My harmless summer rosé habit became two bottles a day, but no one had a clue. These are the signs your loved one has a problem – and exactly how I stopped

As I sat with my friends in the sunshine, sipping a glass of pale pink wine, I felt sophisticated, elegant and feminine.

Rosé, I told myself, was a ‘nice’ alcoholic drink. In fact, with its associations of summer BBQs and evenings on the terrace, it seemed so harmless – so fun – that I almost thought of it like a soft drink.

I never imagined it would one day ruin my life. Because though so many women will be knocking back rosé like water in the current heatwave, it is very much an alcoholic drink – one with an ABV of up to 14.5 per cent.

Over the course of six years, I became so addicted to rosé that I would drink two bottles a night – about 20 units – often alone in my bedroom. So much for being a sociable drink.

Eventually, I accepted I had become an alcoholic. And I want to warn other women that your favourite ‘pink drink’ could be the start of a slippery slope.

It was aged 21, when I started working in hospitality, that drinking first became a daily part of my life. It was a huge part of the culture and every summer rosé was everywhere, with groups of young women ordering by the bottle.

I told myself it was ‘lighter’ than other wines, so better for me. It became my go-to whether I was out with friends or colleagues.

In 2018, I moved to Australia. I knew no one but quickly realised social drinks were the easiest way to make friends. 

 Rosé became my crutch. It gave me confidence when meeting new people and helped ease the loneliness too.

On the long evenings when I was home alone with no friends and family around me, opening a bottle of rosé became my way of passing the time, of numbing my emotions.

Soon, I found myself relying on it. What had once been something sociable gradually became part of my everyday routine.

I was drinking every day – usually a bottle, sometimes two. The scary thing was, I was still functioning.

I was working as a shop manager and no one had a clue how much I’d been drinking the night before. But as soon as my shift finished, I’d head to the same shop to buy more wine.

Eventually, the staff started to recognise me and reached for my usual the moment I walked in. I was embarrassed – but not enough to stop.

After two years, I began to see this wasn’t normal behaviour and I confided in my then-boyfriend. I wanted him to say, ‘Let’s get you some help’. Instead, he told me not to be stupid and to just stop.

It may sound harsh, but be honest – if a female friend told you she was a little too fond of rosé wine, would you assume she was an alcoholic?

So many of us think alcoholism means sinking bottles of spirits. While a penchant for red wine might possibly raise red flags, rosé is seen as frivolous.

I even spoke about my drinking to a nurse, who just told me to cut back by a couple of units a day. Clearly, she assumed that I – a young, articulate woman – was being over-dramatic.

After four years in Australia, I returned to the UK and moved back in with my mum in Plymouth. It wasn’t how I’d imagined my life would turn out.

Living at home made drinking more difficult but, on the few occasions Mum suggested I was drinking too much, I just told her it was nothing and I liked a drink after work to de-stress.

At my worst, I was drinking two bottles of rosé alone in my room once Mum had gone to bed. I would stuff the empty bottles into suitcases, putting them in the bin – at the bottom – when no one was around.

Ironically, given I was drinking to ‘unwind’, it made me only more stressed. I felt constantly anxious, overthinking everything. I spent much of my day planning my next drink.

Physically, I was falling apart too. I had terrible stomach pain. I said it was IBS but it was obviously the rosé. My skin was pale, my hair lank.

I felt almost constantly hungover and was taking painkillers every day for my headaches. I regularly called into work sick and friendships came second to drinking too.

If a social event didn’t include alcohol, I wouldn’t go. Eventually, rosé wasn’t enough to quieten my raging anxiety or provide the escape I was looking for, so I switched to vodka.

One night in 2023, aged 27, I drank almost a bottle. The next morning, when I woke up feeling horrendous, I realised I couldn’t carry on this way.

I was too embarrassed to ask for medical support. I didn’t want my mum to know how bad things had got. So I decided to just cut myself off.

Going cold turkey wasn’t easy. I was sweaty, paranoid and several times, as I felt my heart pounding, I genuinely feared I might have a seizure.

It took weeks for the symptoms to subside.

For a long time, I felt too ashamed to tell anyone. But now, aged 29, after two-and-a-half years sober, I want to speak out in order to help other women who find themselves in my shoes.

A huge part of my drinking came down to my mental health and loneliness. But I feel so much better mentally now I’m sober.

Quitting alcohol also saw me lose two stone, my skin is no longer sallow and I’ve started a new career.

My friendships are stronger too, and no one minds that, when we go out, I’ll just have a water or a 0 per cent beer.

I still remember how innocent that first glass of rosé seemed. But don’t make my mistake and end up with your ‘summer drink’ taking over your life.

As told to JULIA SIDWELL