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What Do You Call It When You Can’t Stop? (The A-Word)
- karenmrubinstein
- Apr 27
- 6 min read
Before we call it alcoholism, we call it everything else.
I recently came across an old email I had sent to a moderation organization in 2016 — four years before my rock bottom.
In it, I wrote, 'I'm drinking way too much and feel out of control... and I'm worried about my health.'"
I had good reason to be worried. By then, I was drinking every day, blacking out, and despite all my best efforts — willpower, hypnosis, therapy — I couldn’t stop.
And notice: I reached out to a moderation organization — not a recovery group. That’s how deep my denial was. Even with all those red flags waving, I still clung to the hope that I just had a “little problem.” That somehow, if I just tried harder, I could go back to drinking like a “normal person.”
I never said the A-word in that email.
In fact, I avoided it everywhere — even in my own mind.
I said I drank too much.
I said I was stressed.
I said I was self-medicating.
I said everything except the one word that terrified me most: alcoholic.
The Power of Naming It
I remember being 16 or 17 and looking for my first real job (aside from babysitting).
Back then, you didn’t get a Social Security number at birth — you got one when you were ready to enter the workforce.
My mother said she would drive me to the Social Security office.
I balked and said, "I don’t want to be branded like a cow."
"Get in the car," she warned.
I got in the car — but I spent the entire ride mooing under my breath in protest.
Halfway there, she snapped, "What’s wrong with you?! None of your sisters ever did this!"
Obviously, I’ve always hated labels.
It was that same fear of labeling — of being branded — that kept me stuck in my house drinking for years.
Labels can feel scary.
And in some cases, we don’t need them.
But when it comes to addiction, honesty isn’t optional.
It’s vital.
Running from the A-Word
I thought I knew enough about 12-step recovery meetings:
Church basements.
Lots of coffee.
People sitting around saying, "Hi, I’m ________, and I’m an alcoholic."
No way was I going to do that.
Avoiding the word "alcoholic" felt easier in the moment.
It gave me permission to stay away from meetings.
Permission to avoid getting help.
Permission to keep pretending I could figure it out on my own.
Permission to 'have my cake and eat it too.' I didn’t really want to stop.
If I said I was an alcoholic, I knew it was over.
Deep down, I knew I could never drink again — and that none of it was normal.
Deep down, I knew I was killing myself.
I was afraid to stop... and afraid to keep going the way it was.
And yet, I still couldn’t face the A-word and save myself from my living hell.
I did try a few meetings over a twenty-year period.
But I couldn’t commit — and I couldn’t relate.
Why?
Because everyone around me would say, "I'm an alcoholic."
When it came to my turn, I always said,"I'm Karen, and I’m drinking too much,"or,"I think I have a problem."
By refusing to say the word, I continued to delude myself.
I continued to negotiate with my drinking.
And I continued to drink more and more — every day, every week, every year.
I soothed myself with lies:
It’s just a rough patch.
A season.
A phase.
But the longer I avoided naming it, the longer I stayed stuck in my alcohol-soaked hell.
I’ve shared before — in my blog "I Say I'm an Alcoholic. Why Does That Bother You?" — why I now choose to call myself an alcoholic:
Because for me, it’s not a label of shame.
It’s a doorway to freedom.
But getting to that point wasn’t easy — to say the least.
Why It’s So Hard to See It — and Say It
The truth is, the world around us often doesn’t understand what real alcoholism actually is.
People don't choose — I didn’t choose — to be an alcoholic.
I call myself a "grateful alcoholic" not because I’m grateful for alcoholism,
but because of how rich and rewarding my life has become since admitting the truth.
Since stripping away all the pretenses that my life was good, that I was fine, that I didn’t have a problem.
But my alcoholism took years to develop.
And looking back, I can see the slow progression.
Maybe I could have stopped earlier — before crossing the line into full-blown alcoholism — but I don't know. I can’t go back in time.
What I do know is that there was a progression.
And the Big Book of Alcoholics Anonymous explains it powerfully — describing the stages that nearly every real alcoholic passes through.
According to the Big Book, here’s what typically happens:
Loss of Control: Once an alcoholic starts drinking, they can’t predict when or if they will stop.
Attempts to Regain Control: They make desperate efforts — switching drinks, setting drinking schedules, only drinking on certain occasions — but it rarely works for long.
Worsening Consequences: Over time, drinking causes growing physical, emotional, and social damage — health problems, broken relationships, job issues, depression.
No Return to Moderation: The heartbreaking truth: once that invisible line is crossed, true alcoholics can’t go back to moderate drinking — ever.
Psychic Change Required: Recovery isn’t just about willpower. The Big Book says a complete “psychic change” — a total spiritual, emotional, and mental shift — is needed for real healing to begin.
This progression is captured visually in the Jellinek Curve — a simple but powerful chart that shows how alcoholism starts subtly, worsens over time, hits bottom, and how recovery offers a path back up through honesty, help, and inner transformation.
The Big Book also explains that while moderate drinkers — and even hard drinkers — can quit or cut back if they have a good enough reason (like health issues, relationships, careers),
but the real alcoholic?
They lose all control once they start.
No matter how much they want to stop.
No matter how many promises they make.
No matter what’s at stake.
As the Big Book says:
"At a certain point in the drinking of every alcoholic, he passes into a state where the most powerful desire to stop drinking is of absolutely no avail."
This isn’t about weak willpower.
It’s about having a mind and body that react differently —where even remembering past pain isn’t enough to stop the cycle once it starts.
As Dr. Gabor Maté — a physician who specializes in addiction, stress, and childhood development — puts it:
Addiction isn’t a moral failure.It’s an attempt — often a desperate one — to manage unbearable feelings.
To survive.
And that’s why naming it matters so much.
Because once we stop pretending it’s just a “bad habit” we can outsmart,
we can finally start healing what’s underneath.
What Happens When We Resist the Word
We get creative with language.We say things like:
"I just drink too much sometimes."
"I'm just a social drinker with a little problem."
"It's not that bad."
But here’s the hard truth: minimizing keeps us trapped.
When we soften the reality, we soften our urgency to change.
We stay in limbo, bargaining with a disease that doesn’t bargain back.
Naming It Isn’t Shameful — It’s Powerful
Owning the truth isn’t a death sentence. It’s the beginning of freedom.
"Alcoholic" doesn’t mean bad.It doesn’t mean broken.It simply means you have a condition — one that, with honesty and support, you can treat.
I remember the first time I said it out loud about myself.
I thought the world would end.Instead, the world began again.
Saying it wasn’t the end of the story.
It was the beginning of saving my life.
Society’s Stigma vs. Recovery Reality
Yes, society still shames the word.Movies, TV shows, even casual conversations make "alcoholic" sound like a moral failing, a punchline, a weakness.
But in recovery circles?
Owning it is strength.
Saying it is courage.
Freedom begins where denial ends.
Closing Call
If you’re dancing around the word, I get it.
It’s terrifying.
But the truth you’re afraid of isn’t your enemy.
It’s your doorway.
Whether you call it the A-word or not, the truth is waiting.
And the truth can set you free.
🌟 P.S. Next week, I'll be diving into a question that's stirred debate for decades: "Alcoholism: Disease or Not Disease? THAT is the Question."
Get ready — because I'm not just asking the question.
I'm answering it — from both personal experience and hard-earned truth. 🌟
_________________________________________________________________________________________
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