At a first glance it looks okay. But on closer inspection something isn’t quite right. It isn’t in the best of shape. It doesn’t look vibrant and alive. And this got me thinking about how good people are at hiding their problems so that, on the surface, they look as if everything is fine. No one knew about my drinking issues and the internal turmoil that caused them.  I still looked after the family and did my job. I still smiled and laughed and made jokes.

It’s a lonely, isolating business, having a mental health illness and if you know someone who’s suffering here’s what you can do – and these points are for me just as much as anyone. Just because I’ve “been there” doesn’t mean I don’t need reminding of how I can best help someone else who’s struggling.

(Just to note, the following suggestions are based on my own experience as a patient of addiction treatment (alcohol/eating) who has felt anxious/depressed – not as a trained medic -and as such they are not necessarily applicable to any specific mental health diagnosis such as bipolar, suicidal thoughts/tendencies or psychotic episodes etc.)

Empathy. This is absolutely crucial and on a training course I did to peer mentor young people in addiction we discussed it in depth. Empathy is not starting a sentence with “at least” – for example “at least you have a family to support you,” “at least you have a great job,” “at least you have a roof over your head,” and so on. The outside factors are irrelevant. It’s what’s happening on the inside that counts – as proven by the many celebrities who end up in treatment despite, on the surface, having the perfect life with money, fame, good looks, great careers…

Empathy is about LISTENING and not necessarily trying to fix things. I find this personally very difficult, especially as a parent – if someone’s having a tough time I want to jump in and immediately start offering what I think are solutions. But more often than not people just want to talk and be heard. That’s all. It’s about giving them the time and space to do this. It’s about simply saying that’s tough, I’m sorry to hear you are suffering – I’m here for you. It’s about giving hugs – that emotional and physical support means so much.

See the illness for what it is – something separate. If someone breaks their leg, you see that as something separate to the patient and it should be the same with mental health. If someone has depression or anxiety or whatever, that person is still there, somewhere inside – the mental illness is a medical problem they are suffering from, it’s not them.

My drinking and eating disorder issues, caused by my mental health problems, made me isolate. Made me lie. Made me over-sensitive. Defensive. Made me emotional. Tearful… in the same way a broken leg might make you walk funny or wince in pain or not be able to get out much socially.

If you can see the mental illness as a separate entity that might help you have more empathy if you are finding that difficult – because the mental illness of others is difficult to live with and you shouldn’t be hard on yourself for having conflicted feelings about this. Poor mental health can feel impossible to understand. Back in the day I even had a doctor tell me to simply eat normally. Irrational behaviour is difficult to explain and can lead to frustration and impatience growing in people trying to help. And I get it. There’s nothing worse than feeling helpless in the face of someone you care for being so unhappy. But try to see the anxiety – or whatever the problem is – as a beast your loved one is trying to tame, as opposed to being part of them.

Whilst just listening is crucial, if you feel the time is right, don’t feel afraid to nudge people towards treatment options. Although this has to be well-judged. With any mental illness – especially addiction – the patient, him/herself, has to acknowledge they have a problem and get help. They have to be ready. But – going by personal experience where I’ve helped people – there is nothing wrong with subtle suggestions, over time, to plant the seeds of an idea that maybe a visit to the GP or counselling could be helpful. Don’t be so forceful, don’t put so much pressure on that you scare the person away, but at the same time make it easy for them to access the information they need. Perhaps leave some leaflets lying around or message them a couple of links and leave it at that for a while.

Don’t give up on them. For the last couple of years I’ve cancelled no end of engagements. Pulled out at the last minute. Said yes but meant no. Yet still friends and family ask me out and I’m grateful. Try not to take it personally if someone pulls out of an event. It won’t be that they don’t want to see you or don’t see the invite as something important and appreciated. If they rang up and said they’d been struck down by gastric flu you’d understand. Try to accept that a sudden bout of anxiety or low feelings is no different. As author and mental health advocate Matt Haig is always saying, physical health, mental health, it’s all part of the same.

Very importantly – think about your own needs. Firstly, you are no good to anyone else if you don’t look after yourself and become ill… but secondly, and more importantly, you matter too. It can be draining and emotionally challenging being there for someone who is sick. Sometimes  you have to be put yourself first in order to keep well. Indeed, this mindset helps me maintain my recovery. A couple of times over the last year or two I have had to distance myself from people who are ill because it might threaten my own mental strength and sobriety. This is not selfishness – it is self-care. Or, as we call it in the addiction world, keeping yourself safe.

