to be alive. What a beautiful journey we are on as spiritual beings, having this human experience to grow and progress our true essence.

I can recall quite clearly a conversation with a girlfriend that took place in my mid 20’s which went something like this:
Me. ‘Do you have a passion?’
Friend. ‘No’
Me. ‘Shouldn’t we have a passion? Shouldn’t everyone have a passion?’

Fast forward 13 years or so and I have been blessed to find passion indeed. It began 11 years ago when an opportunity to learn kitesurfing came my way and from this I have found a passionate love of the ocean, a joy and peacefulness in surfing SUP. On top of this I have discovered a love of writing. God heard my question of so long ago and manifested passion into my life and along with it came the opportunity to travel around Australia, to become involved in the exciting world of competitive kiting and stand up paddle surfing and racing, and to meet many amazing people some of whom have become beautiful, supportive lifelong friends.

Also in this 13 years my alcoholism was progressing to the point of dysfunctional hopelessness (when I drink), but if the only hardship in life I have to endure is the fact that I can not take so much as one alcoholic drink then I think I am pretty damn lucky. What a great big F you to God for endowing me with this fortunate life if I choose to forsake it all for the addiction that wants to see me ruined. When I feel like giving in I must remember to breathe, pray and head to the ocean.

Thank you G. Your will not mine be done.

Jack in a box

Meet Jack

I’ve named my addict Jack.

Lately I have felt like a Jack in a Box. Each night I pop Jack down on his spring and push the lid shut. I go to bed relieved, grateful to get through the day. Sometimes I physically exhale a huge breath as I thank God for another sober day because I was sure I wouldn’t get through it dry. In the morning I wake and the box is there, my first thought. Most mornings I manage my prayers and begin my day but invariably somewhere throughout the day he springs and frightens the crap out of me.

I imagine my Jack as a maniac circus clown, crazy hair, big red contemptuous smile, wild open eyes, total madness behind, and the long cackling laughter of the insane. In one hand he grasps the neck of an open bottle of red, crimson liquid spilling and splashing as he boings this way and that, jesting away on his spring. In the other hand Jack holds a spliff, waving it around, smoke coiling from the glowing tip. Devil knows what he has concealed in his pockets ready to spring at me any time. And there Jack remains bouncing all day around and around in my head, trying to take control, playing his tricks and whispering in my mind.

There’s a bridge nearby and Jack has an idea. “Why not stash some booze under the bridge. Tell the folks you are going for a walk because that’s normal anyway, no suspicion there.” When I am alone on my bed he has more super ideas, “Why not Google the closest pub, bottlo or club to the house, that’s handy information to have we might just go there. I bet they have good food.” Such a clever fellow my Jack, “We’re in Qld, lets go home Mum and Dad won’t be back for a while, lots of drinking time just have to hide it from bro.” Or “There’s white in the fridge and red in the pantry, both in casks, just one of each, they won’t know.” He has countless more inventive and of course foolproof ideas but I’ll share just one more of his genius suggestions. **”Uncle Jack gave you a flask, let’s take it to a meeting and on the way back fill it with booze and no one will know, they’ll just think it’s water in there. And, Oh don’t forget Vodka doesn’t smell.”

Thankfully I have been smarter than Jack and today I am winning. Each attempt of Jack’s that I have resisted has made me stronger and tonight when I put that lid on his box I’ll glue the damn thing shut, wrap it in duct tape and throw it away. If he comes back I’ll have to call him Houdini.

I look forward to tomorrow as Jack fades from my mind and each day gets better and the insanity fades. Today my heart is filled with hope and plans for a bright future, love of my family and service to others.

I think I’ll get a new box with an angel inside… And if Jack reappears my angel has got gloves and isn’t too holy to use them!!!

Blessed 🙂

**My real Uncle Jack and a water flask not a hip flask


The Cloak

I spent 7 1/2 months in a long term drug and alcohol rehabilitation centre in 2014. My start in the rehab was a breeze because when I entered I considered myself a human lacking feelings, and certainly I wasn’t feeling any. ‘I just have no depth of feelings’ I liked to share with my therapist and my peers in this therapeutic community. I was warned about ’emotional detox’ but didn’t think this applied to me. I didn’t cry much.

