Grounded

This is a memoir of growing up in Barnsley, where family life was steady on the surface but slowly began to shift in ways I didn't yet have the words for.

It begins in a home that felt warm and familiar - evenings together, routines that made childhood feel safe, and a mother who once filled the house with care, organisation, and love. But over time, something started to change. At first, it was small things: forgotten meals, tired mornings, a quiet distance that didn't have a name. I noticed it before I understood it.

As my mum began to struggle with alcohol, I found myself stepping into a role I never chose. Without anyone saying it out loud, I became a watcher, a helper, a quiet holder of responsibility. I learned to read moods, to listen for warning signs, to hold things together while still trying to be a child.

My dad worked long hours. My siblings had their own worlds. And I was left somewhere in between - inside a family I loved deeply, but increasingly unsure of how to exist within it.

This is not just a story about addiction. It is about memory, love, confusion, and the slow realisation that childhood can change without ever announcing itself. It is about the moments before everything shifts, and what it feels like to grow up inside that quiet turning point.

At its heart, this is a story about trying to hold onto someone while they are still there - and learning what it costs when you do.