It wasn’t until I formed my quitting as a choice that it finally made sense to me. Telling myself I couldn’t drink was not doable because I certainly could. Of course I could drink, I was doing it all the time.
But phrasing it a a choice made it something I could commit to. I made it a choice between drinking and being sick, angry, miserable and ashamed, and instead of that, being well, having a job and a marriage and a home and a life worth living. That was the choice, no way I could ever have both.
You have the same choice facing you, sweeti. Drink, or have the life you can make something of. If you are like me, you know what the answer is. Are you ready?