How a Glamorous Lifestyle Masked a Decade of Secret Alcohol Addiction

Tess Ridgeway hid a life-destroying alcohol addiction behind a veneer of glamour for ten years. Cocktail parties masked the reality: she spent most of her time drunk or unconscious. Now 41, she reveals how she fooled everyone and offers warning signs for loved ones.

At 24, Tess believed she had made it. Working in the hospitality industry in the mid-2000s, her evenings were filled with networking at luxury hotels and high-end bars. Her boyfriend, a finance executive 20 years her senior, funded their lavish lifestyle, which included penthouse apartments. "To be honest, I didn't have to work," says Tess, who lived in Manchester at the time. She was an A* student with an English degree from Leeds University, but the relationship carried the weight.

"It was all very glamorous," Tess recalls. "Lots of fancy meals and corporate events, I could dress up like a Barbie and enjoy this professional world with this very grown-up man."

The illusion shattered when the parties ended. Tess rarely stopped at two or three cocktails. Often, she demanded more wine once they got home. By night's end, she might black out or get into a "hysterical" fight with her partner. The next morning, she would dress up and pretend nothing happened. To outsiders, she appeared as an elegant, mature networker.

Tess believes her alcohol problems were linked to undiagnosed ADHD symptoms. "I struggled to control my impulses," she says. Now a therapist specializing in addiction, she notes that her personal experience deepens her connection with clients, particularly women who often hesitate to seek help.

Her mother, living an hour away, assumed Tess worked in PR. She attributed Tess's frequent disappearances to professional commitments. Friends drifted away after Tess failed to keep plans, choosing instead to stay in her toxic relationship. In reality, she was spiraling into a decade-long addiction that would eventually cost her everything.

Tess started drinking "socially" at 18 during university. Excessive habits took hold in her early twenties. "When I first had a drink as a teenager it wasn't that big a deal," she explains. "It was like have a drink, have a little dance... it was okay." But soon, she realized alcohol helped her escape reality and the parts of herself she disliked. "Alcohol was a symptom of the overarching problem with my self-esteem – it could have been anything."

By 29, Tess was single. She spent most waking hours drunk, unconscious, or in Manchester A&E seeking help for self-harm injuries. "I had no money, no savings, no job, no nothing," she says. She lived in a one-bedroom flat "loaned" to her by an often abusive male "friend."

She would start drinking around lunchtime to escape loneliness and shame. "I'd be pretty much out of it for most of the day and then, around 4am, I'd wake up with this searing terror," Tess describes. "I'd think, I can't stop drinking. No man will ever want me. I've got nothing. I'm going to die alone. The only thing I could do was drink more and hopefully pass out."

Her relationship with close relatives, including her mother, became "disconnected." Visits to the family home in Lancashire grew less frequent. "I felt further and further away from my mum," she says. "We'd speak on the phone and I'd pretend everything was fine.

She knew something was off, but the source of that unease remained elusive. Eventually, two compassionate social workers intervened, saving her life. "They showed up at my door one day," she recalls. "I believe hospital staff had flagged concerns to them."

At the time, her state was dire. Bottles littered the floor. Vomit stains marked the carpet. Her hair lay in matted tangles. She had been lying there, drifting in and out of consciousness, for days. Yet, her visitors didn't launch into a lecture. They simply asked how they could help.

"It was the first time I felt someone actually cared about me, without an agenda," she says. "I was so accustomed to men seeing me like that and getting angry. They’d tell me I had let myself go. That I was a mess."

These women were different. Kind. Caring. One handed her a tissue to wipe her eyes. It was a moment of hope.

That visit kicked off a five-year recovery journey. Tess underwent six months of intensive inpatient treatment with the NHS. She then spent four years in supportive housing, participating in a 12-step recovery programme. This protocol, popularized by Alcoholics Anonymous, counts roughly 32,000 members across the UK. It relies on peer support to guide a structured, gradual change in thoughts, behaviors, and relationships tied to addiction.