Lastly, I would like to thank anyone reading this post who supports – or is considering offering support to – a friend or family member in need. Give yourself a big pat on the back. It is all too easy to turn a blind eye, to take the easy route and not get involved.

You never know if one day you too might end up needing treatment. I know that better than anyone and during those times it is the patience, the understanding and love of people that matters most.

In August 2016 I found myself sitting in an addiction clinic. This will probably be a shock to those who know me. It shocked me too. My drinking had grown from the weekend, to stretch across Thursday and Sunday. Then it was every night, any excuse. It softened a bad review and added sparkle to literary celebrations. But truth be told, the problem had been growing for years, way before I became an author. I suffered from anorexia and bulimia at university and recently my eating issues have returned. The rooms of AA are filled with people who’ve had – or have – eating disorders. The mental issues behind the behaviours are very similar.

Fear and denial kept me away from the doctor. I hadn’t lost my job yet, my family, not all my friends, my house, I wasn’t drinking twenty-four seven, I didn’t end up sleeping on the streets or in prison or sectioned… My problem wasn’t yet obvious.

But certain areas of my life and the mental distress were becoming unmanageable. I couldn’t face life with alcohol. I couldn’t face life without it.

When I finally went to my GP, back in February 2016, it initially proved difficult to get the expert treatment I needed. Eventually a counsellor directed me to the alcohol services for my area and for three months I had outpatient treatment – group therapy – at an addiction clinic where I was treated by hard-talking former addicts. Then I moved to recovery services for a further three months, where I learnt about mindfulness and wellbeing. I gave talks to children in High School about my drinking and eating problems. I trained for another three months to become a peer mentor to young people in addiction.

During those nine months I shared my story and listened to new friends talk about their addiction in the context of work, domestic abuse, prison life and homelessness.

People chat to each other about trying to cut down on unhealthy foods or stopping smoking, but you’ll rarely hear a conversation where one person says they are seriously worried about their alcohol habits – because there is such a stigma attached to regularly drinking too much. And yet many people are and as long as this fear of being truthful about our intake exists, hospital beds will continue to fill with people suffering from alcohol-related illnesses.

Society needs to be talking openly about it.

A considerable part of recovery is making alcoholics aware of the hurt we might have caused others. We won’t get better until we realise that no one is to blame for our drinking but ourselves. We need to face up to the consequences of what we’ve done – and that difficult process is what originally inspired my new novel.

Forgive Me Not isn’t my story. It is made up of characters who go on their own journeys. However it is written completely from the heart. From personal experience I know that saying sorry isn’t always enough.

I’ll never forget going into the rooms of Alcoholics Anonymous for the first time. I envisaged there would be old men in dirty macs, sitting on their hands longing for a drink. How wrong I was. It was full of warm, welcoming, happy people of all ages and backgrounds who wanted to share their joy of sobriety. I did the Twelve Step recovery programme with my wonderful sponsor.

AA isn’t for everyone, but it isn’t scary. The thought of going is. And it shouldn’t be. Alcohol abuse is a growing problem, particularly amongst people of my age who buy a bottle of wine to unwind at the end of the day. Society needs to reach a position where people can talk about their drinking habits without the fear of being judged.

I’m still Sam the wife, mum and author, who likes cats and writing and cake. That person, in real life and online, hasn’t gone anywhere. It’s helped no end, the last couple of years, to use social media to talk about the positive aspects of my life, whilst dealing with my demons away from the keyboard. Posting my inspirational memes probably helps me as much as anyone else. It’s only now that I feel strong enough to share my experience. I’ve faced my problem head on and stopped drinking. I’ve made amends where possible and it’s taken a while, but I’ve finally forgiven myself.

I’ve accepted that this is me.

More than ever I love my amazing husband and children whose unquestioning support has been a big part of the reason that I’m now eighteen months sober. I’m full of gratitude for the help given to me by them, friends, AA and professionals.

If any of you reading this are struggling with drink, get help now before things worsen – which they will. Go to your doctor. Speak to a relative or friend. Go to AA – the only qualification needed to attend is that you want to stop drinking but can’t. They won’t take your name or ask for personal details or write anything down. No one will tell you you’re an alcoholic – you’ll decide for yourself by listening to everyone else’s stories and seeing if you can relate to the feelings.

You won’t stand out as different. Alcoholics are ordinary people.

If you are worried about your own intake reach out and tell someone before the wine o’clock everyone jokes about turns into a ticking time bomb.

You may be an alcoholic. You may not.

But if you are, I’m getting better one day at a time.

So can you.