Finding Calm in the Chaos: A Personal Journey Through Anxiety and Alcohol

A Personal Reflection on Sobriety, Neurodivergence, and the Healing Power of Nature Photography

Before I begin, I want to share that this piece is personal rather than technical. Over the past few years, I have been trying to understand my mind, my habits, and the patterns that quietly shaped my life. Writing this is part of that process. It feels important to be open about what has helped me, what has harmed me, and what I am learning along the way.

Living With Anxiety Without Having a Name for It

For most of my adult life, I knew something felt different inside me, but I never had the language for it. I carried on, managing the noise, the pressure, the expectations, and the quiet feeling of always falling behind. What I did not see clearly then, but do now, is that anxiety and depression were shaping far more of my days than I ever admitted.

Like many people who feel overwhelmed but cannot explain why, I turned to alcohol as a way to soften the noise. It was never about celebration or routine. It was about relief, those brief hours where the tension eased, my thoughts slowed, and I could finally breathe.

Alcohol offers comfort on the way in and sharpens anxiety on the way out. It becomes a loop that tightens until it controls more than it calms.

I knew I had to step out of that cycle, and I have. Sobriety has been transformative, but stopping drinking does not fix the reasons you drank in the first place. That part is ongoing.

Understanding My Mind

Recently, I have been having discussions to understand whether I might sit somewhere on the neurodivergent spectrum. I have not been diagnosed, but it may be a contributing factor that I have yet to confirm.

Many people who experience the world intensely, particularly those with ADHD, autism, or sensory-processing differences, often use alcohol as a short-term way of regulating emotions. It softens overwhelm temporarily but ultimately increases anxiety and heightens the risk of dependence.

Looking back, that pattern fits my own life. I was trying to manage emotional intensity, constant mental noise, and burnout without understanding why it was happening. If neurodivergence is part of my story, it explains the sensory overload, the exhaustion, and the repeated cycles I could never seem to break.

This past year has been a turning point. I did not just stop drinking. I started rebuilding.

Photography as an Anchor

Photography has always been my happy place, but I did not realise how deeply I needed it until now. Spending time in a hide, waiting quietly for a buzzard to settle or watching light shift across a pond, has become a type of therapy. It is mindfulness in motion, a form of meditation that does not require sitting still.

Out there, the world finally slows to a pace I can handle. No judgement. No noise. No expectation. Just nature, breath, and stillness.

That simplicity has been essential. It gives my mind something constructive and calming to focus on. The hide has become my reset button, a quiet place where anxiety loses its power and I can feel present again.

Building my website has helped in ways I did not expect. The structure, the detail, the creative challenge, and the slow and steady progress have all been grounding. It has brought purpose to a period that once felt uncertain and helped me feel more capable at a time when I needed it.

A New Chapter

I am still on this journey. I am learning more about my mind, about how anxiety builds, and about what I need to stay balanced. I am unravelling old habits and replacing them with healthier ones. I am discovering that self understanding is not a destination. It is a process that asks for honesty, patience, and the willingness to look inward.

Stepping away from alcohol has changed everything. I have reclaimed my mornings. I have reclaimed clarity. Most importantly, I have reclaimed the ability to face my anxiety rather than blur it.

If I am neurodivergent, then the overwhelm makes sense. The need for quiet makes sense. The desire for structure and creative focus makes sense. Understanding this does not remove the challenges, but it removes the shame.

Why Share This

Because many people fight these battles quietly. Because mental health and neurodiversity are not flaws. Because anxiety, addiction, and emotional regulation are experiences many people navigate without support.

And because if someone sees themselves in this story, they may realise they are not broken. They may simply need a different rhythm, a different environment, or a different kind of support.

I am still figuring out my place in all of this, but for the first time in a long time, I feel like I am moving in the right direction.

Photography helps. The hides help. Building something meaningful helps. And telling the truth, my truth, helps most of all.

If you are on your own journey with anxiety, sobriety, or self understanding, I hope you find your version of a hide. Your quiet place. Your anchor. Because once you do, everything begins to shift.

Author Note

I share this not as a professional but as someone still learning. This is my lived experience, written honestly in the hope that it resonates with anyone navigating anxiety, addiction, or questions about neurodivergence. If you are struggling, you are not alone. There is no single right way to move forward. There is only the next step, taken one day at a time.

If you would like to read more reflections and field notes, you can explore the blog archive, or visit the wildlife photography portfolio to see how nature continues to anchor my work.

If this quieter way of working and the small details found in stillness resonate with you, you may find a recent post helpful. It looks at how micro moments shape the way I photograph wildlife and macro subjects. You can read it here.

A calm moment with a robin, where even a small pause can feel like a new beginning.

Two butterflies at rest, a quiet reminder that new beginnings often arrive gently.