Suddenly at around the 8-9 week mark a flood of emotions assaulted me as my personal ’emotional detox’ began. I cried solidly for a couple of months and a heaviness consumed me. I wasn’t to break out of this until a few weeks before my departure on completion of the program, and for the 2 3/4 years since this darkness has not often been far away. Initially It began on waking. I opened my eyes each morning and the first feeling, before even a thought entered my waking consciousness, was dread. It felt like ‘Ugh’. I wrote ‘The Cloak’ toward the end of my stay in the rehab.

I feel I’m wearing the cloak today 😔 however this too shall pass

The Cloak

By Michelle England

Perfect unconsciousness
Black, dark, still
I wake


Recycled air escapes from deep
The place just outside my soul
The cloak so soft descends upon me
False comfort easy to get lost in
Sweeps me up in folds of grey
Laying me down in the hazy shadows
A simple paradox
Tenacious surrender
Secure and warm in this fragile cold place
Enticing me to stay
So soft so gentle



My sigh resides
The place just outside my soul
Resides there in the darkness

A murmur from deep
Close your eyes little one close your eyes
I will lull you in my folds
Lay your head down in my bed of shadows
I will hold you


A robust spark rekindles
Burning brighter warming from within
Spreading tender strength and courage
Fractures the fog of my hostage mind
A smile so tiny toys upon my lips
A solitary peaceful tear marks a path upon my cheek


My sign surrenders
The place just outside my soul
Bringing forth with might and valour
The rainbow of my spirit

The cloak turns drab and heavy
Folds of dark foreboding cold
Deception plain, name revealed
Time to bid it go

Time to breathe
Time to rise
Time to be

Time to shed
My melancholy cloak

photo credit: spaceamoeba Golden walk via photopin (license)


Cunning Baffling Powerful

Addiction is cunning, baffling and powerful. The disease is not in the bottle, the substance or pill, It centres in the mind, has a physical allergic component and a spiritual malady. The solution is not just to stop drinking or taking drugs, the disease is still there and this is what needs to be addressed. I felt I had personally done a lot of work and gained self awareness and valuable understanding on my alcoholism feeling internally that I would never drink again. Even in times of distress it was just no longer an option. Then one moment during deep emotional turmoil the desire struck and became overpowering even though I was doing the right things for my sobriety (mostly, and there probably lies the key). I knew the consequences and I knew it could not end well. I knew I would be breaking over 2.5 years of sobriety and in excess of 800 hundred or so days without putting alcohol to my lips. It didn’t matter what I knew at the moment I bought alcohol. The smell repulsed me but I drank, forcing the poison down. I drank against my will or want, my addiction or need was too powerful, I had no defence. Once I started, naturally the phenomenon of craving began and I could not stop. Here began a dark relapse that took me places I had never been before. The progressive nature of the illness meant I was just where I left off years before and I could drink just as much or more. I managed to pull myself up but in the 3 months since have experienced 3 more relapses. Two of only a couple of days but this last one of 6 days was not my usual isolated drinking and was a pretty wild experience in the capital city of Cambodia and I feel lucky to have escaped without harm. I won’t go into detail as I am writing an elaborate account of these past few months hopefully to be published in the right forum.

The morning I left Mui Ne Vietnam to start my journey home via supportive friends in the south of Cambodia I was eating my final breakfast at my guesthouse cafe. Sitting at a table just metres from me was a woman of about my age, head hung low, hair covering her face and unable to sit upright without sudden jolts sideways, just catching herself before she fell. A half drank beer in front of her and a lit cigarette burned almost to her fingers, the ash indicating it had barely been smoked. I wondered if she was in fact asleep until she suddenly stubbed out the cigarette and stood abruptly, returning to the cafe fridge and helping herself to another beer then plopping back down heavily at her table. I don’t think she had any awareness of myself or locals who passed by the cafe staring mainly in what looked like disgust at this heavily intoxicated woman at 6:30 in the morning. I didn’t look upon her with disgust or pity just love and understanding and a bolt of gratitude struck me that ‘there but for the grace of God go I.’ I had seen this same woman inebriated on occasions before and it was fair to surmise she is an alcoholic such as myself. I wished there was something that I could do for her but of course there was not. She is walking her path as I am my own. I had now decided to continue my path in Australia where the support of family and friends is essential and the adventure of travel no longer appealing without a strong sobriety intact. Nothing is fun in the roundabout of relapse.

