This article was originally published in Invisible Illness July 30, 2021
I have been sober for nearly five years and will be in recovery for the rest of my life. Usually, when I share this with people, they do two unsolicited things: tell me their relationship with drinking, and label me as an addict.
And why not? It’s a universal and liberally used term to describe those who “cannot stop using a substance or engage in a behavior causing harm” — a way to tie up the disjointed attributes of a victim* neatly.
Because of the complex and even diverse ways addiction takes form for a person, ‘addict’ should never be used to define them. For me, the seemingly innocent shortcut term is the ultimate undercut — generalizing my experience and evolution by behavior.
I was physically dependent on alcohol and had withdrawals when sober for periods — that’s addiction. I chose to stop drinking — that’s sobriety, and began questioning why I drank, beyond the behavior itself — that’s recovery.
To call me an addict reduces my experience to the behaviors I overcame; it morally projects my relationship and experience with myself and the world.
It’s offensive because of its assumption and dangerous because of what it distracts us from — the roots of self-medication.
Addiction is Culturally Misunderstood
When the Morgan Neville documentary Roadrunner: A Film About Anthony Bourdain came out, I was first in line to experience the untold story, hoping to find the elements that would unravel his mystery. I felt akin to him in many ways: we loved to travel, we were cynical, we both indulged and admitted to doing so — we overcame the hold a substance could have on a life. As his crew, family, and friends provide commentary on what transpired during his life, I was struck by their summaries on his sobriety.
Anthony was a self-described heroin addict who remarkably quit cold-turkey, never touching the stuff again once he decided to put it down for good. In the film, his longtime friend, artist David Choe counters by explaining that Bourdain’s “addiction jumped”, throwing himself into one thing after another, lastly, a relationship that betrays him. It becomes apparent that those who knew him watched his passionate exploration of the world with speculation, believing the highs they assumed he endlessly sought now came from places, spaces, and people.
There is little mention of the impacts of Bourdain’s toxic masculinity, the way he suffered in silence, not by compulsion or disease but the cloisters of sexism.
His career required grit and an indestructible persona — chef’s rarely call in sick, admit pain, etc. Unfortunately, his life ultimately fell victim to this denial of humanity.
Atypical Sobriety
While I didn’t know Bourdain as a person, I feel I intimately know his recovery. I, too, quit something in atypical fashion, and it instantly made me admired and mysterious. Abstinence from alcohol is impressive because of its deeply steeped presence in our society; it’s an encouraging rite of passage and a mechanism for enduring parenting, career, and life itself as we age.
To live without its crutch means we must wholly lean into every experience and discomfort.
To do this without a rule book, the big book — -ecclesiastical or blue, is unique. While I began my sobriety in the traditional methods, my recovery evolved into something beyond the twelve steps. I was convinced there was more to sobriety than simply “not drinking”; I was powerful and not powerless as AA would try to convince me. This journey may be challenging to understand, and some may judge it as dangerous, ignorant, or dry — but it’s mine. It’s not for others to understand, solve, figure out, or summarize.
Normalize the Expanse of Recovery
Today, even I will fall victim to reducing my thirst for challenge and change to an “addictive personality,” but I quickly correct. As tempting as it is to generalize my experience for the convenience of others, it’s minimizing and limiting.
There are people out there who do not get help simply for fear of being labeled — an addict, a drunk, a druggie, you name it. If we begin to normalize the expanse of recovery, the definition will follow suit. I prefer to call myself a healer, someone who decided to repair herself and continues to thrive. We can transcend divisive and morally charged terminology for more inclusive and revealing language.
*I say “victim” because I believe all substances available — legal and illegal — are tools and mechanisms of control. Dependence benefits the culture in power (patriarchy, white supremacy, heteronormativity) so it’s necessary and even encouraged to imbibe, inject, and enjoy.