When Success Hides the Struggle: The Truth About High-Functioning Alcoholism

I never wore (or owned) a suit. But put a denim jacket on this picture and it's like me in the 90s!

The Perfect Life

I was never the corporate woman in the high heels with a tote bag and a coffee, racing to her office in Midtown Manhattan. No polyester bow-tied blouses for me. I was the creative—the designer in a denim jacket, crafting prints that ended up on pajama sets for Lord & Taylor, Walmart, and Joe Boxer.

And I had it all—or at least, it looked like I did. The classic colonial house with the picket fence (yes, really). The Volvo wagon and two Labradors. The perfect neighborhood filled with wine-of-the-month deliveries, book clubs with Chardonnay, and spa days with “just one glass” that turned into a bottle.

Drinking fit seamlessly into this world. It was social, sophisticated, a marker of adulthood. A glass of wine with dinner. Champagne at celebrations. Chardonnay at book club, where we laughed about things that, in hindsight, didn’t seem all that funny. I wasn’t drinking alone. I wasn’t missing work. I wasn’t spiraling—I was high-functioning.

The Flip Side: What the Perfect Picture Didn’t Show

But what the perfect picture didn’t show was the discarded bottles hidden in the covered trash can. The empty boxes of wine flattened neatly in stacks for recycling pickup. The justifications and rationalizations I made for my drinking—because in my world of "wine of the month club" home deliveries and wine cellars (or at least separate wine refrigerators) everyone drank like I did.

And that’s what made it so easy to hide.

Because when life still looks good on the outside, who would question what’s happening behind closed doors?

At this point in my life—early adulthood, early marriage, our first home, our first real sense of “making it”—I was still keeping up appearances. I didn’t miss work. I wasn’t drinking in the mornings. I wasn’t spiraling. That’s what I told myself, anyway.

But what I never told anyone—what I barely admitted to myself—was that I had suffered from depression since I was 17. That I had gone to therapy as soon as my health insurance covered it at 23, desperately hoping to fix something I didn’t fully understand. That I had night terrors so intense my husband Barry would wake up to find me screaming. That there were things I never spoke about—PTSD from childhood, from later abuse, from trauma that stayed locked inside me, resurfacing when I least expected it.

Drinking quieted it all.

As Dr. Gabor Maté puts it, "Don't ask why the addiction, ask why the pain." Alcohol wasn’t the real problem. The pain was. And I had spent years drinking to numb it.

Yes, drinking quieted it all—until it didn’t.

How It Slowly Changed—And I Didn't See It

At first, I controlled my drinking. I drank at parties, book clubs, and social events. It was never “just because”—there was always a reason, a special occasion, an excuse. But over time, a few nights a week turned into every night. I always had cold Chardonnay in the fridge—just in case. 

Then bottles turned into boxes.

And the façade was still in place.

I was still showing up, keeping the house perfect, balancing work, smiling at the neighbors.

Until one night, in my picture-perfect kitchen, surrounded by everything I thought I was supposed to have, I took a handful of sleeping pills with a glass of wine.

The second I swallowed them, panic flooded my body. I didn’t want to die—I just wanted the pain to stop. I called out for Barry, my voice frantic and desperate. Within seconds, he was by my side, and as soon as he realized what I had done, he threw on his shoes, grabbed his keys, and drove me straight to the ER.

I sat in the hospital, the overhead fluorescent lights harsh, the taste of panic and regret thick in my throat. Barry paced beside me, eyes filled with fear. I drank the charcoal mix they handed me, not knowing what was coming.

And then?

The next morning, the picket fence was still standing. I smiled at the neighbors. And I drank again that night.

Because when you’re high-functioning, you always find a way to convince yourself (and others) that you’re fine—even when you’re not.

The Hidden Side of High-Functioning Alcoholism

Most people associate alcoholism with dramatic consequences—DUIs, job loss, relationships in ruins. But there’s another side that’s often overlooked: the high-functioning alcoholic.​

In the my early adult years in that first home, I didn’t drink in the morning. I never missed work. I wasn’t out partying until sunrise. So how could I possibly have a problem? The truth was, my drinking followed a script that made it easy to hide. I kept the rules that allowed me to convince myself everything was fine.​

As Dana Killion, author and advocate, insightfully noted:​ "We view alcoholism as a lack of control. But often that lack of control over the need for booze co-exists with extreme control over when and how and where the drinking occurs." 

That’s exactly how it felt. I wasn’t drinking to have fun anymore. I was drinking to keep up. To unwind. To escape.​

Wine was for evenings, not mornings. It was only “good wine” from the local shop, not the cheap stuff. And besides, I was drinking with people, not alone—at book clubs, neighborhood get-togethers, and dinner parties where everyone’s glasses stayed full.​

It’s easy to tell yourself you’re fine when everything on the outside still looks perfect. But behind closed doors, I felt the shifts—waking up anxious but blaming it on stress, feeling exhausted but chalking it up to life. The wine that was supposed to help me relax started to make me feel numb.​

Until the day it stopped working entirely.

The Role of Denial and Justification

The biggest reason high-functioning alcoholics stay stuck is because success becomes a shield. If you’re paying the bills, showing up to work, keeping up appearances—why would anyone suspect a problem?

And when society constantly reinforces drinking as "normal" (see my blog about The Truth About How Society Normalizes Drinking for Women)—through wine culture, happy hours, and the idea that alcohol is “self-care”—it makes it even easier to stay in denial.

There was always a reason to drink. A long day. A celebration. A tough conversation I didn’t want to have. I had built a life where alcohol fit so seamlessly into my daily routine that removing it felt unthinkable.

Reframing What "Success" Really Means

For years, I thought I was successful because my life looked successful. But success isn’t just about how things appear—it’s about how you feel when you wake up in the morning. It’s about whether you actually want to be here. It’s about whether you can breathe without needing something to take the edge off.

If drinking has become a crutch, that’s not freedom.

Final Thoughts: Facing the Truth Is the First Step

High-functioning alcoholism thrives on secrecy and the illusion that everything is fine.

But if you’re reading this and something in your gut is telling you to pay attention—listen.

Because you don’t have to wait until you lose everything to find freedom.

And if you're comparing yourself to others to stay in denial that you might have crossed into a substance use disorder, remember this:

You haven’t had a DUI/DWI—yet.

You haven’t missed work from a hangover—yet.

You haven’t ended up in jail or injuring someone because you were drunk—yet.

And real success?

That starts when you decide to be honest with yourself.

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​Early sobriety can feel overwhelming—

but you don’t have to do it alone.​

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