Key points
- Shanna Whan, founder of Sober in the Country, was named Australia's Local Hero for 2022.
- She shares her journey on getting herself sober, and changing the conversation around alcohol in rural Australia.
Warning: This article contains references to suicide.
Almost eight years ago, I had hit my personal rock bottom, and was at a point where I was ready to take my own life.
I saw no possible way out.
There are countless women who think there is no hope left.
I feel mandated to be part of the message of hope that recovery and freedom can happen, and to help people see the truth of what alcoholism can look like – that it begins, for many of us, with a very unhealthy relationship with "".
Many a work-day ended for me with a wine or two. Over time, for me, that "one harmless glass" of wine insidiously became one bottle, and then two.
Suddenly, I was in my thirties, and I looked in the mirror to see that I was in the grip of a disease that nearly took my life.
Since those shaky first steps of learning to live sober in the country - in an environment of permanent isolation and barriers - my life has swung entirely on its axis.
The first thing people ask me is: "how did you get that way?"
It wasn't like falling off a cliff and having a tragic accident. It wasn't sudden. This thing took hold of my life when I was 18, and manifested over a period of more than 20 years. It began as a series of traumatic events and abusive relationships that happened when I was an extremely naïve young country girl.
I was simply not emotionally equipped to deal with what happened to me in that part of my life. But those things stole my youth and my hope and my future.
A few beers at a party helped me to find my courage socially as a young woman, because I was paranoid, ashamed, and scared. Alcohol was all around me in rural Australia. In the country party scene where I grew up, it was the 'done thing' to binge at parties. It was a badge of honour to get as drunk as possible. This provided a terrific way for me to escape so much of what plagued me.
A pattern of alcohol entered my life. Over time, it remained with me as a way to either relax, get to sleep, shut down bad memories, or just to become the confident person people thought I was. I loved the freedom I thought alcohol was giving me.
I didn't want to see the truth of the matter. That it was nothing but a façade that was taking over my life.
My twenties were basically a disaster. But somehow, in my thirties, I was fortunate enough to marry a truly wonderful man.
Shanna and Tim Whan on their wedding day. Photo: Supplied Source: Insight
I didn't drink every day. I didn't drink DURING the day. I worked SO hard. I was successful. Surely I couldn't be an alcoholic? If my husband or anyone suggested I was, I would become angry and offended.
When my husband and I tried and failed numerous times to – and it became apparent we wouldn't be able to – something inside of me broke. I was already broken – but the façade I had so carefully tried to maintain began to crumble.
The unfairness of this off the back of what had already been stolen from me as a young woman just undid me completely – and my drinking took on an entirely new level of destruction.
By my late thirties, I was frequently contemplating suicide. I felt like the worthlessness and fear and shame and grief had finally caught me. I was so trapped in self-pity and bitterness and grief that I couldn't see hope anymore.
Hitting rock-bottom ended up being the greatest thing to ever happen to me.
For the first time in my entire life, I said the "A" word.
Because one day, out of complete desperation, I tried one last time. One last thing. I picked up the phone, and I reached out to a recovery support person. For the first time in my life, I saw hope. I met somebody exactly like me. I stupidly had thought prior to this that I was the only person in my situation. Suddenly, everything changed.
This person educated me, and showed me the truth of what alcoholism looks like, acts like, and presents as. And it was nothing that I had imagined. I grabbed that small spark of hope, and I threw myself completely into the second chance I realised was there.
Tim and Shanna Whan. Photo: Supplied Source: Insight
For the first time in my entire life, I said the "A" word.
I spoke the truth in front of my family, friends, and eventually everyone. I was an alcoholic.
And – again, it's a cliché – but it was through the process of surrendering to the truth that I was able to become strong again. The fear I'd carried suddenly lost its power over me.
I worked harder than I had ever worked in my life. I did everything I could to follow the advice and suggestions from successfully recovered people that I could.
I believe that what happened to me then was a miracle. The desire for alcohol left me completely. I stopped thinking about it, wanting it, and needing it.
Now I am someone who identifies as ''recovered'' - meaning while I am by no means complacent and could never drink again and make it out alive - the point is, I don't want to. I love sober life.
Given how heartbreakingly rare this is (most people fight the need for alcohol the rest of their lives) I made a decision, then and there, that I would use the freedom I had been given to help others.
Since those shaky first steps of learning to live sober in the country - in an environment of permanent isolation and barriers - my life has swung entirely on its axis.
But there is hope. And there is a way out.
I'd never have imagined that with relentless hard work and commitment I'd be able to get free from alcohol let alone use those hard decades as a way to ultimately help change the conversation around booze in rural Australia and become an international spokesperson around the truth of this horrifyingly common battle. It's simply my life's purpose now.
What I now understand – especially in rural Australia – is that the stigmas, judgement, and fearfulness surrounding this much-misunderstood hellish thing are rampant. We still live in a culture that embraces, celebrates, and revolves around booze. So, for anybody who's headed for (or trapped in) an addictive or destructive cycle, seeking help becomes a seemingly mountainous impossibility.
2022 Local Hero Shanna Whan wins during the 2022 Australian of the Year Awards ceremony in Canberra on 25 January, 2022. Source: MICK TSIKAS
My entire aim is to help people understand that for those trapped in alcoholism, it has long progressed from a 'choice' to a full-blown addiction, and that the people trapped need to be and supported, not further condemned.
But it's a complex and emotive topic, and I am the first to admit that when I was in the grip of alcoholism I was no longer myself. It is absolutely a monster that ruins people and families and lives.
But there is hope. And there is a way out.
If you, or someone you know, living in a rural area needs help you can find out more from - an organisation created and founded by Shanna Whan.
Readers seeking crisis support can contact Lifeline on 13 11 14, the Suicide Call Back Service on 1300 659 467 and Kids Helpline on 1800 55 1800 (for young people aged up to 25). More information and support with mental health is available at and on 1300 22 4636.
supports people from culturally and linguistically diverse backgrounds.