The woman was still there as I lugged my backpack and sport bag past the cafe to the bus waiting area. I sent a silent prayer her way that she may be shown the light of a better life and the courage to walk that way. I pray that prayer for myself often because I know its worth and truth.

I was travelling again at just 6 days sober myself after a small relapse in Mui Ne which was the crux of my decision that Australia was the best place for me and my recovery. They had been difficult days of sobriety so close to a relapse and I didn’t trust myself to stay overnight in either capital of Vietnam or Cambodia so I linked my buses as best I could. However my late arrival in Phnom Penh necessitated a stay. I had three buses to arrive at my destination of Otres/Sihanoukville in the south of Cambodia. The first 5 hours would deliver me to Ho Chi Mihn City and the relief and joy in my heart knowing I was on my way home was welcomed with warmth. After just a one hour break the next bus would take me 7 hours and across the border to Cambodia’s capital where I arrived at 9:30pm. I was happy and free of urges just after leaving Ho Chi Minh having witnessed the woman that morning and the gratitude that brought and knowing that my friends and family were waiting, happy to see me. Not long into this second leg I received a crushing blow from one who loves me but has an inability to show it. My joy totally deflated with a bang like a popped balloon. My default to think of a drink crept back in and suddenly I knew I wanted a night of drinking in Phnom Penh before I would arrive to my supportive friends. My final bus was at 8 in the morning. I prayed and prayed for the obsession to drink to be removed, I prayed for the bus to take longer to arrive at my destination until the obsession was lifted. I thought of my family, the babies, my friends and everything I hold so dear to me, but it had already set in and when the insanity has arrived I know it is inevitable. How can my thinking change so drastically. How can I be so powerless against my own will. I can be at a place of total conviction that I do not want to drink and just by one simple thoughtless incident I have a different mind. My addict takes over.

Sure enough off I went. I failed to catch my bus the next morning waking with a start at 10:30. I could have easily caught a number of buses that day but the cravings had set in and I wanted more time to drink. I missed a series of buses over the next few days, lost most of my possessions except my passport and computer and eventually was in hell where I could not drink anymore but I couldn’t not drink either. There is no place worse than this and only oblivion removes it. I managed to book an early bus that would collect me from my guesthouse and somehow got myself on this and arrived to my waiting friends 6 days late. Blessed to have arrived at all.

This crazy 6 days demonstrated to me once again the cunning, baffling and powerful nature of this disease. One day I sat with a grateful heart that I was not this sick woman beside me in a cafe, the next I was that woman, the setting not identical but the level of degradation, hopelessness and powerlessness just the same.

The struggle

Struggle Town

In early recovery some days are easy and some days are hard. When I left Australia late March for my prolonged Cambodian stint I was a few months past my two year milestone. I guess deep down I knew I was off on my biggest geographical yet but I had conveniently hidden this knowledge deep inside and I would not admit it until the inevitable occurred. Without putting conscious thought into it I no longer considered myself in early recovery, my sobriety felt solid and I could not imagine ever picking up a drink again. I could not have been more wrong and my foolishness and pride are still paying the consequences.

At two years, seven months and eight days sober, delusion set in and I made the decision to drink knowing full well the price would be costly but somehow avoiding to process the severity of this and drinking anyway. In this last statement I do not allude to the monetary expense of the alcohol for the cost of that first night was less than $20 for a 700ml bottle of Vodka and a bottle of red. No, the 4 days of drinking was to cost much more dearly in the physical and mental torture that ineluctably follows for me after a drinking spree and insanely lead me to other substances to ease the pain. Swapping the witch for the bitch I think is a fair term to describe it.

By the grace of God I had managed to put everything down and get back to the gratitude and enjoyment of life but my isolation and loneliness, longing for home and missing the vital connection with other alcoholics steers my thoughts back to drinking and I am frequently in the battle to stay sober. The direction I thought I had found with my kite instructing doesn’t seem so important anymore and I’m wondering whether to just swallow my pride and head home to the support of family and friends who love me.

Today is a hard day and I have struggled to get through it. The deceptive lure and promise of comfort from a drink has been tempting me yet again and it has taken my utmost to resist. The insanity of alcoholism is baffling. I know life is too good, family so precious. Feelings wont kill me. Alcohol will.

God grant me the serenity to accept the things I can not change, courage to change the things I can and wisdom to know the difference.

photo credit: Norbert Eder Alone via photopin (license)