WKD alcopops, Bacardi Breezers and a bottle of vodka in the park: Like millions of millennials, teenage binge drinking was my rite of passage. But now I'm paying the price for its irreparable damage...

It was 9am when the doorbell rang. I hurried downstairs in my dressing gown, and the anonymous, helmeted delivery driver handed over the bags I'd ordered 15 minutes earlier, before zooming off to another job.In the kitchen, I breathed a sigh of relief as I unpacked the bags. But it wasn't that I'd run out of milk or baby food. Instead, I opened a bottle of £15 sauvignon blanc and poured myself a large glass.I regularly drank more than two bottles of wine a day, much of it ordered on delivery apps.I told myself that none of it affected my baby son and tried my hardest to be a good mother – I just couldn't stop drinking. And delivery apps were my lifeline. Within minutes, I could have alcohol at my door without leaving the house or speaking to anyone.My experience isn't unique. A recent survey found that over 12million UK adults are using fast delivery services to order alcohol at least once a week.Worse still, more than four in ten who use the services are already drinking over the recommended guidelines, and around seven million report ordering alcohol while already drunk.These figures don't surprise me. When my addiction was at its peak, I spent hundreds a week on the apps, and would often place these orders after I'd polished off a bottle of wine or two.Looking back, while I don't think these apps caused my alcoholism, they made it terrifyingly easy to drink. Which is why I'm an ambassador for Alcohol Change UK's campaign for tighter alcohol licensing regulation of delivery apps. Before becoming sober, Hattie Underwood regularly drank more than two bottles of wine a day, much of it ordered on delivery apps Using delivery apps such as Deliveroo, Hattie could have alcohol at her door without leaving the house or speaking to anyoneNow 35 and five years sober, I had my first taste of alcohol aged just 13. It was the era of WKD alcopops and Bacardi Breezers – cheap, sugary drinks – and I immediately loved the warm, hazy feeling they gave me.Growing up in Hampshire, my friends and I would buy a bottle of vodka and go to the park. It made us feel grown-up and confident but, unlike my friends, I didn't know my limits. I'd regularly black out or be sick, and I had horrific hangovers.At Manchester University, I built my identity around being a party girl and my nightly drinking didn't seem unusual amid typical student hedonism.It was when I moved to London on a bank graduate scheme in my early 20s that I really embraced drinking. I had a new friendship group and we'd get invited to VIP Mayfair club nights with free bottles of spirits waiting on our table.It was a shallow existence, so I'd form relationships to try to anchor myself. I hoped one teetotal boyfriend would be a good influence, but I couldn't navigate relationships sober. We'd have cosy nights in watching a film, and I'd secretly nip to the fridge to gulp wine.By my mid-20s, my hangovers were terrible. Someone jokingly suggested 'hair of the dog' and I found it helped. I would leave a glass of wine by my bed so as soon as I woke up, I could take the edge off.Clearly I had a problem – and there was one thing that made my addiction spiral further out of control: the introduction of delivery apps that would bring me alcohol with no questions asked at any time of day or night.I had always hated the shame of taking my purchases to the till, bottles clanking, needing a store worker to approve their purchase. Apps made the whole process conveniently anonymous – the drivers rarely remove their helmets so I didn't have to make awkward chat or eye contact.I had always hated the shame of taking my purchases to the till, bottles clanking, needing a store worker to approve their purchase, writes HattieAnd it's instant, so by the time you've considered whether you really want that order, it's being handed to you.When I picked wine up on the way home from work I'd tell myself: 'I'll just buy one bottle tonight.'But when you're already a few drinks in at home, you're not thinking of the consequences, you just want more booze and it's only a few taps away on your phone.I'd use apps like Deliveroo and order two bottles, thinking: 'I'll have one now and then I've got one for tomorrow night.'But then I'd work my way through both. Or I'd see a discount pop up and think: 'I'll order a litre of gin before the offer expires.' Of course, there was a little voice in my head telling me this was not normal, that I was an alcoholic, but I'd reassure myself I'd sort it all out soon.I wanted a family – and it's awful to admit but part of me thought that, short of going to prison or moving to a remote island, having a baby might be the only way I'd stop.When I realised I was pregnant in 2019 with my ex-husband, I didn't drink for months.My fear of harming the baby was much worse than my craving for alcohol, and I was proud that I'd quit.And yet the day I gave birth to my perfect son, I celebrated with a glass of champagne. I distinctly remember thinking: 'Great, now I've given birth, I can drink again.'I quickly went back to unhealthy amounts of alcohol and, with a young baby at home with me, that was when I really started to rely on the apps.I didn't have to try and get out of the house with my son – all I had to do was answer the door. My goal was that nobody would ever know what was going on under the surface and I was determined my beautiful boy shouldn't be affected.I breastfed, so I'd express milk before I started to drink, and timed my drinking with times I had support, or he was sleeping. Things came to a head on New Year's Eve in 2020, when my son was still under one.I'd been secretly drinking all day and, as I played Monopoly with my sister, I must have slurred my words. I still remember the pure confusion on her face as she realised I was drunk.That was when I realised I couldn't carry on, that my drinking hadn't 'solved itself' because I was now a mother. In fact, it was so much worse. I felt more out of control, and deeply ashamed.I knew I'd struggle to quit alone, so that first week of 2021, I found a sobriety coach.I surpassed my goal of completing Dry January with her help, but I hadn't let go of the deluded hope of keeping alcohol in my life, with the plan of limiting it to 'special occasions' only, like weddings and birthdays.After just over 100 days of sobriety, I naively thought, 'I'll have a couple of drinks to prove I can manage it now.'Of course, I got hopelessly drunk, and ended up crying down the phone to a friend who was sober and in Alcoholics Anonymous. I'd never gone to an AA meeting because, mentally, I was reserving it as a last resort. I was fearful that if I tried and it didn't work, then what would I do?In April 2021, I went to my first meeting. I couldn't get through a sentence without crying, as I recounted the grip alcohol had exerted on me for so long. But I kept going back and I've been sober ever since.I look back now and I don't recognise the woman who was sinking more than ten bottles of wine and over a litre of spirits each week (that's a very modest estimate).In my five years of sobriety, I've given birth to my daughter, now three, and, this time, I could fully embrace the newborn phase, without the guilt and fear caused by my drinking.I now combine my work in sustainability communications with a new role as a sobriety advocate, working with Alcohol Change UK to support its campaigns.I realise it would be hard for drivers to make a call on whether someone is an alcoholic, but they should be given the training and confidence to say no to certain deliveries without fear of being reprimanded.At a company-wide level, they could implement time restrictions or spending caps on alcohol sales and end the cheap promotional offers.Through all my years of drinking, I didn't have a clue who I was or what I wanted.Now, I want to help others who feel like I did to see that there is hope, and that you can quit and change your life. I'm living proof of that.Contact Alcoholics Anonymous anytime on 0800 9177 650 or go to alcoholics-anonymous.org.uk to get support.@soberhappyfreeAs told to Flic Everett