Why This Isn’t Another Lecture About Drinking

In the past year alone, I have known someone who died because of alcohol, someone whose marriage ended with alcohol playing a significant role, someone who spent time in jail because of alcohol, someone who landed in an intensive care unit from alcohol poisoning, someone with severe cirrhosis, and someone who permanently damaged important relationships because of things said and done while drinking. None of these people expected alcohol to become the central character in one of the worst chapters of their lives. 

Most of us already know the acronyms: BAL, DUI, FAS, DT’s, AA, DD—even D&C 89. We know what intoxication looks like. We know the health risks and legal consequences. What interests me is a different question: Why does something associated with celebration, relaxation, and friendship show up so reliably in the stories people most wish had never happened?

Seeing Patterns Over Time

One advantage of getting older is that patterns become harder to ignore. When you’re young, alcohol is associated with parties, laughter, and memorable stories. As the years pass, you begin seeing the other side: divorces, arrests, broken trust, health crises, funerals, friendships that never recover. 

Certainly not every tragedy involves alcohol. But alcohol appears in those stories far more often than chance alone would predict. Accidental death. Premature death. Domestic violence. Divorce. Legal problems. Suicide. Family estrangement. Even within my own relatively small circle, every one of those outcomes has appeared—repeatedly. That fact alone deserves serious reflection.

My Introduction to Alcohol

I grew up in a traditional LDS home where alcohol simply wasn’t part of life. My father was one odd exception: when he caught a cold, he would drink a mini-bottle of alcohol and call it medicine. I never saw him intoxicated. It was simply one of those family quirks. 

My first real exposure came at fourteen, working as a dishwasher in my uncle’s restaurant. A cook brought me what I thought was orange juice while I worked in the heat. I drank two full glasses before he told me they’d been spiked with vodka.

My first experience was not by choice. Yet the taboo was broken and curiosity set in. In the ensuing weeks I sampled alcohol a couple more times—once in front of my older brother. Whether it was his visible disappointment or my own guilt, that brought a sudden end to my experimentation. My pre-adult introduction to alcohol was sheltered: religious prohibition, a family and peer group that mostly abstained, and a fairly naive orientation to what drinking actually meant in the wider world.

The Stories We Bring Into Adulthood

That was my story. Yours was different. Some grew up in homes where alcohol was absent. Others grew up surrounded by it. Some learned moderation. For others it meant chaos. Some learned that alcohol meant celebration. Others learned it meant fear, conflict, and unpredictability. 

Before we are legally old enough to make our own choices about drinking, we have already developed beliefs and experiences that shape those choices. It may be worth reflecting on your own early story. What examples did you witness? What lessons were taught—or never taught? What shaped your relationship with alcohol before adulthood even began?

Seeking Pleasure, Avoiding Pain

Human behavior follows a simple principle: we seek pleasure and avoid pain. We repeat what feels rewarding and move away from what hurts. 

Negative emotions are uncomfortable by design. Anxiety signals that something needs attention. Guilt tells us something needs repair. Loneliness pushes us toward connection. Frustration motivates change. These feelings are unpleasant, but they serve a purpose—they push us to address problems, improve our circumstances, and grow. Emotional discomfort is one of life’s most reliable teachers.

The Seductive Shortcut

Alcohol offers an intriguing shortcut. Rather than facing the problem, we can temporarily escape our feelings. The anxiety quiets. The loneliness softens. The conflict seems less important. For a few hours, life feels lighter.

The problem is that the feelings disappear, but the problems don’t. The relationship conflict remains. The financial stress remains. The loneliness remains. When the alcohol wears off, reality is still waiting. 

When alcohol becomes a primary coping strategy, we become less skilled at doing the harder work of addressing what is actually wrong. The escape becomes the solution—except it isn’t, because the problem is still there, and usually growing.  

What Alcohol Often Takes From Us

The greatest danger of alcohol may not be what it does to our liver. It may be what it does to our judgment. 

Alcohol doesn’t simply reduce emotional pain. It reduces restraint. It weakens perspective. It silences the internal voice that normally asks “Is this wise?” Texts get fired off. Arguments escalate. Boundaries disappear. Decisions are made that would never have seemed reasonable a few hours earlier.

The morning after often becomes a process of reconstruction: apologies, damage control, explanations, and promises that things will be different. Alcohol has a remarkable ability to magnify problems while simultaneously convincing us that our drinking wasn’t part of the problem.

There is also an imbalance worth noting. The person experiencing the reward and the people paying the price are often not the same people. The drinker experiences relaxation; the spouse experiences unpredictability. The drinker escapes; the child absorbs anxiety. The drinker feels free; the friend spends the night making sure everyone gets home safely. The costs are rarely distributed equally. 

What Former Drug Users Fear Most

I’ve spoken with individuals who had experience with nearly every recreational substance imaginable. To my surprise, several expressed the same view: alcohol was the most destructive thing they had encountered. Not because it produced the strongest effect. Not because it was the most chemically addictive. But because it was so accessible, so socially accepted, and so reliably present when lives came apart. 

The more I reflected on what I had witnessed professionally and personally over the years, the harder it became to dismiss their perspective.

The Questions Worth Asking

At some point, honest reflection matters more than defending our choices. 

Consider the moments in your life that brought the most regret. The things you wish you could undo. The relationships that suffered or ended. The opportunities lost, the humiliations, the painful memories. How many involved alcohol?

Then look beyond yourself. Think about your family, friends, classmates, coworkers. How many of their painful stories involve drinking? How many tragedies? How many near-tragedies? How many lives might have unfolded differently had alcohol not played such a central role?

These are not questions of guilt. They are questions of honest reconciliation with yourself.

When Quitting is Actually Winning

Several years ago I was on a boat excursion where drinks were freely available all day. Most people took advantage. One older gentleman was not among them—he spent the day drinking bottled water and having as much fun as anyone else. He told me he was an alcoholic who hadn’t had a drink in thirty-seven years. 

I felt genuine admiration. Not because he had never struggled, but because he had. Not because he had never made mistakes, but because he had owned them. At some point he had looked honestly at the role alcohol was playing in his life and chose a different path.

People who have been burned by alcohol, learned from it, and done the difficult work of sustaining sobriety possess a kind of quiet heroism. That has always earned my deepest respect.

Perhaps the question isn’t whether alcohol is good or bad. The question is more personal than that. 

When We Reach a Certain Age

Looking honestly at your own life—what has alcohol cost you? What has it cost the people you love? Has the return been worth the price? For some, the honest answer may be yes. For others, it may be very different.

Most people who struggle with alcohol never intended to hurt anyone. They never intended to get arrested, damage their health, lose relationships, or become dependent on something that was originally meant to be fun. But life ultimately measures outcomes, not intentions.

We all hope that when alcohol has become a real problem, the moment of recognition arrives before rock bottom does. Whenever it comes, that moment represents something rare and powerful: maturity.

Maturity is not pretending the past never happened. It is not endlessly excusing our mistakes, nor endlessly condemning ourselves for them. It is the willingness to look honestly at reality and decide that tomorrow will not be a repeat of yesterday. Not because quitting is easy. Because facing reality rarely is. The trail of tears alcohol leaves behind is a river indeed.

We cannot undo the pain already caused. We cannot recover lost years or erase old mistakes. But we can choose what happens next. 

There is no better time to begin than today. It will not repair every wound from the past. But it should prevent new ones. 

Perhaps maturity is simply arriving at the moment when we finally decide that the future deserves better than the past—and that the time to act on that decision has finally arrived.