"From Fire to Freedom: My Journey"

In November 2023 — five months after a devastating house fire where I almost lost my life — I reached out to Inclusion Gosport. The fire didn’t just take away my home; it left me carrying unbearable trauma. Night after night I replayed the terror of that day. I was living in a hotel, cut off from stability, drinking up to five bottles of wine a day just to silence the pain, numb the memories, and try to forget.

I emailed Inclusion and Fatme replied. She invited me in, but I wasn’t ready — shame, fear, and exhaustion held me back. By January 2024, I couldn’t carry it anymore and finally walked through the doors. I’ll never forget that first meeting: Fatme gave me a drug and alcohol test, and I was way over the limit. But instead of judging me, she sat with me, listened, and offered hope. That small act of kindness cut through the fog I was living in.

I didn’t get better overnight. I lied. I stumbled. I promised to cut down and failed. But Fatme never let go of me. She coaxed me forward, sometimes inch by inch, and she held onto hope when I had none.

Alongside her, other staff became anchors. Steve, through the Inspire course, gave me tools I didn’t even know I needed. Debby, through ACT, helped me face the trauma I had buried — the fire, the grief, the brokenness — and start to process it rather than drown it in drink. For the first time in years, I began to believe my life could look different.

By June 2024, I finally admitted the truth: I couldn’t detox safely at home. It was too dangerous. So I entered ANA House in Portsmouth for two weeks — and ended up staying four. The extra two weeks were self-funded after redundancy, but they were life-saving. In that place, brick by brick, I began to rebuild.

Part of what drove me was my family. I wanted to be present for my husband Alasdair, my daughter Dee (who had already been through so much), and my grandchildren. I remember thinking: they deserve a grandmother who is alive, sober, and able to love them fully. That thought became my anchor when the cravings screamed loudest.

Now it’s September 2025, and I stand here one year sober. A year ago, I couldn’t even function — broken by trauma, numbed by alcohol. Today, I am preparing to open a Vintage Tearoom in Gosport, helping to run an addiction ministry at church where we mentor 19 people, and about to transition from service user to volunteer with Inclusion. On the very same date I first entered detox, I’ll say goodbye to my ACT group as a user and begin giving back as a volunteer.

I cannot overstate what Inclusion has meant. Not just Fatme, Steve, and Debby — though they were pivotal — but every staff member, every volunteer, every receptionist who smiled at me when I could barely lift my head. Each one reminded me I wasn’t beyond hope.

The fire nearly ended me, but Inclusion helped me find life again. The trauma is part of my story, but it no longer defines me. Because of you, I’m free — free to hug my grandchildren with a clear mind and full heart, free to build something new with Alasdair, and free to give back to others still in the battle.

Thank you, from the depths of my heart.