Sobriety Without Healing: Why Abstinence Falls Short

March 9, 2026 

Michael Cline, Author

Tom O'Connor, Publisher

Those who met me after I kicked my heroin addiction (and later my alcohol dependence) have a hard time believing that there was a time in my life when I was stark raving mad, running with cement shoes on thin ice. While my years as a person with a heroin addiction were obvious to all, I spent quite a bit of time as a functioning alcoholic. And despite years of clean time under my belt, I white-knuckled every second. This wasn't because of a desire to use. The obsession and compulsion of addiction had been removed from me. However, living a clean and sober lifestyle did nothing to improve my low self-esteem and failing mental health.

I had been told in the rooms of 12 Step programs to "fake it until I make it." With a fake smile glued to my face, I waited and waited for the miraculous moment when I'd feel whole and comfortable in my own skin. I naively believed that mere abstinence would heal my soul and I'd live happily ever after. Unfortunately, it doesn't work that way.

The Merriam-Webster dictionary describes abstinence as "the practice of abstaining from something: the practice of not doing or having something that is wanted or enjoyable." For most former addicts and alcoholics, we stopped enjoying our drug of choice once we became dependent on it. For us, myself included, we believe that once we remove the substance from our bodies and our daily lives, the problem will be solved. This is a common misconception, especially amongst those who aren't comfortable with the "anonymous" programs which focus on identifying and removing defects of character.

Addiction isn't the problem; it's a symptom of a much bigger issue. Removing a symptom without identifying its cause is like turning up a car's stereo so the driver can no longer hear the strange sounds the engine is making. Over time, the engine will fail, and ignoring the car's mechanical problem won't fix it.

Those who don't find and correct the root cause of their addictions are doomed to an unhappy life, and I'm guilty as charged. I dropped out of "the rooms" early in my recovery, and although I did keep some of what I learned there, I believed that as long as I didn't relapse, I had won the battle. The terms "dry drunk" and "clean but crazy" come to mind.

Don't get me wrong; going a significant amount of time without using your drug of choice is to be celebrated. It's important to recognize our victories over what once bound us. But not working on the reasons why we wound up addicted is not the same as being in recovery. Abstinence is a positive behavior change. However, recovery is the reason for self-abuse.

Bad Choices and Hiding Skeletons in Closets

In my experience, nearly everyone I've met who struggled with addiction carried unresolved childhood trauma. Normal, well-adjusted people with healthy coping skills don't one day decide to turn to hard drugs or binge drinking.

Dr. Gabor Maté, a well-respected authority on addiction, trauma, and childhood development, believes that the root of addiction lies in unresolved childhood trauma and not a moral failure or lack of willpower. His cutting-edge theory focuses on healing the trauma and not shaming the person with an addiction.

Once I found myself completely clean and sober, I believed that I had been cured. I still identify as an addict and an alcoholic to this day. Not because I have a desire to self-medicate, but as a quiet reminder of who I used to be and to acknowledge my weaknesses. When Maté describes a typical addict, he could use a photo of me and a description of my childhood. I'm a textbook case.

While everyone has had unpleasant childhood moments, mine were never-ending. My mother had me at age sixteen, married my biological father, who then abandoned ship a year later. Being a child herself, I don't feel she had the maturity to provide a stable environment. She had quite a few boyfriends, all bad boys from the wrong side of town, and remarried twice before succumbing to lung cancer at age 29. Her second husband was a wife-beater and emotionally abusive to me. On the day of my mother's death, my second stepfather told me I had a week to find a place to live.

I had witnessed a lot of verbal abuse and violence at a young age, something that I tried to bury and not acknowledge. My mother and I moved from apartment to apartment, usually every six months, so I never felt as if I had a secure home, one to grow roots in. Her parents took over raising me, and although they tried their best, all I longed for was to be left alone and to be financially independent. They suggested I get professional mental health counseling, but I refused. I didn't see the need for it as a teenager since I had deeply buried the demons of my past.

I moved to New York City in my early twenties, and within a year, I had become addicted to heroin. This was during the height of the "heroin chic" era, when supermodels were deadly thin and sported fashion that mimicked the street life of "beautiful failures." Heroin numbed my emotional pain up until the point I became physically dependent upon it. Eventually, I got clean, but switched seats on the Titanic and replaced the needle with the bottle.

By the time I had kicked both addictions, I was exhausted. Unfortunately, I hadn't put in a lick of work towards healing any of the psychological wounds that I had stuffed inside of me and refused to acknowledge. Eventually, those skeletons in my closet began to bang loudly on the closet door, demanding to be released. This led me to feel angrier, more self-loathing, and more frustrated. By 2019, I found myself in the darkest depression of my life and became suicidal.

Salvation, Recovery, and Freedom

I reached the point in my life that no matter how many years had gone by since I had last used a substance to numb my pain, the only thought that brought me any joy would be that of my non-existence. Although I was somewhat proud of my decades of abstinence, it didn't bring me any particular joy or happiness. Life had become a losing battle, and I could only see the glass as half empty. I hadn't yet understood that by not directly addressing my childhood trauma, I was frozen in time and remained the scared little boy of my childhood.

Fortunately, once I had an exit plan of how to end my life, I received a mysterious message that urged me to battle my trauma amongst the healing plants of the Peruvian Amazon. This message was implanted in my brain by an unknown voice. You could call it God, an angel, or the spirit of a sacred medicine. It was there that I faced my childhood head-on, and although incredibly unpleasant and terrifying, it forced me to tackle the thing that caused me to self-medicate. This was my path, not a prescription, but it forced me to confront what I had spent decades avoiding.

Abstinence is the first step to recovery, but there's more work to be done. It's impossible to heal the wreckage of your past without acknowledging it, sitting with its uncomfortableness, and forgiving yourself along with those who caused you harm. If you're clean and sober but incredibly unhappy, consider exploring the reasons why you chose to become numb. True recovery begins when you embrace what hurt you. Healing doesn't require perfection, only honesty.

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If this article resonated with you, you may be interested in my recovery-focused books, which explore addiction, trauma, and healing beyond abstinence.

New York City Junky Days is a raw, firsthand account of how an ordinary person can quickly become engulfed in addiction, told with brutal honesty and a hard-earned path toward recovery.

New York Recovery Days examines the difference between abstinence and true recovery, focusing on the long-term healing of childhood trauma and the emotional work required to build a fulfilling life.

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For questions, speaking inquiries, or reader feedback, you can reach me directly at michaelcline2323@gmail.com.

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