
Why I’m the not-so-anonymous alcoholic.
Anonymity kept me safe and it also kept me small. Here’s what happened when I said it out loud, with my whole name attached.
7 min read
Volume One · Personal Essays
You already know drinking isn’t helping. What you don’t know yet is how good it gets after. Start with the essays, then grab the journal.
Hi, I’m Turner! Writer, mom, and the least anonymous alcoholic you’ll ever meet. This is where the essays, books, and letters live: the sober stuff, the honest stuff, and the slow, unglamorous work nobody posts about. Let’s build you a life you don’t want to escape from!

From the Substack

Anonymity kept me safe and it also kept me small. Here’s what happened when I said it out loud, with my whole name attached.
7 min read

Nobody warns you that the real reward isn’t the dramatic transformation. It’s an ordinary weekday that finally feels like enough.
5 min read

The grief, the boredom, the strange new energy at 6am. A field report from the year everything got quieter and better.
8 min read
MY PHILOSOPHY
What I’ve figured out about putting the drink down, waking up, and falling for an ordinary life.
It’s more magical, more whimsical, more expansive (all the things alcohol promised but never delivered)
Turns out you’re not stuck with the wiring you’ve got. You get to change it on purpose.
Not muted, not managed, not survived. Actually here for it: raw, radiant, gloriously unpolished.
“Not bad enough to quit” is the exact trap that keeps you drinking. You’re allowed to want more.

Free · Start here
A small seven-day guide I made — one gentle practice each morning. It takes about thirty seconds and it changes the entire shape of the day. Free, of course.
Something to notice
One small thing to look for that day. Thirty seconds, honestly.
A ritual to try
Simple, free, and quietly lovely. Do it once and see.
A question to carry
Not homework. Just something worth sitting with.
Free. One-click unsubscribe. Never anything weird.

The book
Ninety days. Ten minutes a morning. No pressure whatsoever.
I made the journal I wished I’d had at the very beginning. Every page offers a soft prompt, a small practice, and room to think — nothing to figure out, nothing to keep up with. Just something warm to open with your coffee.
The story

For years I tried on lives like outfits. The achiever, the fun one, the wellness girl, the mother who has it all together. None of them fit, so I kept changing the costume — a new plan, a new morning routine, another attempt to become the woman I was supposed to be by now.
The wine was background music for all of it. A small soft blur at the end of the day. Nothing dramatic. Just a quiet way to take the edge off a life I couldn’t quite feel.
When I stopped, I braced for deprivation. Instead I felt like myself, for the first time in years — and realised I hadn’t needed to become anyone new at all.
Sobriety wasn’t the ending. It turned out to be the plot twist.
Praise
“Honestly the prettiest journal I own, and the only one I actually keep coming back to. It feels like a slow Sunday.”
“I stopped trying to become somebody new and just remembered who I was before. This helped enormously.”
“I never finish journals. I finished this one. It simply feels good to open in the morning.”
“Bought one for me and three for my friends. Everyone should have this on their nightstand.”
The catalogue
Ninety days of soft prompts. Available on Amazon.
A short essay from me, most Sunday mornings.
The long-form version of everything I keep circling.
A quiet room for women doing this alongside you.
One last thing
Take the free guide, keep the journal by your bed, read the letters on Sundays. That’s the whole invitation. I’m so glad you’re here.