What Alcohol Was Actually Doing For Me (And What Finally Replaced It)
September 17, 2019. That’s the last time alcohol touched my lips. Over six years without a drink, including through getting extorted for $126,000, losing my career, and filing a lawsuit against my therapist. If I was going to drink again, that would’ve been the excuse.
But I didn’t. Not because I’m strong. Not because I found God. Not because I worked the steps. I stayed sober because I finally understood what alcohol was doing for me and found something else that actually worked.
“Sobriety isn’t about willpower. It’s about finding better solutions to the problems alcohol was solving.”
What Alcohol Was Actually Giving Me
Nobody drinks just to drink. We drink because alcohol does something we need. For me, it solved these specific problems:
The Torture of Silence Sitting alone with my thoughts felt like drowning. That space between activities, that moment before sleep, that quiet Sunday afternoon. Unbearable. Alcohol made the silence fuzzy, tolerable, almost pleasant.
The Physical Discomfort of Existing You know that crawling feeling under your skin when you’re sober? That constant low grade anxiety that feels like your body doesn’t fit right? A few drinks and suddenly I could exist in my own skin without wanting to tear it off.
The Boredom That Felt Like Death Regular life is boring as fuck when you’ve got ADHD and trauma. Watching TV sober felt pointless. Conversations felt flat. Everything felt like waiting for something that never came. Alcohol made mundane shit feel like an adventure.
The Missing Instruction Manual Everyone else seemed to know how to handle emotions, stress, social situations. I didn’t have those tools. Never learned them. Alcohol was my universal tool. Anxious? Drink. Sad? Drink. Overwhelmed? Drink. It worked for everything until it worked for nothing.
The Book That Rewired My Brain
Someone recommended “This Naked Mind” by Annie Grace. I thought it would be another shame based recovery book telling me I was powerless and broken. It wasn’t.
The book didn’t tell me I was an alcoholic. Didn’t tell me I had a disease. Instead, it explained what alcohol actually is: an addictive substance that anyone can become dependent on. Not because they’re weak or genetically doomed, but because that’s what addictive substances do.
It broke down the science. How alcohol hijacks your dopamine system. How it creates the very anxiety it promises to solve. How tolerance guarantees you’ll need more to feel less. How the “benefits” of drinking are mostly illusions created by withdrawal.
But here’s what really fucked me up: The book explained how society programs us to believe we need alcohol. Every movie showing stress relieved by wine. Every ad connecting beer to friendship. Every joke about “mommy juice.” We’re literally brainwashed from childhood to believe alcohol equals fun, relaxation, sophistication, adulthood.
“Alcohol isn’t giving you anything. It’s taking everything and charging you for the privilege.”
Once I saw the programming, I couldn’t unsee it. Watching people “need” drinks at social events. Hearing the panic when someone suggests a dry wedding. The way “I don’t drink” gets treated like “I don’t breathe.”
The book didn’t shame me for drinking. It educated me about drinking. Big fucking difference. Shame makes you want to hide. Education makes you want to change.
The Shower Discovery
Two weeks into sobriety, I wanted to drink so bad I could taste it. Not metaphorically. I was craving vodka so badly that I couldn’t seem to think about anything else. My body was screaming for it.
I got in the shower just to do something, anything else. Hot water. Like, borderline scalding. Stood there for twenty minutes.
The craving passed.
Not forever. But for that moment. And that moment was all I needed to survive.
Turns out hot water does something to your nervous system. Activates your parasympathetic response. Releases endorphins. Creates a sensory experience intense enough to override the craving signal. But I didn’t know the science then. I just knew it worked.
Every time I wanted to drink, I took a hot shower. Three, four, five showers a day sometimes. My water bill went up. My skin was constantly dry. But I wasn’t drinking.
“Recovery isn’t pretty. It’s standing in your 5th shower of the day at 2 AM because it’s better than relapse.”
Changing The Conversation
Here’s what they don’t tell you about relapse: The shame is worse than the drinking.
I relapsed four times before September 17, 2019. Each time, the voice in my head got crueler. “You piece of shit. You can’t even do this. You’re weak. You’re pathetic. You’ll never get sober.”
That voice made me want to drink more than any craving.
So I changed the conversation. Started talking to myself like I’d talk to a friend who relapsed. “Okay, you drank. That sucks but it’s not the end. What triggered it? What can we try different next time? You’re not starting over, you’re learning.”
