Sober Sister

Sober Sister After 14 years of alcoholism I went into liver failure in 2014 at age 27. But most importantly fighting the stigma! 💪

I’m now over 12 years sober and believe in the importance of education and awareness surrounding addiction.

Raise your hand if you stayed sober today! I’m so damn proud of you! 💙🩵💖
31/08/2026

Raise your hand if you stayed sober today! I’m so damn proud of you! 💙🩵💖

Facts! At 27 years old I was told one more drink would kill me! Not might. Not could. But will! 🪦🪦So after 14 years of d...
31/08/2026

Facts! At 27 years old I was told one more drink would kill me! Not might. Not could. But will! 🪦🪦

So after 14 years of drinking myself into oblivion I had a choice to make and I decided that I didn’t want to die!

So on the 4th of August 2014 I put the bottle down and over 12 years later I have never picked it back up!

Following on from my previous post. Just a reminder….😉 ****ad ***le ***ff
31/08/2026

Following on from my previous post. Just a reminder….😉

****ad ***le ***ff

Don’t believe in miracles? Sit down with an addict in recovery and listen to their story!! 💙🩵💜 If you are staying sober ...
31/08/2026

Don’t believe in miracles? Sit down with an addict in recovery and listen to their story!! 💙🩵💜

If you are staying sober today I am so damn proud of you!! Keep that s**t up! 👏🫶

💟 Recovery is messy. Healing is hard. Laughing helps. Follow Sober Sister for real talk, relatable content, hope, resilience, zero bulls**t — and the kind of humour that makes you think, “I can’t believe she just said that publicly”… immediately followed by, “Oh my God. ME TOO.” 😂💜

Facts! And we’ll make sure to remind you of all the embarrassing things you did! 😅😅😂😂
31/08/2026

Facts! And we’ll make sure to remind you of all the embarrassing things you did! 😅😅😂😂

Apparently my sobriety has upset a small but very vocal demographic: grown men old enough to be my father with Facebook ...
31/08/2026

Apparently my sobriety has upset a small but very vocal demographic: grown men old enough to be my father with Facebook accounts, Wi-Fi, and absolutely nothing constructive to do with either.

On a recent post celebrating how many days sober I have, I received some absolute intellectual masterpieces such as:

“You looked better drunk.”
“Now fix your face.”
“Sobriety made you ugly.”
“Go have a beer.”

Gentlemen… devastating. Truly. I don’t know how I’ll recover from Darren, 63, profile picture taken inside a parked ute, telling me he doesn’t fancy me. 😂

Imagine seeing a woman celebrating 12+ years of surviving something that nearly killed her and thinking, “You know what this moment needs? My unsolicited opinion about her face.”

Sir. The call is coming from inside the house.

And “go have a drink”? PLEASE. If I had a dollar for every emotionally constipated Facebook goblin who has told me to “go have a drink” during my recovery, I’d have enough money to retire, buy a beachfront house and hire someone specifically to delete stupid comments for me.

At least get some new material.

You’re not edgy.
You’re not offensive in some groundbreaking way.
You’re certainly not hurting my feelings.

You’re just recycling the same tired insult every other internet turnip has been using for years.

And here’s the funniest part…

You’re trying to shame someone for getting sober.

Think about how spectacularly miserable you have to be to see another human being claw their way out of addiction, rebuild their life, survive, thrive, and then think:

“Yeah. F**k her.”

That tells people absolutely nothing about me.

It tells them plenty about you.

And despite all of that, if one day one of these blokes realises alcohol is destroying his life and genuinely reaches out for help?

I’ll still help him.

Because recovery taught me how to become a better person, not a bitter one.

But until that beautiful moment of personal growth arrives, you can keep your misogyny, your bargain-bin insults and your unsolicited opinions about my appearance somewhere considerably deeper than my comment section.

And one thing I WILL be completely serious about:

I will not tolerate this behaviour on my page.

Sober Sister has grown into a community where people talk openly about addiction, mental health, trauma, recovery and some of the hardest moments of their lives.

People deserve to feel safe doing that.

So if you come onto my page purely to humiliate, bully, shame or antagonise people, you’ll be banned.

No warning.
No debate.
No dramatic farewell tour.

Just click… gone.

I’ve worked far too hard to build this community to let a handful of emotionally undercooked di****ads s**t in the swimming pool.

So if you see comments like these before I do, please tag me.

