Drinking starts as fun, but eventually leads into a trap.
You remember the loud laughs, cold drinks, and that invincible feeling that told us everything was fine. Yeah, that was a lie. Alcohol didn’t ruin us right away, but it did become the ground we stood on as everything else started to fade.
Sure–stress faded, anxiety left, and you built liquid confidence. But, eventually that stops working, and what used to be fun, isn’t so fun anymore. The excitement turns the habit into a necessity. And when something becomes habit forming, you start to depend on it.
What we once thought was freedom was actually escaping. An escape from ourselves.
Eventually, drinking wasn’t celebrating anymore. We were drinking to feel okay. And every time we reached for that glass (or bottle), something subtle but real was happening. It was slowly eroding our souls, one drink at a time.
Read on.
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Drinking started for me back in high school. If you were willing to look hard enough, it wasn’t exactly difficult to find. The people I spent time with weren’t shining examples of restraint either, so the whole environment kind of nudged things along. Plus peer pressure, and suddenly drinking just felt like the normal thing to do. Eventually you give in, mostly because you want to fit in and be seen as one of the cool ones.
And to be honest, at first it was fun. I won’t pretend otherwise. Some of my favorite memories involve sitting around a card table with friends, laughing way too loud, trading sarcastic jabs, and pretending we didn’t have a care in the world.
But as the years went on, especially into my mid and late twenties, something changed. Drinking stopped being fun and quietly became routine. Then routine became a dependency. It got to the point where I felt like I needed it just to feel normal. A few beers a night turned into the standard and beer basically replaced water.
Somewhere along the way, what started as a habit slowly turned into a god… and I didn’t even notice it happening.
January 2020.
I won’t go deeper into that night here. Instead, I’m linking an article I wrote about it before. That night is why I don’t drink anymore. It’s why I have a titanium hip. And most importantly, it’s why I follow Jesus more closely today.
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I didn’t wake up one day and decide alcohol was my god.
That realization came quietly and uncomfortably. It was the night I noticed how automatic it had become.
A hard day? Drink.
A heavy feeling? Drink.
Lonely? Drink.
Celebrating? Drink.
I wasn’t doing it to party anymore. I was doing it to cope. What scared me wasn’t how often I drank, it was how quickly I reached for it. Before prayer, before sitting with my feelings, before asking God what He wanted me to learn in the moment. Alcohol became the thing I trusted to take the edge off life, and it worked. .until it didn’t.
It numbed the pain, but it also numbed my discernment.
It quieted my thoughts, but it also silenced God’s voice.
I told myself I had control but anything you need to function already has power over you. That’s when it hit me, this wasn’t just a habit, it was a substitute. I wasn’t worshiping alcohol with words, but with dependence, routine, and escape. I used to give it access to parts of me that were meant to be surrendered to God. Here’s the part I want to be honest about: God didn’t shame me. He didn’t yank it out of my hand in anger. He showed me, gently, that I was asking alcohol to do what only He could do. I stopped running from the discomfort. I started sitting with it, praying instead of pouring, and journaling instead of numbing. Healing didn’t happen overnight, but freedom started the moment I told the truth. Alcohol was never my peace — God always was, I just had to let Him be.
Final Thoughts
Looking back now, it feels obvious. At the time, we were both completely oblivious to the wreckage we were causing our souls.
Addictions are a h*** of a thing. They slide in quietly, pull up a chair, and convince you they belong there. It promises comfort, relief, and control (masquerades as something pleasant, who does that remind you of?)… and for a while they even deliver. Until one day you realize the thing you leaned on is now the thing you can’t stand without.
And that realization is humbling, but also the start to real freedom.
Because the moment you tell the truth, the illusion starts to break. You stop pretending it’s harmless.
And, let’s not forget this: God isn’t waiting on the other side of that confession with disappointment. He’s waiting with open arms and patience you don’t feel like you deserve.
So turn from your sin. Run back to God. Come back home.
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This is deeply honest. Thank you for letting us in.
Thank you for sharing your story. Have my own of how I crawled out. Cost me a marriage, but then, couldn't have been much of a marriage, huh? Alcohol is no respecter of persons.