The Craving Is Not the Problem

I did a dry January, and the most useful thing I learned had nothing to do with alcohol.

Let me back up. I have a long history with substances. Eating disorder behaviors that started in sixth grade. Painkillers in college that started as a real prescription for a real back injury and turned into something I bought off a dealer when the refills stopped. Binge drinking. Weed. My pattern was never restriction; my pattern was always too much, then shame. Anorexia never made sense to me. Why deny yourself something you enjoy when you can overindulge instead? That tells you everything about how my brain is wired.

I've done the work on most of that. I kicked the painkillers in my twenties. I got my eating under control. I thought I was done. Then the pandemic showed me I had one more thing to deal with.

Here's how it crept in. I lost my routine. No commute, no structure, no community, no friends to go see. And alcohol quietly filled every gap that opened up. It started as a drink a day. Then a drink after work and a drink after I trained. Then several on a Friday because I didn't have to be up early. Then six, seven, eight drinks alone on a Saturday. The weekly total kept climbing and my tolerance kept climbing with it, which (as my friend Audrey Carlson, a licensed therapist and addiction counselor, taught me on a previous episode) is one of the clearest signs you're trending the wrong way. You need more to get the same effect, so you drink more to chase it.

So I stepped back and took a month off. And the real lesson didn't show up until I started paying attention to WHY.

Name the trigger, not the substance

When I journaled through it, the triggers were the same ones that have always run my life. Stress. Boredom. And the big one: loneliness.

That last one cracked everything open. Because what I noticed is that when I drink alone, I genuinely enjoy the first drink or two. But by drink three or four, I'm not enjoying anything. The loneliness hasn't lifted. It's gotten worse, because alcohol is a depressant and I'm sitting by myself making a sad situation chemically sadder. Not exactly a shocking discovery once you say it out loud. But living it was a revelation.

What I actually missed was never the alcohol. It was the shared experience. I love having a beer with people who love beer, a bourbon with people who love bourbon, a glass of wine with someone who wants to talk about the wine. It's a sensory thing you do together; you taste it, you describe it, you connect over it. I was a bartender for years and the part I loved was watching someone react to a drink I made them, the same way a chef loves watching someone eat. That's the thing I was chasing.

And I was trying to fake it by drinking alone. Trying to simulate connection with a substance, by myself, which does not work and never will.

That reframe changed the whole problem. I don't have an alcohol problem. I have a missing-my-friends problem. So the fix is not more willpower. The fix is more connection. I read a line while I was working through this that stuck: connection is the opposite of addiction. Connection to people, connection to community, is one of the best antidotes there is to the reaching.

What you do with it

Once you name the real trigger, the move becomes obvious, and it usually has nothing to do with the substance.

Lonely? Call someone you love and tell them you miss them. I started scheduling it. An actual standing call every couple of weeks, because "we should catch up sometime" never happens and a calendar slot does.

Bored? Find something to do. Obvious, but boredom is exactly when the hand reaches for the glass or the snack on autopilot. I poured that energy into projects instead, including deciding to host a competition that fall.

Stressed? Run a stress technique on purpose. Walk. Meditate. Journal. Journaling was the single biggest tool I had, because it's how I found the triggers in the first place.

And sometimes the craving really is just flavor seeking. I'm a foodie, I cook, I made drinks for a living; I like things that taste like something. A lot of the reaching is your body wanting sensory input, not the substance. So I gave it a better version. I loaded the fridge with every flavor of sparkling water I could find. Fizz, flavor, zero calories. I get the sensory hit, and it's still just water.

Notice what every one of those is: a substitution that addresses the actual need, not a white-knuckle fight against the symptom. That's the whole point. When you keep reaching for the same thing, the thing is rarely the problem. Stop fighting the craving and go find what's underneath it.

I finished my dry January, and I ended it on my terms; one planned glass of chardonnay with an expensive piece of sea bass, exactly the way Audrey teaches it, planned and bounded. Not because I caved, but to prove to myself I can do moderation on purpose instead of on autopilot. The triggers were the same ones I've been working through my whole life. They always are. You just keep knocking them off one at a time.

One note since this touches food and substances: this is my own story and a general principle, not a prescription for you. If you're wrestling with something that has teeth, get a real professional in your corner. I did.

Give the full episode a listen here.

If any of this hit close to home, that's worth paying attention to, and you don't have to sort it out alone. Reach out about coaching at /apply. I've never turned anyone away over money, and I'd rather help you find the real lever than watch you fight the wrong one.

Vokse eller dø. — Coach Jordan