I Never Called Myself an Alcoholic. I Still Retired from Alcohol.

The word stopped me for years.

Alcoholic.

I'd have a drink on a Friday night, catch myself thinking about whether I should stop, and then run that word through my head. Does it apply? Am I there yet?

I wasn't falling down. I wasn't drinking in the morning. I showed up to work. I kept my job. I kept my marriage. I kept my life looking exactly the way it was supposed to look from the outside.

So I'd decide the word didn't apply. And I'd have another drink.

That's the trap nobody talks about. The label becomes the threshold. And if you haven't cleared it, you tell yourself you're fine.

I told myself that for about ten years.

What was actually happening

I drank on Fridays. Then Fridays and Saturdays. Then Sundays became brewery days with my wife. Then I started getting crabby on Monday evenings. Like clockwork. I knew exactly why but wouldn't say it out loud.

I was hungover every Monday for years. Not fall-down drunk the night before. Just three nights of drinking catching up with me by the time the work week started.

My cholesterol was 285. My inflammation markers were elevated. I was carrying 230 pounds on a frame that used to stay lean without thinking about it. I had acid reflux bad enough to put me in the ER once. They had to put me under and clear my esophagus. I was on two medications.

I kept drinking after all of that.

Not because I was an alcoholic. Because I didn't meet the threshold I'd set in my own head for what an alcoholic looked like.

The label is the barrier

Here's what I figured out eventually.

The word alcoholic isn't a diagnosis. It's a permission structure. People use it to decide whether they're allowed to stop.

If you've cleared the threshold, if things have gotten bad enough, you get permission to stop. Programs exist for you. People understand. You have a story that makes sense to the outside world.

If you haven't cleared the threshold, you're on your own. You don't have a rock bottom. You don't have a crisis. You just have this quiet, persistent thought that's been following you around for years, telling you something needs to change.

That thought isn't weakness. It's preparation.

What I did instead

I spent six years mentally rehearsing a different life.

Not white-knuckling. Not counting days. Just slowly, quietly building a picture in my head of what mornings could feel like. What my relationship with my wife could look like. What showing up sharp at work five days a week, actually sharp, not just functional, could do for my career.

By the time April 16, 2025 came, I didn't need willpower. The decision was already made. I was just showing up for it.

That's what I call retiring from alcohol. Not quitting. Not recovering. Retiring. A deliberate decision made after years of intentional preparation.

No label required.

If this is you

You've been thinking about it. Not obsessively. Just quietly. For longer than you'd probably admit to anyone.

You don't have a problem by most people's definition. You function. You perform. You show up.

And still, the thought won't leave.

That's not a drinking problem. That's your mind getting ready.

If you want to understand what that preparation process actually looks like, DM me the word RETIRE on Instagram via the link below. That's where I work through this with people.

No public posts. No group meetings. Just a direct conversation.

Colin | Prepared Sobriety