Went to the Woods to Build a Shelter, Ended up Dismantling My Life

A story from the year I accidentally got sober.

Me butchering my own life, but without any idea yet.

The months before I got sober, I became obsessed with survival. Hungover, my boyfriend and I would watch Ed Stafford get dropped off, naked, in wild places and then slowly build himself the beginnings of a life.

We were enthralled. Something about it was irresistible, though I had no idea what it was. The simplicity, perhaps? Lack of life admin? No plastic or laundry or pubs?

We were trying to live better, trying to drink less. Had recently found our way back to each other after a few years apart. Maybe the appeal of the wilderness was not having to manage your appetites?

I don’t know what it was that drew my attention, but I was struck by a powerful longing to be surrounded by forest. Impulsively, one night, I emailed a local bushcraft outfit, asked if they would like a writer-in-residence, hoping (as ever) not to have to pay the substantial fee attached to going back to the Stone Age in the woods.

They didn’t want a writer-in-residence (why would they?) but they offered me a discount, and so I booked myself on to their course. Wilderness Awakening, it was called: green carpentry and wild butchery, foraging and tracking. I would build a lean-to where I would sleep, and hopefully get some perspective on my life and what I wanted. I couldn’t wait. To be alone in the woods, without the temptation to drink. Bliss.

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Ted was hungover, but he drove me to the woods as he’d promised he would. it was a nervewracking journey, one I’d experineced many times, when the person driving you is clearly well over the legal limit from the night before. But beggars can’t be choosers: a lift to the forest is a lift to the forest.

We hugged in the car park, surrounded by ancient oak and ash, and as he breathed in at the top of my head, kissed me on my brow the way he had since I was in my twenties, my heart melted and I thought maybe we were going to be okay.

I needed to be stronger, that was all. More independent. Less pathetically easily led. If I didn’t want to drink, I didn’t have to drink.

This was the story of my life back then: if I could just be better, maybe I could be loved.