Just Because You’re Not in the Gutter Doesn’t Mean You’re Not an Alcoholic
Stop allowing others to influence your truth
To listen to Kristen narrate the story as a podcast, click the play button above.
The information provided in this story is intended for general informational purposes only and is not a substitute for professional medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. The author is not a medical, mental health, or addiction professional, and the content is based on personal experience rather than expert opinion. If you or someone you know is struggling with alcoholism or any related health issues, please consult a licensed healthcare provider or seek professional help. Always follow the guidance of a medical professional regarding treatment and care.
“You’re not an alcoholic; we all drink too much sometimes. You’re normal.”
“Don’t tell people you got sober. Just say you don’t drink anymore.”
“Oh my God, you’re not an alcoholic. You’re not like in the gutter or losing your job or anything like that.”
False — what’s the difference — and false.
These are actual comments made to me by some of the closest people in my life when I started addressing my drinking. I’m trying to face my truth, and everyone else around me is in denial.
Not helpful.
An alcoholic, by paraphrased definitions, is someone who consumes too much alcohol and suffers the consequences. That can range from blacking out, losing last night's memories, and losing a job or a spouse to multiple failed attempts at quitting, ill-health, or the biggest consequence of all, death.
My sister suffered the latter.
I, on the other hand, struggled physically and emotionally for decades. Four, to be exact. I started toying with alcohol at age 13 and motored through my life drinking until February 2024. That was a total of 44 years with a 5-year sober hiatus tossed in the center. In other words, a long ass time.
The idea that you have to be swigging Boone’s Farms, Tickle Pink, or White Claw from a paper bag while stumbling through the gutter in a khaki trench coat is so 1980s. If you walked into any Alcoholics Anonymous meeting in the last 20-30 years, you’d have found a sordid mix of business professionals, housewives, college students, and, yes, recovering homeless addicts.
The bottle doesn’t discriminate.
There is still a stigma of what an alcoholic looks like. And it isn’t me.
I’m a middle-aged white woman from a middle-class family. My family had its issues, but we were close and loving. I was well taken care of, and aside from my mom’s Borderline personality drama, my life was pretty easy. I had good grades for much of my childhood and a lot of friends. I wasn’t spoiled, but I was never lacking. Life was good.
Then we moved states when I was 11.
I’m not blaming my drinking on the actions of my parents, but moving across the country, especially in areas with a big cultural difference (Connecticut to Texas), is pretty devastating to a child on the edge of puberty. We left all the family I’d ever known: grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, friends, and worst of all, my big sister, who was my mentor, protector, and best friend.
It was extremely traumatic and affected me deeply for many, many years. My low self-esteem led me to try alcohol and drugs at a very young age. Being accepted by my peers, the cool kids, gave me a warm and fuzzy feeling that helped my self-image. In my eyes, my nerdiness and dorkiness factor dropped 90% while partying with my young friends. That feeling never subsided and carried well into my middle age.
Drinking never put me in the gutter or made me homeless. I didn’t lose jobs or relationships, but I came dangerously close. What I did lose was my already shitty self-esteem. Drinking gave me liquid courage to take risks I otherwise wouldn’t take, but the day after, I’d feel worse than I did before the first drink. It was compounding my problems.
It took me a trip to the ER and a visit from a pissed-off psychiatrist in 2008 to realize I had a problem. Okay, that’s a lie. I knew I drank too much for years, no, decades, before that fateful day. I just struggled like hell and didn’t do anything about it. He simply validated it by saying it out loud and putting a label on it. Alcoholic. No one wants to hear that.
So how did this become such a big deal? I was socially drinking, right? My friends drank. My family drank. My co-workers drank. Society drank. How could it be that something could feel so wrong yet so acceptable at the same time? Everyone justified every part of it as being okay.
Lost your car? That’s okay.
Kissed a girl? That’s okay.
Woke up with a strange, huge bruise? That’s okay.
Keys hanging out of the front door all night? That’s okay.
Not sure where you are or who he is? That’s okay.
Still drunk at 6 am when the work alarm goes off? That’s okay.
Don’t remember anything that happened last night? That’s okay.
Puking for a full 8-hour day? That’s okay.
