The opening of access to services like Alcoholics Anonymous is one bright spot in this pandemic

The use of digital tools for meetings means that the barriers to attending are lower, writes Janet Street-Porter

Since Covid-19 forced AA meetings online, numbers attending have soared (Getty)

Every day, I thank Alcoholics Anonymous for helping my partner get through the last few months. A lot has been written about the detrimental effects of Covid-19 on mental health, with the general consensus that it is a huge area of concern.

One study from Oxford University found that people who’ve caught the virus have an increased risk of developing psychiatric disorders ranging from depression to dementia. For the rest of us, the Office for National Statistics says, levels of anxiety have substantially increased, with women suffering more than men. The NHS cannot help all the people in the UK with mental health issues – waiting lists for counselling are long, and resources thin on the ground.

My own experience has been typical of many. At the start of summer, my partner’s business (in the hospitality sector) went into administration. A recovering alcoholic, he had found lockdown intolerable, but the bad news about his company led him to start drinking, before sliding into serious depression with terrible mood swings. Needless to say, the impact on me was (and still is) considerable.  

In the past, he would have driven to weekly AA meetings in the rural area where we live, but lockdown made that impossible. One unforeseen benefit of the pandemic, though, has been the chance to be with others in his situation without ever having to leave home – Zoom has really changed his life. It’s possible to join an AA meeting somewhere in the world, at any hour of the day or night. An easy way to hear other people telling their stories and to realise that you are not alone. Every day, it’s a part of his routine.

Alcoholics Anonymous only asks that you want to achieve sobriety, it does not request that you are “dry” when you pitch up. It is anonymous, and voluntary. It is an organisation with a single non-judgmental goal, a lack of bureaucracy, a simple structure and a set of 12 steps which form the backbone of the recovery process.

It might be easy for some to mock the notion of a “higher power” which can help an addict achieve sanity, but AA has been providing a lifeline to millions of people of all faiths since the late 1930s and its bible, The Big Book, has remained relatively unchanged throughout wars and huge social upheavals.

Since Covid-19 forced AA meetings online, numbers attending have soared. People are younger and speak freely, they are released from the constraints of having to turn up in a grim church hall or meeting room feeling fragile and talk in front of strangers, often a small band of regulars who might attend the same meeting every week for years.

The Covid-19 pandemic has opened up AA by removing frontiers and allowing participants to experience very different kinds of meetings. Some might start with meditation, and very little is spoken, it’s all about the communal experience. A meeting might be chaired by someone in another country whose life experience is very different to your own – the common thread is the desire to regain control of your destiny and hold onto sobriety.

I am not an alcoholic or a depressive, but living with someone who struggles with these issues is difficult because only they have the power to turn things around. Helping means not interfering and every day is a challenge, with lockdowns set to continue for the foreseeable future. During this pandemic, there have been so many gloomy stories about health crises – the huge rise in undiagnosed cancers and the soaring waiting list for chronic orthopaedic procedures like knee and hip replacements, for example

I want to shine a light on an organisation that seems to be quietly providing an essential service, unfunded by officialdom, unburdened by endless rules and regulations, existing solely on donations. An organisation without a pyramid of power, without someone at the top and layers of administration in precise strata below. NHS and Public Health England, please take note.

The theory that only an alcoholic can help another alcoholic may not play well with some in the medical profession, but in the current climate, what else is on offer and freely available? Especially at a time when we are all confined to our homes and potentially drinking more – and the festive season hasn’t even started. I accept that the nature of AA (anonymity is a key pledge) can make it hard to judge “success” rates, but the Cochrane study of 2020 says that 42 per cent of those regularly attending AA meetings, or adhering to the AA’s 12-step guidelines were able to stay sober, compared to 35 per cent of those who were using other methods.

You can’t measure sobriety like other diseases – statistics are not really important, because in my experience, once an addict has voluntarily decided to attend a meeting, they have taken an important first step. The path is not straightforward or easy, but each meeting will help to build a little further forward down the route to sanity and peace.

Rehab is a costly and dramatic intervention that most addicts will be unable to afford. The NHS has long waiting lists for free places, during which time most people will struggle and rely on mood-changing medication dispensed on repeat prescription. Not a great scenario in my view for anyone with a history of drink or substance abuse.

Radio 4’s soap The Archers has a timely new storyline about alcoholism. Alice, the 32-year-old high-flying daughter of Jennifer and Brian Archer, has reluctantly decided to be admitted to a private rehabilitation facility. Married to Chris Carter, the village blacksmith, she’s pregnant with their first child, and recently resigned from her job at a local Farm Tech company before she was sacked because of her unreliability.

There are a lot of people like Alice out there – I hope they get help. As for my partner, he’s back in recovery and his life is back on track.