Trying to Moderate Alcohol Is the Kiss of Death to an Addict

Day by day, what you choose, what you think, and what you do is who you become. ~Heraclitus

February 2, 2026 

Judy Walker, Author and Independent Writer 

Tim Lineaweaver, Subject Matter Expert

Author Judy Walker comes to us from Edmonton, Alberta, Canada. She is a transplant from central Europe. English is her second language. Judy is an avid writer on Medium at https://medium.com/@judywalker_20444.

According to Judy Walker:

Trying to moderate alcohol is like allowing a child to be a brat one day and reprimanding her for the same behavior the next. She will have no idea what's acceptable.

Wishy-washy boundaries confuse the psyche. If you have an addiction, there's no negotiating with it. You'll lose. Sooner or later, it will defeat your willpower.

Even when part of me knows that choosing to drink is a bad decision, addiction can block that wisdom. No amount of consciousness will be enough to disarm the craving because I'm walking a tightrope. Eventually, a gust of wind will blow and knock me off balance.

For as long as I can remember, I have contracted my worth outside myself. I was only as valuable as someone thought I was. My parents would deem me a good daughter when I pleased them. I was a good wife when I met my husband's needs, a good mother when I gave all of myself to my children.

Intrinsic value was not modeled to me when I was a child. My parents didn't know they had value outside of what they gave to the world, so how could they teach me? The idea that we are worthy unconditionally would have been as foreign as wishes bestowed by fairy godmothers. Worthiness was transactional.

While that worked when I was a child and off and on into adulthood, in my thirties, I fell into a deep depression. What was my purpose? I was constantly asking myself, Is this all there is? My self-esteem plummeted. I felt victimized by life, and there seemed to be nothing I could do about it.

Alcohol became my savior, my friend, something I could count on to silence the self-critic. At five o'clock every night, I'd pour myself a glass of wine and feel the reprieve from feelings of hopelessness and the effort it took to pretend to be a good daughter, wife, and mother.

When I think back to my drinking days, I remember the rush of dopamine that flooded my nervous system when I thought of a glass of wine. I'd move through my day on autopilot, relieved that the anxiety, the inner restlessness, the fundamental wrongness that followed me everywhere like a stray dog, would be quieted once I got home and poured myself a drink.

It never crossed my mind that drinking was a problem. How could it be when I felt better when I drank? Wine was medicine. It wrapped me in a warm blanket, softened the edges of the hopelessness I felt during my sober hours.

Foolishly, I believed the drink didn't want anything from me in return for the temporary relief it offered. How wrong I was.

In January 2020, I decided to stop. I was in a relationship with an alcoholic in recovery and wanted to support him by not drinking. I was attending weekly group therapy sessions that demanded abstinence from all mind-altering substances.

The issue with that brand of sobriety is that I was doing it for others. I wanted my boyfriend to love me, and I was following the therapist's rules. The decision to quit drinking hadn't come from within. I made it to please others.

I lasted eighteen months. When I drank again, I was in a new relationship with a man whose only addiction is collecting wood to burn in his wood stove and backyard fire pit. I saw no harm in enjoying a glass of wine with him. He was safe, and by extension, I was too.

I continued to attend group therapy, but convinced myself that I'd been attending long enough to deserve the occasional drink. I was responsible. Surely, a harmless glass of wine with my beloved would not be an issue.

Interestingly, I didn't tell my therapists about my decision. I hid it.

Keath and I drank two, sometimes three bottles of wine per week. The problem wasn't the amount I consumed but the habitual chase after the feeling that wine promised.

It took me three and a half years to realize that when I drank, wine no longer felt like medicine. The habit turned into addiction, and it was aiming for my soul.

By the grace of whatever higher power is looking out for me, I quit alcohol in January. 

In early May, I relapsed. The step back was a valuable experience. It showed me that trying to outrun my cravings is like trying to control a termite infestation. Once the little beasties are in the woods, they're nearly impossible to eradicate.

Like termites, addiction works from the inside out. When unchecked, my thoughts about drinking will lead to cravings, and cravings will eventually lead to drinking.

To succeed in sobriety, I have to do better than white-knuckle cravings. It's too late by then, I'm already playing catch-up with my mind and body. What I must do instead is identify the thoughts that bring on the cravings and change them to thoughts and feelings that support sobriety.

Thought #1

I deserve it. No, I don't!

What I deserve is to sit with myself. I deserve to give myself grace, to admit that life can be hard sometimes, and people can be difficult, but so what? I temporarily feel better when I drink, but the fix is not real. It won't last.

When I notice myself thinking, I deserve a drink, it's a signal to ask myself what I need (and it's never alcohol).

Have I been pushing myself too hard and not resting enough? Am I hydrated? What have I been eating, and what TV programs have I been consuming that may be polluting my desire to stay sober? Do I feel sad? Am I angry? It's time to slow down and meet the needs I've neglected.

Thought #2

I set myself up for a relapse when I ruminate on self-pity: I had a bad day. Someone gave me the finger in traffic. My bank account is in overdraft. I burnt dinner. My writing sucks. I gained two pounds. When I give in to my inner victim, I'm well on my way to taking that drink and justifying it by: I deserve it!

I get over being a victim by not victimizing myself with my words, thoughts, or actions. When I choose myself over the drink, I empower myself, not the person with an addiction.

Thought #3

When I blame another for my feelings of unworthiness, my low self-esteem, my bad mood, or blame my childhood for how I can't get my shit together, I'm right back to feeling sorry for myself, and the cycle repeats.

Addiction thrives on the lies the mind conjures up to alleviate feelings of inadequacy. Those thoughts are a shortcut to cravings, and the cravings are a hop, skip, and a jump away from picking up a drink and putting a lid on the pain I don't want to feel.

A craving is a sign that something inside me needs attention. My inner child is crying. Some long-ago wound is calling to be loved and healed. If I silence the pain by drowning it, how will that help me evolve as a human being?

Like a coward, addiction hides in the dark. It hates to be outed. It loathes when I'm vulnerable. It's like Nosferatu; it burns up in the light of the truth.

*You might also like Andy Spears's article

Sobriety is a daily devotion. It's not a one-and-done; it's a steadfast practice of self-love.

When my head and heart are in harmony, I glimpse the truth of all the past choices that have led me to where I am today. It's in that moment that I erupt with new decisions that free me from the root cause of addiction.

It's within our power to shift our thinking. No one can take that away from us, no matter how difficult our circumstances are. What incredible freedom!

We must embody the truth: that drinking is a choice. It may not feel like it in the throes of addiction, but at the end of the day, we can either succumb to fate as we hand over all our power to alcohol or give ourselves a chance at a good life.

Day by day, what you choose, what you think, and what you do is who you become. ~Heraclitus

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Judy Walker can be reached via email at walker-j@shaw.ca

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