I have never felt a real urge to get drunk. Drugs or heavier substances never appealed to me. As a teenager, I saw where that path could lead. My older brother used drugs heavily, right in front of my eyes. It was frightening—a living warning. I didn’t need more examples to understand that drugs had no place in my life.
And yet alcohol has always been present, like a background wallpaper to my story. I worked for many years in the entertainment world—concerts, festivals, late-night events—an environment where bottles and glasses never ran dry. Champagne popped like part of the light show; bars never closed; “Shall we have a drink?” was practically a greeting. I kept a careful distance from excess for a long time, but gradually alcohol slipped into my own home, a quiet guest who became part of the family.
The Sliding Norm
It often starts like this: a single glass of wine to mark the weekend. One glass becomes two—after all, it’s Friday. Saturday deserves a toast as well. And why not a small glass on Sunday to “savor the moment”?
Soon you’ve built a new normal. For me, it sometimes meant a bottle or two of wine at night. That sounds dramatic when I see the numbers now, but back then it simply felt like part of the atmosphere. A blanket, a good book, maybe a selfie capturing the cozy vibe. I created an image for the world—and for myself—of a life in balance. Wine became a prop in a well-directed everyday drama.
This is a trap many know well. Alcohol arrives as a social norm. It’s legal, accessible, even celebrated. We raise glasses at baptisms, weddings, birthdays. We drink to celebrate, to mourn, to “wind down.” It becomes a universal tool—and precisely for that reason, hard to question.
Beautiful Pictures, Silent Warnings
Social media amplifies the illusion. Scroll through any feed: rosé in the evening sun, prosecco on the beach, a red-wine glass by a crackling fire. We call it enjoying life. And sometimes it is—but it can also normalize a drinking pattern that quietly wears on the body.
For me, those book-and-wine selfies were part of the performance. I wanted to show—perhaps mostly to myself—that I lived well. Meanwhile, my body began to protest. I developed inner-ear crystals, causing dizziness and a constant sense of imbalance. It felt as if the ground swayed even when I was completely sober.
At first, I didn’t connect it to wine. But when I started cutting back, I noticed the difference. I couldn’t ignore the link: alcohol was disturbing my balance—literally.
The Entertainment World—Where the Bottle Never Empties
I know how easy it is to slide deeper, especially when you work in an industry where alcohol is always within reach. In the entertainment world, a drink is as much part of the set design as the lighting rig. After a concert: a toast! After a successful production: a toast! A new contact, a new contract, an after-party—always a toast.
It’s an environment that rewards late nights and social drinking. Even without a strong urge to get drunk, it’s hard to always say no. I often said yes—not to intoxication, but to holding a glass, to participating.
Most people who develop problems aren’t chasing a buzz. They drift into a routine where alcohol becomes as everyday as evening coffee. When drinking is tied to work, networking, or creativity, it can even feel “professional.”
Friends’ Silent Battles
I have friends who struggle far more than I ever did. Many are entrepreneurs or live alone. For them, that evening glass becomes comfort, a companion when the day is done and bills need paying. A pause from loneliness, stress, or performance demands.
It’s a pattern I’ve seen again and again: strong, driven people who build businesses and shoulder responsibility but use alcohol as a valve. There’s rarely a dramatic crash—just a slow erosion of health and relationships. And because they still function “normally,” it’s easy to hide.
My Choice—and My Lesson
For me, the turning point came when dizziness became constant. It wasn’t dramatic—no rock bottom in the classic sense—but it was clear: my body was saying stop. I began drinking less, first out of necessity, then because I realized how much better I felt without it.
Today I drink little more than water. It isn’t a vow or a punishment; it’s simply that I feel best this way. I don’t miss it. Not the taste, not the ritual, not even the social aspect.
That doesn’t mean I judge those who drink. I have no sermon to preach. But I want to be honest about my journey—and about how freeing it can be to choose differently.
A Wider Lens
My story is just one of many, but it reflects something larger: how deeply alcohol is woven into our culture and how hard it is to question. We debate sugar, meat, gluten, coffee with passion. But alcohol? Almost sacred.
Swedish drinking culture, where I come from, carries a double message. We have strict government control through the state monopoly, but we also romanticize “a glass of wine with dinner” and embrace a leisure culture that often centers around drinking. We want both control and endless celebration. The result is a quiet acceptance that alcohol is always present.
The Freedom of Saying No
Choosing water over wine has reminded me that freedom sometimes means abstaining. Freedom isn’t just the ability to pour a drink whenever you like—it’s also the ability to decline without needing an explanation.
Breaking a pattern—especially one so socially accepted—is powerful. For me, it’s about respecting my own health and also about honoring those who struggle. I know how hard it is to draw a line. I know how easy it is to fool yourself and others with a pretty picture.
No Dramatic Ending—And That’s the Point
My story has no sensational finale, no moral verdict. It’s simply a journey from an environment where alcohol was ever-present to a life where water tastes better than wine.
I share it not to convert anyone, but to remind us that we all have choices—and that the small daily ones shape our lives more than we think. For me, the choice became clear when the ground started to sway beneath my feet.
Today I stand steady. With water in my glass. And that’s more than enough.
By Chris...