No, you don't have to call yourself an alcoholic
This is where I get passionate...
‘A label with a heavy stigma does nothing but keep us in a fear state about our own drinking, preventing us from being able to observe our own drinking as it shows up in our lives.’
- Holly Whitaker
Before I begin, I’d love to invite you to a free self-care for sobriety workshop taking place online on Tuesday 11 March, 10 - 11am UK time. Register your place here.
Disclaimer: this is my opinion only. This is not to be taken as a substitute for professional medical or mental health advice. My intention is to spark questions and provide reassurance and hope for those who do not feel comfortable with the label ‘alcoholic’. Please read with an awareness of your own feelings, reactions, thoughts and ideas and ALWAYS trust your own felt sense. If are concerned that you are physically dependent on alcohol, please reach out to your doctor or services listed at Alcohol Change UK.
There’s part of me that wants to come at this topic with a big old rant. The part that bristles when I hear people use the term ‘alcoholic’ for other people - a term that often comes charged with, at best, pity and at worst, disgust. The part that gets defensive when people ask ‘why does it even matter what term we use?’ Because to some people it does matter. It mattered, and still matters, a hell of a lot to me.
To be clear: if you use the term alcoholic about yourself and find it helpful, as many people do, then that’s great! Some people say that it helps keep them in check, that it’s a relief to use the term, that it helps them connect with others or that it just makes sense. But this piece of writing is probably not for you. This piece of writing IS for you if the term ‘alcoholic’ doesn’t make sense to you and you don’t want to use it. I want to reassure you that you don’t have to use it.
This is for you…
This is for you if you, like me, feel trapped by the term ‘alcoholic’. This is for you if that term conjures up such feelings of shame and despair that you can’t break free from alcohol. This is for you if that term kills all sense of hope and compassion, because the term puts a stamp on you as a person - on who you are, inherently - rather than being descriptive of the situation you find yourself in. The understandable and incredibly common situation of not being able to reduce or quit drinking.
I believe language matters hugely when it comes to how we talk about ourselves. I notice a profound shift when I change my language from ‘I am stressed’ or ‘I am anxious’ to saying ‘something in me is stressed’ or ‘something in me is anxious.’
Likewise, when I read This Naked Mind and discovered that I didn’t have to call myself an alcoholic, everything changed for me. After over a decade of being trapped in shame, I finally was able to begin my journey to becoming free from alcohol.
What do you think of when you think ‘an alcoholic’?
I wonder: what words, images and feelings arise for you when you think of someone as being ‘an alcoholic’? There’s no right or wrong answer, of course. But this was what I thought when I heard that term:
weak-willed. A loser. A failure. Someone who couldn’t cope with life, like everyone else can
someone not functioning properly
separateness, otherness, difference
something wrong with them
someone with a sickness that has control of them
disdain, contempt, disgust, revulsion
they’re a bad person - ruining their own life and the life of everyone around them
someone who is embarrassing and out of control
someone who is selfish and destructive
someone who will always be an alcoholic and think about drinking, taking it one day at a time, even if they’ve been sober for decades
someone doomed to attend weekly AA meetings and/or be in and out of rehab, for the rest of their life
I believed this about ‘alcoholics’ and so, of course, I believed this about myself. These thoughts were accompanied by ‘what’s wrong with me? How has this happened? This shouldn’t have happened to me! Why aren’t I normal, like everyone else? I’m such a pathetic loser.’
Ooof. It hurts to even write those words. But that’s what I was believing for years. And guess what? I felt hopeless. Terrified. I didn’t stop drinking. I couldn’t stop drinking.
‘Them’ and ‘us’
Then - a miracle. A revolutionary approach. In This Naked Mind, Annie Grace questions the binary we have in our culture between ‘alcoholics’ and ‘normal drinkers’.
‘Alcoholism isn’t defined by how much or how often you drink. There is an invisible and ill-defined line that categorizes the ‘true alcoholic.’ Since the line is arbitrary, and alcoholism does not have a standard definition, how are you supposed to know if you have a problem? […]
‘It’s quite easy for us to diagnose ourselves as ‘non-alcoholics’ when we start to think we have a problem. Most people believe that alcoholics are somehow different from other people, different from ‘us’. Many assume that alcoholism results from some type of defect. We’re not sure if the defect is physical, mental or emotional but we’re sure that ‘they’ (the alcoholics) are not like ‘us’ (regular drinkers).’
You can also watch Annie Grace’s video ‘Am I an alcoholic?’ here.
The more I talk to people about this, the more I’ve come to believe that a lot of people use the term ‘alcoholic’ to mean someone with a physical dependence on alcohol. But you don’t have to have a physical dependence on alcohol to want to do something about your drinking. (If you are concerned, you can take this quiz at Alcohol Change UK to find out the risk level of your drinking. Always speak to your GP first before attempting to quit or cut down if you believe you are at risk of physical addiction.)
