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A key component of a creative retreat I took part in over the summer in Greece was attending oekos group. This entailed gathering with a small group of participants at the same time each morning, to listen to each person speak for three minutes without offering any feedback or opinion at all on what they said. One morning, I went to oekos with a hangover, having overdone it on local spirits the previous night. To my surprise I was near tears when I opened my mouth, and my words were a revelation. ‘’I was feeling so happy on this trip until today, and now I feel horrendous. I’m sick, I’m anxious, and I’m paranoid that everyone hates me. I was really looking forward to walking into town this evening and now I don’t have the energy. I couldn’t eat any of the amazing food at breakfast. I don’t know if I’ll make it to my classes. I’ve ruined what was meant to be a wonderful day.’’ I had never put this familiar feeling into words before. Six sympathetic faces nodded silently at me to continue. ‘’I know this is because I drank last night. I don’t know what to do with that information. The obvious answer would be to stop drinking, but I’m not going to.’’ As I said it out loud, I realised what a mad concept this was. If a food affected me like alcohol did, I would cut it out of my diet without question. And yet I clung desperately to drinking. No matter how many regrets it caused, no matter how much it hurt my body and mind – completely cutting it out seemed unfathomable. ‘’I think this will always be my life’’. I was suddenly unspeakably sad. I sat in silence for the remainder of my three minutes, and then afterwards went back to my beach hut and let myself cry. I told myself this was a chemical reaction to a depressant leaving my body, and that I would moderate my levels of intake better in future. I had been repeating this mantra for thirteen years. It took a while for the learnings I discovered on Skyros Island to sink in, but I write this piece at 83 days sober. The community that I connected with on magical Atsitsa Bay did something for me that no therapist had ever been able to do before -- they reminded me what joy looked like. They taught me to start my days with sweet Greek honey, rather than punishing my body by skipping breakfast. They taught me to skinny-dip in the sea at night, surrounded by glowing algae and an unobstructed night sky. They showed me the feeling of connection that dancing can bring, and that too much alcohol only dampens this rather than enhancing it. I went to Greece to become a better writer. I believe it may have saved my life.