The First Time I Quit Drinking Alcohol

Alcoholism is a disease of shame. When I first admitted to myself that I was drinking too much and I needed to do something about it, I was ashamed of my behavior and lack of control. When I woke in a panic because I could not remember huge chunks of the night before, I was filled with shame. When I argued with my wife, drove when I should not have or was loud and obnoxious — shame, shame and shame. At the end of my drinking life, every beer…every single sip…was like another brick in my wall of embarrassed self-loathing.

And when I tried to quit drinking — after a brief feeling of pride because I was finally addressing my addiction — I was filled with shame because I could not drink like everyone else. That is the truly insidious part of alcoholism — what sets it apart from other addictions and other diseases. The shame I felt because I was not drinking was equal to, and maybe even greater than, the shame I felt as an active alcoholic. Beating the physical addiction was easy. Defeating the shame monster that grew almost insurmountably strong nurtured by twenty-five years of heavy drinking was the hardest thing I will ever do.

The First Time I Quit Drinking Alcohol

My oldest child, Cathryn, was turning five-years-old. That is the magic age, according to my wife, Sheri, when little ears are developed…