Sounds simple. It wasn’t. That cruel voice was automatic, been there since childhood. The kind voice felt fake, forced, stupid. But I kept forcing it. “Good job making it three days.” “You’re trying and that matters.” “This is hard and you’re doing it anyway.”
Eventually the kind voice got louder than the cruel one.
Why I Didn’t Do AA
AA works for lots of people. Good for them. It wasn’t for me.
The higher power thing felt like bullshit. I don’t need to give my power to God or the universe or whatever. I need to take my power back from everyone I’d already given it to.
The “alcoholic forever” identity didn’t fit. I was someone who drank too much for specific reasons. Fix the reasons, fix the drinking. I didn’t want to introduce myself as an alcoholic for the rest of my life.
The shame focus felt toxic. Sitting in rooms talking about your worst moments over and over. Making amends to people who’d already forgotten. Constantly revisiting the wreckage. My shame was already killing me. I didn’t need more.
What I needed was information. So I studied addiction like I was getting a degree in it. Read the neuroscience. Understood what alcohol does to GABA receptors. Learned about kindling and tolerance and withdrawal. Knowledge gave me power over it.
The Cannabis Reality
I smoke weed to sleep. Every night. Have since I got sober from alcohol.
Some people will say I’m not really sober. Those people can fuck right off. Weed doesn’t make me black out. Doesn’t make me cruel. Doesn’t destroy my liver. Doesn’t ruin my relationships.
It makes me sleep through PTSD nightmares. Helps me eat when anxiety kills my appetite. Calms the hypervigilance that would otherwise have me awake til 4 AM.
Trading addiction for dependency? Maybe. But I’m functional. I’m present. I’m not waking up wondering what I said or did. That’s recovery enough for me.
“Perfect sobriety is the enemy of sustainable sobriety.”
What Actually Keeps Me Sober
It’s not willpower. It’s not fear of relapse. It’s not shame or pride or any of that.
It’s this: I don’t miss drunk me at all.
Drunk me wasn’t funnier or more social. Drunk me was blacked out on vodka and scotch every evening. Waking up with no memory. Checking my phone in terror to see who I’d texted. Looking for damage I’d done that I couldn’t remember doing.
There’s nothing to miss about that. Nothing romantic about disappearing into blackness every night. Nothing fun about losing entire conversations, entire evenings, entire pieces of my life.
Sober me remembers everything. Shows up for everything. Means what I say. Can be trusted with secrets and responsibilities and someone’s heart. Can actually be present for my own fucking life.
Six years without alcohol. Through a suicide attempt. Through getting fired. Through PTSD treatment. Through discovering my therapist was a predator. Through losing $126,000. Through filing a lawsuit. Through all of it, I didn’t drink. I won’t.
Not because I’m strong. Because hot showers exist. Because I learned to be kind to myself. Because weed helps me sleep. Because I finally understood what alcohol was doing and found better ways to do it.
For Anyone Fighting This Right Now
You’re not weak for wanting to drink. You’re not pathetic for relapsing. You’re not broken for needing substances to cope with existence.
You’re human with human problems looking for human solutions.
Alcohol is a solution. Just a shitty one with terrible side effects. Your job isn’t to white knuckle through wanting it. Your job is to find better solutions.
Maybe it’s hot showers. Maybe it’s running until you can’t think. Maybe it’s screaming into pillows. Maybe it’s playing video games or lifting weights or writing terrible comedy. Maybe it’s medication that actually works instead of medication that slowly kills you.
Whatever it is, it’s not about being strong enough to resist. It’s about being smart enough to replace.
And when you relapse (you probably will), don’t let shame drag you back down. Talk to yourself like someone you love. Because healing happens in kindness, not cruelty.
You don’t need God. You don’t need steps. You don’t need to surrender your power to anyone or anything.
You need better tools. And the patience to find them. And the kindness to forgive yourself while you’re looking.
Six years sober. Not perfect. Not pure. Not following anyone’s program but my own.
—Cody Taymore
Kill The Silence
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You left out the part about the friends or even spouses you lose because you don't drink with them anymore, how you don't feel like a "fun" person anymore, how you feel left out. The rest was dead on! Thought I was the only one who now sees how fucked up movies, songs and books are telling and showing us that drinking is how you solve everything. It's the opposite. Thank you for sharing all of this! In this boat with you or beside you, whichever feels right to you:)
Because healing happens in kindness, not cruelty! This!!!