Life is made up of rituals. The idiosyncrasies that form who we are.
These rituals connect us to ourselves, make us feel safe and create a sense of predictability in an often-unpredictable world.
Each morning, I take my dog out for a walk. I follow the same route, go to the same corner shop and buy the same brand of saccharine energy juice.
Every night, I boil the kettle, make a cup of tea and use the rest of the water to fill my hot water bottle. Even when it is objectively too warm to require one.
And every Friday, since I was sixteen, I have embarked on the 24-hour ritual that is getting ready for Saturday night.
The preparation begins with the dreaded full-body shower. What is a full-body shower you may ask? It is the arduous process of washing your hair, exfoliating and shaving your entire body from (almost) head to toe. You then emerge triumphant, perfumed and smooth as a seal.
Next is the tanning. Special occasions call for a trip to your local tanning salon, where you stand in a booth, being sprayed by chemicals whilst trying desperately not to inhale. Otherwise, you smear yourself with tanning lotion and partake in the usual struggle of desperately trying to reach your shoulder blades.
Your hair is then blow dried or wrapped in rollers or spun around a silk band and you settle for what will undoubtedly be an uncomfortable sleep whilst smelling faintly of biscuits.
The next day is for eyebrows and skincare. It is vital that you lay a good foundation to build upon. Outfits are selected or purchased and then it’s a waiting game until its time to get ready.
Then comes the fun part. Sitting cross-legged in front of a mirror, painting your face in whatever manner the occasion calls for. Perhaps a heavy smoky eye or a simple red lip. The most fun is always to be had when you can go a little wild with the colours.
The routine is soundtracked by whatever feels right for the evening. R&B or deep house or those indie songs that remind you of being teenager, when the night ahead seemed full of endless possibilities.
This isn’t everyone’s routine. But it’s mine.
It’s never mattered where I’m going. Out to dinner, or dancing or just sitting in a friend’s kitchen. The ritual has always gone ahead. It’s a time for me to be alone and fuss over myself for no other reason than it makes me feel good.
When I got sober at the beginning of this year, a lot of my routines and rituals changed
I no longer spent every Sunday hiding in bed, filled with an unspeakable fear while consuming a cocktail of prescription drugs to relieve it.
I stopped my rotational pharmacy visits, once an attempt to conceal my addiction from increasingly suspicious eyes.
My working-week didn’t start with residual hangovers and end in total chaos.
Most of these habits, I was happy to say goodbye to. But as my weekends got quieter and my social life changed, I started to fear that my beloved Friday night routine was a thing of the past.
Until March, when Good Clean Fun announced its first party of the year.
Since that spring boogie, I have ended almost every month with my ritual. I spend the week excitedly planning my outfit and clear my weekend for the preparations. I spend my Saturday doing a seven-step skincare routine, impatiently watching the clock until its time to start getting ready. Then I go out and I dance.
Getting sober is hard and change is scary. You lose so many parts of yourself and discover new ones. You oscillate between mourning your old life and feeling deeply grateful you are no longer living it. You feel every emotion under the sun and find that you can in fact survive them.
My life has changed drastically over the last ten months. But because of Good Clean Fun, I have gotten to hold on to part of my life I was sure I would lose. A ceremony that feels like a fundamental part of who I am. Once a month, I embark on the same 24-hour ritual I have carried out since I was 16. And I feel like me.