Today, Tess looks like a testament to reinvention. At 41, she is a skilled therapist and mother of one. She holds a Master’s degree in psychotherapy and has been happily married for four years. Much of her work involves helping patients break free from addiction, a task that proves particularly difficult with women.

Getting women to seek help is a hurdle, Tess notes. She works at The Priory’s Flourish addiction service, which provides lower-cost residential treatment. "Women don’t want to come forward," she explains. "They’re often terrified they’ll lose something... children, a job, relationships. But it’s often happening under the radar. It’s less obvious."

Experts have warned about the rise in "functioning" alcoholism among women. Food delivery apps and aggressive marketing of wine targeted at women are said to have fueled a striking jump in alcohol-related deaths. In 2023, those deaths hit an all-time high of 8,274. Alcohol Change UK reports that the proportion of UK women drinking more than six units in a single day doubled between 1998 and 2022.

Tess says the glamour of "cocktail culture" masked her problem drinking when it started in the early 2010s. "I thought I was just going out and having cocktails," she says. "It’s not the type of life you associate with your typical alcoholic."

When everyone around you is doing it, yet remains professional, successful, and employed, the behavior feels normal. It took only a year of boozy late nights before she became reliant on alcohol to "take me away from the real world."

"Alcohol was the symptom. It could have been anything," she says. "I was this scared little girl who didn’t know how to be, didn’t have a purpose, didn’t have a direction."

She needed a balm to protect her from a world she found terrifying. This deep-seated fear and discomfort has been with her since age five. "I always had this sense that something wasn't right with me," she recalls. "Like I didn't quite know how to function."

At school, she felt awkward and separate from other children. Making friends was a struggle. "There was a constant cacophony of noise in my head," she says. "I could never relax.

I remember always feeling frightened and overwhelmed, and I struggled to control my impulses."

That sentence captures the reality of a life spent battling invisible walls. Now, Tess understands those raw emotions pointed to something specific: ADHD. The condition has surged in Britain. It hits three to five percent of adults. The brain develops differently. Concentration slips. Emotions spike. Impulses win.

The numbers are staggering. Diagnoses have jumped twenty-fold over the last quarter-century.

Is that growth real? Or is it a mirage created by private clinics? Experts are raising eyebrows. They argue that less qualified staff at these facilities are mislabeling standard emotional struggles as a disorder. The accuracy of those diagnoses is under fire.

Tess got her diagnosis three years ago. A psychiatrist at a private clinic in Manchester made the call. She sought the assessment herself. After reading more about ADHD, she recognized the signs in her own behavior.

"I began to look differently at my impulsivity, the intensity, the emotional dysregulation, the need for stimulation and the way I could become completely consumed by a feeling, a person or an idea."

The perspective shifted. It stopped being "What is wrong with me?" It became "What has been happening for me – and what do I need to work with this differently?"

Understanding her brain changed everything. She could build a life that worked with her nature instead of fighting it.

"That doesn’t mean ADHD explains everything that happened to me – it doesn’t. But understanding it gave me another piece of the puzzle."

***

Alcoholism hides in plain sight. It wears many faces. Psychotherapist and addiction specialist Tess Ridgeway points out the red flags.

Don't just count the drinks. That metric is flawed. Dysfunction looks different for everyone. Quantity doesn't always equal a problem. Look at the behavior instead. Is the person isolated? Withdrawn? Secretive?

Listen to the language. Phrases like "I'll have one drink to get me through the day" are dangerous. Or "I need a drink to relax, to switch off." That signals a reliance on the substance just to feel normal.

Problem drinking often leads to messy, destructive actions. If someone keeps drinking heavily despite the wreckage, that is a warning sign. They can't stop.

Check the engagement. Alcoholics can still function. They show up to important events. But are they mentally present? Emotionally there?

Judgment kills progress. Don't use it. Ask how a person is feeling. Let them know you care. Tell them you are there if they need support. They might not respond right away. But you have planted a seed. That is the first step to change.