It happens; we all drink a little too much sometimes. Nothing to see here.
I call bullshit. And so did my pissed-off psychiatrist.
When we justify our drinking or the drinking of others, we are enablers. Enabling ourselves, enabling our loved ones, and enabling a disease in which we fill our bodies with poison. That’s not okay. Drinking is hard enough, and trying to quit is even harder. The last thing we want and need is someone close to us telling us that the addiction we are opening up about is nothing but a figment of our imagination. Because it's not.
It’s very, very real.
If you, the drinker, experience any of these thoughts, feelings, or actions as I did, you should ignore the naysayers and the enablers and get some help:
You wake up with feelings of remorse, uncertainty, or guilt.
You blackout.
You’ve lost items, memories, or relationships.
You’ve injured yourself or others.
You’ve missed work or events due to hangovers.
You tell yourself you’ll just have one but can’t stop once you start.
You justify drinking because of an event or celebration.
The AUDIT Alcohol Use Disorders Identification Test is 10 simple questions that help self-identify Alcohol Use Disorder or AUD, the new name for Alcoholism. I took it as if I was myself a few years ago and failed with flying colors. Not a big surprise. I suggest clicking the link above to take the test to get some insight into where you are in your drinking journey right now. The results could save your life.
And now I write two open letters, one to the drinker and one to the enabler. Enjoy.
Dear Drinker,
I see you, I feel you, and I’ve been you.
I’ve enjoyed the parties, the bars, the dancing on the table, the singing in a crowded room, telling jokes as if on stage, the skinny-dipping, the sloppy vacations, the expensive drunken purchases, and having illicit snogs in dark corners. All under the fuzzy umbrella of the drink.
What I haven’t enjoyed is the arguments, the crying jags, the drunk-driving, the accidents, the illicit snogs with some rando who is far less attractive at 8 am than he was at 2 am, the puking, the migraines, the guilt, the lost items, lost friends, lost cars, lost hours, lost days, and lost self-esteem. All under the same fucking umbrella.
What I wish I had done was listen. Listen to myself. All those times I thought, “I need to quit drinking” or “I need to cut back,” were overshadowed by the enablers who said, “That’s okay” or, “Don’t be so hard on yourself.” Fuck them. I was right, and they were wrong. I needed to quit drinking, but it was against popular opinion. My self-esteem was sabotaged once again.
It doesn’t matter if you’re a student, a housewife, a PhD, a professional athlete, a retail cashier, a teenager, a senior, or a pastor. It matters none if you’re black, white, green, red, straight, gay, tall, short, Christian, Buddhist, or Atheist. And it certainly doesn’t matter if you’re male, female, he, she, they, them, you, I, or it.
The bottle doesn’t discriminate.
Don’t listen to the external noise; listen to the internal voice. The one that knows you and is you. The voice that will help you make a powerful, lasting change. Sobriety isn’t boring, isn’t lame, and isn’t the end of the world. It’s a beautiful, amazing state of living that gives your life 100% clarity.
You’ve got this.
Stay safe, stay sober,
Kristen
Dear Enabler,
Go f*** yourself.
We don’t need you. I don’t need you.
I might love you, but you’re caught up in your world battling your demons, and that scares you. The idea that I might quit drinking means you will have to look at yourself and your habits to assess whether or not you have a problem.
And you're terrified.
I’ve enjoyed all the years of drinking with you, but now it has to come to an end. That doesn’t mean I don’t love you or care about you; it means I care about myself and my health a little more, at least right now. If you can’t accept what I’m doing, then I may have to step back from our relationship until time allows us to be together again.
Maybe in a short while, maybe never.
In the meantime, stop gaslighting people. When someone expresses that they might need help in their life, don’t downplay it, overanalyze it, or invalidate it. It’s rude, and it shows your shortcomings. Flipping the issue back on me is a shit thing to do.
I was never looking for your opinion, just your empathy.
Embrace it, and for God’s sake, just listen.
Kristen
©2025 Kristen Crisp
Kristen Crisp lives a sober life in Guatemala with her husband and multiple cats. Their mission, www.feedingfaith.org helps impoverished and malnourished families in eastern Guatemala. Check them out for more information.
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