You can be psychologically/emotionally addicted to alcohol, as so many people are. More people, in fact, than want to admit it to themselves, let alone others. A pretty easy way to find out if this is the case is by seeing if you’re able to cut down on your drinking with ease. Or do you keep making plans and promises to moderate that you can’t keep? Can you take an extended break from alcohol? If you can, is it easy or is it agony? Are you white-knuckling it til the end of Dry January arrives and you can run to the pub?
What are you addicted to?
I know the term ‘addiction’ is a scary one. We apply the term ‘addict’ to other people to create a sense of safety and superiority. ‘Well I’m not an addict like them!’ we say, shaking our heads in pity when reading stories of people who become addicted to heroin, gambling or sex.
Can you be sure you’re not an addict? If you are totally honest with yourself, can you honestly say there is nothing you are addicted to? What about work? What about your phone? What about buying things you don’t need? What about obsessive thinking?
What difference does it make when we touch on humility? And say: OK, I’m not addicted to heroin. But yes, I can see how I have an unhealthy relationship with work. I find it hard to not check my emails. Impossible, actually. I find myself compulsively checking them, even when I don’t really want to. Maybe I am addicted to checking my work emails…
And what would it be like to give yourself compassion around that? What would it be like to recognise that, rather than being a sign of some moral or physical defect, addiction is an incredibly common and totally understandable human trait? We can become addicted to anything if we are using it to escape from emotional pain.
Gabor Mate, a trauma and addiction expert, was addicted to work and to buying classical CDs. He bought them compulsively and obsessively and would shirk other responsibilities in order to buy them: all the hallmarks of addiction. It seems trivial and somewhat absurd, but when he described it to the people he was treating who had such severe drug addiction that they were homeless, they said to him:
“ ‘Doc, you’re just like the rest of us.’ The point is, we are all just like the rest of us.” So, when it comes to addiction, he says, “people find it much easier to project that part of themselves that they don’t like on to a certain despised population than to look at themselves. What they’re actually disdaining is a part of themselves that they dare not look at.” (as quoted in The Guardian)
“Don’t ask why the addiction, ask why the pain. To understand people’s pain, you have to understand their lives. In other words, addiction is a normal response to trauma.”
If not ‘alcoholic’ then what?
All this brings me to a possible answer to the question: what term do we use, then, if not alcoholic?
It’s worth mentioning that the term ‘alcoholic’ is no longer used by medical professionals who instead refer to ‘alcohol use disorder’. I still find this problematic and don’t understand why they can’t just refer to ‘alcohol addiction’.
What words, images and feelings arise in you when you describe yourself or someone else as: ‘someone who is addicted to alcohol’ or ‘someone who is struggling with alcohol’? What arises when we add on a crucial detail: ‘someone who is addicted to the highly addictive substance alcohol’?
These are the thoughts and feelings that arise in me:
a normal human
an innocent soul who is doing the best they can
a good, kind person who doesn’t know how to lovingly take care of themselves
someone who deserves compassion and understanding
someone deserving of help and support
someone who deserves empathy
someone who is suffering
someone who has gone through so much pain
a person who is not condemned to being broken and sick but who can change their behaviour and change their brain
What happened when I realised that I didn’t have to call myself an alcoholic? When I realised that, instead, I could see myself as a normal human who had understandably used alcohol to cope with painful feelings and had understandably become addicted to this highly addictive substance?
I could breathe out. I was normal after all! I could feel compassion and understanding for myself. And I could take the first steps to finally breaking free from alcohol, for good.
Better questions than ‘am I an alcoholic?’
Laura McKowen, in her brilliant book We Are The Luckiest and in this Substack piece, lists 33 better questions to ask than ‘am I an alcoholic’? The 33rd question to ask yourself is ‘am I free?’
‘Am I free? This one hits differently. This one is hard to hide from. I was never free when it came to alcohol; it owned some sacred part of me from the start. I knew by the way I loved it: a little too much. A possessive, obsessive love. A love that felt like need. Drinking took away more and more of my freedom, and above all else, this is what made it my thing.’
Why do I care so much?
Why does it matter so much to me? Why can’t I be one of those people who shrugs and says ‘it’s only a word, why does it matter?’
Because long before I discovered alcohol, I already believed there was something deeply wrong with me. From when I was a little girl, I thought I was inherently bad and horrible.
So much of what I did or didn’t do, so much of who I was as a person seemed to illicit such strong reactions in my parents - often of rage and disgust. I tried so hard to be good. I tried so hard to be strong. And I so often failed. I desperately wanted to be the child my parents wanted and yet always felt like I was coming up short. I’d lie in bed in the dark going over all the terrible things I’d done that day. The beliefs grew and grew. I was awful, rotten to my core, repellant and unlovable.
When I was 19 I started using alcohol to try to escape these thoughts and feelings, and quickly became addicted to it. So I found myself with shame on shame on shame. The term ‘alcoholic’ confirmed my worst beliefs about myself. I had never been totally sure what exactly it was about me that was hateful but now I had my answer: I’m an alcoholic. I am weak and pathetic and unworthy of compassion. I don’t know how this has happened to me, but it has. Shit. I really am as awful as I have long believed.
