No One Can Tell You You’re an Alcoholic

I honestly don’t remember the first time I heard that phrase. Probably because I’ve heard it countless times over the past six years. It’s a familiar line in recovery meetings, but the reason it sticks with me isn’t just repetition. It’s the truth behind it.

Sure, there’s a clinical definition of alcoholism, and people throw the term around all the time. Parents, employers, loved ones. People even joke about being an alcoholic after one too many nights at the bar. But that’s not what we’re talking about. We’re talking about the real thing. The person who has a problem with drinking. A problem they can’t solve on their own.

And the reality is, no one else can make that call for you. In my experience, it’s almost impossible to get sober for someone else. Yes, people often enter recovery under pressure. An employer’s ultimatum, a spouse’s threat to leave, a judge’s order to attend meetings. But there’s a difference between going through the motions and engaging in recovery with the true intention of getting and staying sober. The first can be forced. The second has to come from within.

For me, honesty was the dividing line. I spent years trying to convince myself that I could control my drinking, trying every angle I could think of. But deep down I was lying to myself. I told myself I could solve it alone. And I couldn’t. It wasn’t until I looked in the mirror and admitted to myself you can’t do this without help that everything changed. That was the moment I became willing to listen, to follow directions, to “suit up and show up. “ Whether or not it made sense to me. Whether I wanted to.

That decision—to admit the truth to myself—was fundamental. It was the doorway to everything that followed.

Why Labels from Others Don’t Work

Having someone else label you an alcoholic often backfires. If my wife had told me directly, “You’re an alcoholic and you need help,” I probably would have let her leave before I admitted she was right. That’s hard to say, but I know myself enough to believe it.

Instead, what broke through was a question: “Don’t you want this to stop?” That question pierced my defenses. The truth was, I did want it to stop—I just didn’t know how. Saying yes to that question was my first real moment of surrender. It was the first time I admitted I was powerless, the first time I allowed myself to believe that help was not only necessary, but possible.

Living Into the Identity

I can’t pinpoint the exact moment I decided, I’m an alcoholic, but by the time I walked into my first AA meeting, I had no trouble saying, “Hi, my name is Richard and I’m an alcoholic.” By then, owning that identity was a relief. It gave me a place to stand.

Over time, though, my perspective has evolved. Today, I sometimes introduce myself by saying, “I’m Richard, and I’m grateful to be sober today.” It’s not that I reject the term “alcoholic.” In AA language, I certainly am one. But my alcoholism is bigger than just my inability to stop drinking once I start. That’s a topic for another day, but the point is, the label itself is less important than the decision to seek help.

The Inner Conflict

Anyone who has googled “How do I know if I’m an alcoholic?” knows the experience: clicking through checklists, ticking off boxes, and coming face to face with the obvious. For me, the internet’s verdict was always the same: Of course you’re an alcoholic.

And yet part of me resisted. Intellectually I knew it was true, but emotionally and spiritually I kept denying it. It felt like lying to myself. The only comparison I can make is being a kid, swearing to my parents that I didn’t break the lamp, or eat the last cookie, or say the F-word—knowing full well I did. That feeling of dishonesty chewed me up inside.

Alcoholism gave me the same feeling. At 2 or 3 in the morning, wide awake and pouring down beers I didn’t want just to fall back asleep, I knew I was lying to myself. I knew I was prolonging the inevitable. That inner dissonance—knowing the truth but refusing to accept it—was the misery I carried until the day I finally admitted it to myself and asked for help.

The Bottom Line

No one can tell you you’re an alcoholic. They might see the truth. They might plead with you, threaten you, or even force you into treatment. But the only moment that matters is when you admit it to yourself.

That moment of surrender is where recovery begins.