Standing in the shower at 6.30am, I turned up the temperature, hotter and hotter. The water burned my skin, but I didn’t care. I felt I deserved it.My daughter and two sons, then aged nine, six and four, were getting ready for school. I was exhausted – but not because of the pressures of motherhood.I had been up till 2am doing lines of cocaine. Now I was attempting to cleanse myself of my shame.At 39, I was married, living in a beautiful four-bedroom house in Surrey. Before choosing to be a stay-at-home mum, I’d earned £100,000 a year in my marketing career. On paper, my life was perfect. Yet here I was, hiding bags of cocaine in the airing cupboard.This wasn’t a one-off, either. In all, my secret addiction lasted ten years, robbing me of my marriage, my savings and nearly ruining my life.I had my daughter Abigail when I was 29, the same year I got married. I’d met my husband Tim at a birthday party and he worked as a motivational speaker, travelling the world.I was thrilled to be a mum and dedicated myself to it completely, not touching a drop of alcohol when pregnant or breastfeeding.But it was a different story when my second child Josh arrived three years later. I’d given up work by then, and was struggling to cope with the loss of my identity, slipping into postnatal depression. I remember the health visitor asking if I was ‘still enjoying being a mum’. I lied and said yes. It felt too horrible to admit the truth. At 39, I was married, living in a beautiful four-bedroom house in Surrey – yet there I was, hiding bags of cocaine in the airing cupboard I was thrilled to be a mum, not touching a drop of alcohol when pregnant or breastfeeding – but it was a different story when my second child arrived [picture posed by models]I’d had my first line of cocaine at university. I liked the buzz of it, the way it made me feel in control. Yet, despite my youthful dabbling, I was shocked when, years later, someone within our affluent Surrey social circle first brought out cocaine at a dinner party.After dessert, one of the dads said, ‘Let’s get the next course out’ and everyone began snorting lines off the table. Once my shock wore off, I remember thinking that if this was the norm for this respectable, successful crowd, it couldn’t be so bad. Tim partook too.This social cocaine use continued when we all became parents.It was a Friday night when Josh was six months old and Tim was away for work that changed my life. I’d put the children to bed and felt totally, crushingly alone.That’s when I remembered I had some cocaine stashed away from a dinner party I had hosted. In a spur-of-the-moment decision, I snorted a line by myself, hoping it would prove a much-needed pick-me-up.Instead of drifting around miserably in my slippers, suddenly I was whizzing around, feeling an amazing rush and doing all my chores in double time. I felt great.But, as a result, I couldn’t sleep, and the next day I was exhausted – not to mention guilt-stricken that I had taken illegal drugs while my children slept upstairs and I was in sole charge of them. I knew Tim would be furious if he knew.It should have proved a cautionary tale – but the memory of the high, of feeling energised and in control for the first time in months, lingered. And so, regrettably, I told myself I’d just do a smaller line next time.At first, I would do a line once or twice a month, always when the children were asleep. Yet over the course of the next five years, this crept up to once a week.I tried to justify it. It felt like a reward for parenting alone while my husband regularly worked away. And it made me feel better that my other mum friends were doing it when we met up – though I never admitted I was doing it alone.Now, I can see my growing habit was masking my depression. Tim wasn’t supportive; I felt neglected, with him constantly angry at me for not ‘managing’.I’d always wanted three children and when I fell pregnant with my third, in my mid-30s, I hoped it would fix my marriage.I stopped using cocaine while pregnant and breastfeeding – but nothing changed in my relationship. Soon the depression set in again and, desperate to escape the reality of my life and crumbling marriage, I turned back to cocaine.Over the next four years, my usage increased until I was doing five lines a night a few times a week. I was constantly sniffing or red-nosed, telling the children I had hayfever or colds. They got used to ‘mummy being ill all the time’.I would withdraw £100 a day in cash after the school run to pay my dealers. Tim and I had separate bank accounts, so he had no idea. He could see I was in a bad way but didn’t seem to care. At one point he snapped, ‘Sort yourself out, this isn’t who I married.’ Over four years, my usage increased until I was doing five lines a night a few times a weekHe was away with work so much I began to get suspicious. I checked his phone and found flirtatious messages from three different women. When I confronted him, he admitted to cheating, but blamed it on me, saying, ‘Well, you haven’t been meeting my needs.’I was crushed. We had stopped having sex a year earlier because the depression made me lose my confidence.In 2017, three months after discovering his affairs, when our children were aged six to 11, I told him I was leaving him.Struggling as a single mum with no family nearby, my friends became my lifeline. But then lockdown came in March 2020. Desperately lonely, I began taking up to 12 lines, both day and night.Home-schooling was a disaster; the children were glued to their PlayStations and I felt too guilty to drag them away.Once lockdown ended, everything kept slipping. They would regularly miss football practice on Saturday mornings because I was on a comedown and couldn’t get out of bed. I’d never remember school events.I felt I had failed as a parent. The lines of cocaine were getting bigger as the drug had less effect on me. Cocaine was my way of escaping, but the more I used, the less I was able to cope.Friends began to worry about me. I looked terrible; my skin was dry and spotty, my eyes sunken and I dropped to a size six. I blamed it on the divorce.Finally, in February 2021, at 3am one Wednesday, aged 43, I lay in bed – my heart pounding and sweat pouring off me – thinking: ‘If I don’t get help, I’m going to die.’By then, I had spent more than £80,000 on cocaine over the past ten years, including a huge chunk of my divorce settlement. I Googled ‘help me give up cocaine’ and found the online treatment centre Help Me Stop – ideal for me, because I couldn’t leave my sons to go to rehab. They accepted me on to a six-week course, which included 2.5 hours a day of group sessions via Zoom as well as one-to-one therapy.Getting clean wasn’t easy but it felt incredible. After a couple of weeks, I realised I could smile again, sleep again, laugh with my children. Since getting clean, I’ve gone above and beyond with parenting, wanting to make up those years to my kids. I feel horrified when I look back; I could have lost custody because of my drug use.Five years on, I still attend online Narcotics Anonymous meetings. There, I’ve met other mums with stories just like me, but there’s no judgment, only support.Now 48, I’ve retrained as a counsellor helping others through addiction. It feels like the best way to make amends.Serena Whiles is a pseudonym. Names and identifying details have been changedAs told to Emma Elms