As you can imagine, this line of thinking did not lead me to a good place. It led me to spiral down until I came to the conclusion that I would be better off not being here.
I am forever grateful that I am here. That I made it through. That something in me wanted to live. Something in me - some tiny little glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, a better life was possible for me - kept me going.
People who are struggling with addiction don’t need more shame. Trust me: we’ve got that covered! People who are struggling with addiction need compassion, hope and, from those brave enough to feel it: empathy.
One of my favourite quotes is: ‘There but for the grace of God go I.’
When we see someone who seems to have got themselves in a bad place, when we see someone struggling with an addiction or behaviour we do not fully understand, what happens when we see our common humanity? When we choose to recognise the reality that if our own circumstances were different, if our lives had been different, we, too, could be in the same situation?
We’re all hoping for the same thing
The term matters, too, because of the outcome. This isn’t about being politically correct and it doesn’t even have to be about empathy and compassion if you don’t want it to be. But what if language affected the outcome we are, presumably, all hoping for? That outcome being that someone who wants to quit drinking is able to quit drinking. Surely that’s the most important thing?
For me - and I’m guessing I’m not alone - losing the term ‘alcoholic’ was key to getting sober. Absolutely key. Once I was able to treat myself with forgiveness, understanding and compassion, I was able to begin my journey to quitting drinking. I know I use that term ‘journey’ a lot and it sounds a bit… you know. But it truly was a journey for me. A non-linear journey that took 20 months.
And now: I still don’t call myself an alcoholic. I don’t say I was one, am one, or will forever be one. I don’t drink alcohol and haven’t in five years. I don’t use willpower.
I don’t take it ‘one day at a time’. I have no desire to drink. I’m not in denial: I one million percent had a problem with alcohol and I was psychologically addicted. And those neural pathways are still present in my brain: I never intend to risk having alcohol again, and anyway - I don’t want to!
Why do we believe ethanol is the elixir of life?
The way our culture views alcohol, and people who get addicted, is deeply flawed. The way we put alcohol on a pedestal is at fault; the alcohol industry that spreads lies and disinformation about this drug is at fault. People who struggle with it are not at fault.
The binary terms of ‘normal drinker’ and ‘alcoholic’ keep so many people trapped. They know they are drinking more than they want, they can’t seem to cut down or take a break, and yet because they don’t fit that popular idea of an ‘alcoholic’ they think: ‘well… I must be fine. I’m really unhappy, sure. I feel shit all the time. I feel shame and embarrassment all the time. I can’t seem to moderate. But… I’m not an alcoholic, so I guess I’ll just carry on.’
There is another way. We can question the status quo. Question why alcohol has been put on a pedestal and seen as the answer to connection and joy. Remember that in that lovely glass bottle with the pretty picture on it is ethanol: the same stuff that’s used as anti-freeze and to clean bathroom floors. It is not the elixir of life.
Hi, I’m Ellie and I’m…
‘When we hold tight to an idea of “I’m just this way,” we settle for being just this way. “Hi, I’m Holly, and I’m an alcoholic,” ensures that I will remain in the mind-space of something I don’t even do anymore. “Hi, I’m Holly, and I’m a writer, speaker, CEO, meditator, daughter, auntie, sister, friend, and addiction advocate, who speaks terrible Italian,” works a lot better for me.’ (Holly Whitaker, quoted in Time magazine)
In the same spirit…
‘Hi, I’m Ellie and I’m a sober coach, sober mentor, writer, mother, wife, sister, auntie, friend, who loves learning, watching the birds, a good night’s sleep and who has tried and failed to keep up a meditation practice about fifty million times.'
I’d love to hear yours! Share in the comments below.
With deep gratitude for
This Naked Mind by Annie Grace
The Little Book of Big Change by Amy Johnson
Alcohol Explained by William Porter
The Biology of Desire by Marc Lewis
In The Realm of Hungry Ghosts by Gabor Mate
Quit Like A Woman by
We Are The Luckiest by
If you’re new here - welcome. I’m so grateful to you for reading my words. I’m Ellie: a sober coach, mentor, mother and writer. I’ve been sober since December 2019 and am grateful every day for the gifts of living alcohol-free. In A Little Fantastic Sober Life I share personal stories, supportive practices and information about alcohol to support you on your sobriety journey.
If you would like support on your own journey with 1:1 sober coaching you can find out more on my website.
"This is where I get passionate..." You and me both, sister. I make my living explaining this. And there is SO much denial, misperception, and misconception. And that causes SO much trouble for SO many people. It all starts with everybody arguing about what it means to have a "problem."
Excellent. Yes! Having spent a year in AA after starting my sobriety with This Naked Mind and Alcohol explained I can vouch for the poor effects of labeling myself an “alcoholic”. At least in the long term. Maybe it gave me a “target” early on but I don’t think it was worth it. The blame and “othering” effects took me years to climb out of
I’m so glad there are clearer minds and different more scientific ways to look at addiction and alcohol use disorder. Thanks for being a bright voice to this perspective.