The Day Alcohol Lost Its Grip on Me

I started Reflections as a space to share what’s true for me—especially the moments where something inside shifted, quietly but completely. I don’t have all the answers, but I do have stories. And sometimes, stories are what we need most.

This is one of mine. A story about alcohol. About losing myself, and then finding my way back.
Not all at once. But it started with a single moment of clarity that changed everything.

The Day Alcohol Lost Its Grip on Me

I didn’t grow up with a drinking problem. In fact, I didn’t really drink at all—until I turned 21. Legally old enough to start, I did just that. It seemed harmless at first, even fun. I was also getting deep into the restaurant industry around that time, and if you know that world, you know how easily alcohol becomes part of the culture. A reward. A release. A rite of passage.

Before I realized it, alcohol had woven itself into the rhythm of my life. Work hard, drink harder. Celebrate, commiserate, numb out—whatever the reason, a drink was there. And eventually, it wasn’t just “there,” it was necessary. I wasn’t drinking casually anymore. I was drinking to escape. To take the edge off pressures I didn’t yet know how to face head-on.

It wasn’t all chaos. On the surface, things mostly looked fine. I was working hard. Showing up. Doing the job. But I could feel something slipping under the surface. The more I drank, the more I lost touch with parts of myself that mattered—creativity, connection, clarity. All my energy was going to either the kitchen or the bottle. There wasn’t anything left for me.

I tried to stop many times. I’d go a few weeks, a month, sometimes more. But each time, alcohol would find its way back in—often stronger than before. And each time it returned, I felt a little more defeated. Like maybe this was just how my life was going to be. Maybe I just had to live around it.

Until one morning changed everything.

I woke up hungover in the guest room of my sister’s basement. The night before, I’d finished nearly an entire bottle of champagne by myself. I can’t even remember why. I just remember the silence of that morning, the dry mouth, the dull pain behind my eyes—and this overwhelming knowing that washed over me:

If I didn’t change my relationship with alcohol, it was going to choose the rest of my life for me.

That moment of clarity didn’t come with fireworks. There was no dramatic breakdown. Just a quiet shift. Something deep inside me released. A weight lifted off my body. It was like my nervous system exhaled for the first time in years. The moment felt eternal and over in a flash, but I was different after it. Really different.

And for the first time ever, it wasn’t hard to stop drinking.

I didn’t white-knuckle it. I didn’t bargain with myself. I just… didn’t want it anymore.

To be clear: that moment didn’t make me immune. Alcohol still showed up again, here and there, for a time. But it never had the same hold. Its grip had loosened. And now, after all this time, I rarely—if ever—think about it. It’s not a battle anymore. It's just… quiet.

What’s replaced it isn’t just the absence of drinking. What’s taken its place is freedom.

I’m more present in my life. I don’t miss moments trying to escape them. I don’t shrink to fit into blurry versions of myself. I show up fully—messy, clear-eyed, grounded. And I’ve found a creativity I didn’t even know was waiting for me under the noise.

Letting go of alcohol didn’t solve everything. But it gave me back the space I needed to remember who I actually am.
And that’s something I wouldn’t trade for anything.

—

If you’re reading this and alcohol has been part of your story, too—whether loudly or quietly—I just want to say: you’re not broken. You’re not alone. And sometimes, all it takes is one moment of truth to begin again.

Thanks for being here. More reflections to come.