It’s one of the most difficult questions a person can ask themselves. At first, it's quiet, a mumble in the back of your mind that surfaces in the silence while you're sitting alone, when the desire to drink overrules the possibility of not, or when relationships feel a little more strained than they used to. “Do I have a problem?” It’s a question that haunted me for years before I had the courage to answer it honestly, really it was a question I didn’t answer until long after my last drink.
Let me start with this: if you’re asking yourself this question, it’s worth listening to that voice. Because no one asks, “Do I have a problem?” without some part of them knowing that something isn’t right. I get the calls often, “Hey man, I think I might have a problem that you might know something about. I'm not sure it's really a problem but….”. My response is most likely going to be, if you're wondering then there is a reason.
I didn’t come to recovery in a straight line. It wasn’t a dramatic rock bottom moment where everything crashed all at once, I think it was my dad who referred to it as a “bad country song. It was more like death by a thousand cuts. The only problem was I kept getting up till one day I couldn’t, literally. I had a successful career. I was surrounded by people who loved me. From the outside, things looked okay. But inside, I was slowly falling apart. And alcohol, which I once saw as a reward, a tool for relaxation, or a way to socialize, had become the thing that ruled me. Alcohol had become the only absolute in my life.
I don’t remember the first time that thought crossed my mind but I do know that it lived in my head for a long time before I ever truly acknowledged it. I remember wondering, why was I the only one always going for one more, why was I the only one that assumed a day at the park required beer? Why didn’t my friends go to a happy hour every day or have a beer while putting on their ski boots, mind you often this was before going skiing in an area that 100% required 100% of my focus and awareness.
I have memories of pushing that thought further and further back in my mind. I remember becoming a master of justifications. Like I said, I was successful. I had friends. My family loved me. No way I could have a problem right? I could stop if I wanted…I just don’t want to right now. Knowing damn well that I couldn’t, I needed it, I was not in control.
Those were the lies I told myself, over and over. I clung to them because admitting the truth felt terrifying, shameful and most of all I had to say… “I was an alcoholic”. I knew once I admitted there was a problem, it meant something had to change. And change is scary. Especially when it means letting go of the thing you’ve relied on to cope.
One of the things I’ve learned since entering recovery, and especially through starting Step One Recovery Resources, is that addiction doesn't have one face. It doesn’t always look like the stereotypes we see in movies. It’s different…for everyone. And you don’t have to lose everything to qualify for help.
Maybe you don’t drink every day. Maybe you’ve never had a DUI. Maybe you still show up for work and your bills are paid on time. That doesn’t mean your drinking, or drug use, or gambling, or whatever your “thing” is, can’t be a problem.
If your use is affecting your peace of mind, your relationships, your goals, your health, your self-esteem, and just who you are... that’s a problem. If you feel guilt, shame, or secrecy around it... that’s a problem. And if you’ve tried to stop or cut back and can’t seem to follow through... that’s a big red flag.
Surrender didn’t come easy for me. Like I said, I knew for a long time that this wasn’t going to end well. I think I would just say that one day I looked in the mirror and I didn’t like what I saw. That still wasn’t quite enough for me but it was something, I was tired. I made bids for help, nothing major, most wouldn’t even know it was an ask for help but it was enough for me to feel like I was doing something. I got really tired though, I had let too many people down. I didn’t recognize myself anymore. And more than anything, I didn’t want to live like that anymore.
That doesn’t mean I magically got better the moment I admitted (to myself) I had a problem. Even in my attempts to get help, I lied about having a problem. In my first attempts I never really let anyone in to know how to help me. By this point, most had figured it out, we just didn’t outright talk about it.
It took me several attempts to get sober but the one thing I had going for me was that I still didn’t like who I saw in the mirror. Time and time again I got up, this time I could. This time I had the support of my family. I had admitted I had a problem but had not admitted I was an alcoholic.
Recovery gave me more than sobriety—it gave me a life. It gave me clarity, connection, purpose, and peace. And the journey started with a single question: Do I have a problem?
If you’ve found yourself here, reading this, there’s a reason. Something inside you is wondering. And that’s a powerful moment because awareness is the beginning of change.
Here are a few things I offer you from someone who’s been there:
This is hard. But sit with the question and try to get quiet enough to hear the truth. Not the justifications. Not the comparisons. Not what you want the answer to be. Just the truth. It’s okay if it hurts. You don’t have to figure everything out today. You don’t have to have answers, and you shouldn’t. You just have to be completely honest.
One of the things that held me back was the fear of labels. I didn’t want to be “an alcoholic.” That word felt loaded, final, like it would define me forever. Putting a label on me or putting me into a box never went well for me. But here’s the thing: you don’t have to slap a label on yourself to start making changes. You can just be someone who’s struggling and wants help. More importantly, you will always be more than your struggles. You will always be more than an alcoholic. From the first day you decide to get sober, regardless of failure, you are far more than an alcoholic, you are doing something most could never imagine!
Instead of beating yourself up, try getting curious: Why do I drink the way I do? What am I trying to escape or manage? What am I running from? What am I trying to numb?
You don’t have to go through this alone. Whether it’s a friend, a therapist, a recovery coach, or someone in the room of a program, reach out. Saying things out loud can be incredibly freeing. And hearing someone say “me too” is even more powerful. I remember the light bulb moment; sitting in an AA meeting listening to others and realizing how much we had in common.
Take a week or a month off. See how it feels. Notice what comes up. Is it harder than you thought? Are you reaching for it automatically? Are you more anxious, irritable, or restless without it? Those are all signs that it may have a bigger hold on you than you realized.
If you’re struggling, let me be the first to tell you: you are NOT broken. You are NOT weak. You’re NOT a bad person. You’re a human being dealing with something incredibly common, and you are not alone. I’ll never forget what a therapist once told me while trying to help me realize how not-alone I was. He said, “Show me one other disease, one other thing people struggle with that at any time, any day, and anywhere you can find a room filled with people telling the same story you do”. That's how common it is, sad but true.
The question, “Do I have a problem?” isn’t a sign of failure. It’s a sign of courage. It’s the moment when the desire for a better life starts to outweigh shame, denial, and fear. And if you’re willing to keep going, that question can become the doorway to a completely new life.
I’ll leave you with this:
If you’re wondering whether you have a problem, get curious because few people who don’t have a problem ask that question. You don’t have to have all the answers right now. You don’t have to fix everything today. Just take one step. Reach out. Talk to someone. Get curious. Be honest. Be willing.
And know that there is life on the other side of this. A life you never dreamed you would have.
Ask me 10 years ago and the life I would have told you I’d be living today is nothing like the life I have.
Myself and an entire community of people are proof it is possible.
And if we can do it, so can you.