I’ll bring the ban hammer. 🔨😂

And gentlemen…

I’m terribly sorry my sobriety, happiness and success make you feel inferior.

But unfortunately, that sounds very much like a you problem.

So here’s another photo for you to attempt to insult me on! I’ll wait…Why? Because haters are my motivators!! So bring it!

***le ****ad ***ff

Don’t fool yourself! It never ends at “just one”! One is too many and a thousand is never enough! 🚫🚫
31/08/2026

Don’t fool yourself! It never ends at “just one”! One is too many and a thousand is never enough! 🚫🚫

Imagine being 27 years old and having a doctor tell you that if you drink alcohol again, you will die.Not you might die....
31/08/2026

Imagine being 27 years old and having a doctor tell you that if you drink alcohol again, you will die.

Not you might die.
Not you could die.
Not this is getting dangerous.

You WILL die.

That was my reality.

My ALT — a liver enzyme used to indicate liver injury — was 14,380.

The normal range is roughly 0–45.

Yes. You read that correctly.

Fourteen thousand, three hundred and eighty.

My liver wasn’t “struggling.” It was severely inflamed, toxic and shutting down.

I was rushed to Emergency and met by doctors and nurses who were stunned that I was still alive with liver enzymes that high. My condition was so severe that they weren’t entirely sure what to do with me.

So they called the Poisons Information Centre.

Their suggestion was to try an IV medication normally used to treat paracetamol overdose.

Nobody knew whether it would work.

There was no confident little medical speech about how everything was going to be fine.

It was essentially: this is our best shot.

Thankfully, my body took that shot and ran with it.

My liver slowly started to recover.

But leaving hospital two weeks later didn’t mean I skipped off into the sunset with a shiny new liver and a motivational quote.

For the next two years, I had blood tests twice a week while doctors monitored my liver.

Twice a week.

For two years.

That’s how long it took for my liver enzymes to finally return to the normal range.

And here’s the part that still sits strangely with me:

I still don’t know exactly how much permanent damage I did.

My liver was so inflamed that doctors couldn’t safely perform a biopsy. The risk of catastrophic internal bleeding was simply too high.

So to this day, I don’t know exactly how much of my liver is scarred.

I don’t know how much of that damage is irreversible.

I don’t know exactly how much functioning capacity I lost during all those years of drinking.

What I do know is that I now have to be extremely careful about anything that places unnecessary strain on my liver.

Thankfully, the liver is an absolutely incredible organ and has a remarkable ability to regenerate.

But it isn’t fu***ng Wolverine.

There are limits.

Some scarring is permanent. Some damage does not disappear simply because the drinking stops.

And perhaps the most confronting part of this story is this:

I didn’t nearly drink myself to death because I didn’t understand alcohol was hurting me.

By the end, I knew.

I knew I was sick.

I knew my body was deteriorating.

And eventually I was explicitly told that another drink could end my life.

That is the part people need to understand when they say things like:

“Why didn’t you just stop?”

Because addiction is not a simple intellectual decision.

You can know something is destroying you and still feel compelled to reach for it.

You can desperately want to stop and still be unable to make your brain cooperate.

You can be intelligent, educated, loved, terrified and completely aware of the consequences — and still be addicted.

That isn’t stupidity.

That isn’t weakness.

That isn’t bad character.

That is addiction.

I was addicted to a legal, socially celebrated and highly addictive drug so severely that my brain still wanted alcohol while my liver was literally shutting down because of it.

And somehow, at just 27 years old, I was given another chance.

I survived something I probably shouldn’t have survived.

So when I talk loudly about addiction, recovery and stigma, this is why.

I know what it feels like to be the person society judges while you’re already fighting for your fu***ng life.

And I also know what can happen when that person finally gets the help, compassion and opportunity they need to recover.

I’m living proof.

💟 Recovery is messy. Healing is hard. Laughing helps. Follow Sober Sister for real talk, relatable content, hope, resilience, zero bulls**t — and the kind of humour that makes you think, “I can’t believe she just said that publicly”… immediately followed by, “Oh my God. ME TOO.” 😂💜

Facts! My sobriety date could have easily been my tombstone date! 🪦🪦
31/08/2026

Facts! My sobriety date could have easily been my tombstone date! 🪦🪦


So relatable! 😅😂 Anyone else?
31/08/2026

So relatable! 😅😂 Anyone else?

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