It’s the framework psychologists love to hate – Elisabeth Kubler Ross and David Kessler’s 5 stages of grief. A lot of this hostility is rooted in the misunderstanding that the expectation is that people march through these stages in order, when in reality, they are constantly shuttling between them – in denial about one aspect, experiencing acceptance about another aspect, feeling different things on different days and even minute to minute. It’s not a linear process. What does this framework have to offer the addict contemplating sobriety? 

Denial

In death, denial is an expression of shock, that we can’t possibly be living a life where our beloved isn’t with us any more. Well, this is a no-brainer. Literally every addict I’ve ever known has spent plenty of time here. I certainly did. Doctors and mental health professionals would gently point out that I drank WAY more than was considered healthy. Looking back on it, I think I knew there was a problem – that my drinking was not normal. My impulse to say I had it under control was actually rooted in a complete inability to imagine my life without alcohol. If I admitted I would have to learn to live without it, I did not think that was possible. In addiction, my denial allowed me to keep drinking, beyond the point where I clearly no longer “had it under control.”

Anger

In grief, anger is a natural emotion in response to so much pain. For addicts, we can sometimes direct anger at the people trying to break through our denial – including ex-spouses trying to take our children, the legal system, and friends and family who have had enough. By blaming external bad actors, we deflect energy from solving the problem (drinking) to pushing back against well-intentioned people who want to drive a wedge between us and our sole coping mechanism (drinking). 

Bargaining

Bargaining is one of the saddest stages of grief to me. The bereaved is willing to strike any deal to make reality something other than it is. In my addiction, bargaining was where I spent the most time. If I could arrive at the compromise that didn’t mean I had to give up drinking entirely – any compromise – I wouldn’t have to say goodbye to my dear friend and constant companion of 20 years. First it was, “I will only drink socially.” Failed. Then, “I will only have two drinks in a session.” Failed. Then, “I will only drink on special occasions.” Failed. My inability to abide by the terms of the bargain eventually meant that I had no choice but to eliminate alcohol from my life altogether.

Depression

Depression is maybe the easiest stage of grief to understand. Who wouldn’t feel depressed at losing someone you love so much? For the addict, it’s hard to give up their favorite thing, and that in itself is depressing. Add to that the fact that alcohol is a huge source of happy-brain-chemical dopamine, and now it’s gone, and it’s no wonder people crash with sadness in early sobriety. Everything is harder to handle, some of our lives are in wreckage, and the main way we used to handle it is gone.   

Acceptance

But good news! There comes a point after loss where acceptance creeps in. Acceptance for the alcoholic is actually radically different than for the bereaved – what there is to accept isn’t death, it’s a new and better life. After the brain balances out the dopamine again, the addict has one little experience of being glad to be sober, and then another one, and then lots of experiences. For myself, it wasn’t easy to accept in my addiction that alcohol had to go, but once I did, the world opened up. 

Finding Meaning: Bonus Stage

Breaking news! Did you know there’s actually a 6th stage of grief now? David Kessler continued the work he started with the late Dr. Kubler Ross by identifying a stage in which people make meaning of their loss. In grief, maybe we resolve to be kinder to others or appreciate our loved ones more or connect with the little things, or even become activists for systemic change that will reduce the number of people suffering the death of their loved ones. In addiction, we often resolve to carry a message of hope to other alcoholics. This has its roots in the service mindset of AA’s 12 steps, but has manifested itself in non-AA settings like other flavors of support groups, the mountains of writing addicts have done about their recovery, and the extraordinary willingness I have seen from even very private people to share their story in an effort to help total strangers afflicted with addiction. 

And here I am! Writing to you to help make meaning of my experiences with addiction. Here I am hoping that this framework makes sense to other recovering addicts, and people struggling with their substance use who think they might need to make a change, but are wondering how – fighting anger and denial all the way. While there are some parallels with grief and grieving, the biggest difference is all upside: No one is better off for the loss of a loved one, but everyone is better off free from addiction. That’s not to say there’s nothing you’re losing something by giving up alcohol, which is why we grieve, but what you gain is life itself.