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Rethinking Alcohol | The Man Who Changed Without Noticing

Aug 31
4 min read

Updated: Aug 31


Coaching requires a particular kind of listening. Not just to what a client says, but to how he says it. The words he chooses. The ones he avoids. The slight change in posture when something resonates. The longer pause before an answer that tells you more than the answer itself. You're watching and listening at the same time and you're doing it continuously, because the most important moments in a coaching conversation rarely announce themselves.


man with mask partially revealing his face, mirroring the identity change we undergo when alcohol is removed from our lives
We live behind an alcohol mask that hides our true identity

Identity shifts are like that. They don't arrive with a declaration. A man doesn't sit down one session and say "I think I'm becoming someone different." What happens is subtler than that. The language changes, quietly and gradually and if you're paying close enough attention you catch it. There's a kind of sweeping awareness, that manifests as goosebumps, where you think: wait. He's talking differently. Something has shifted.

I had a client who came to me wanting to sort out his relationship with alcohol. Smart man, well-travelled, socially confident. Not in crisis but honest enough with himself to know that something wasn't working and curious enough to want to understand it rather than just manage it.


In our early sessions the language was full of negotiation. He would talk about what he could do and what he should do and those two words sitting together told me everything about where he was standing. Could and should are the language of someone who is still in an argument with himself. He was thinking about strategies. How to get through the dinner. How to handle the family member who pushes drinks. How to navigate a friend with a wine steward's qualification and a plan for every bottle. Alcohol was always the subject, always the thing he was trying to stay one step ahead of. Even when he was doing well, there was a kind of vigilance in how he described it. A tightness.


I watched that tightness across several sessions. Watched him lean forward when he talked about the situations he was anxious about, the big overseas trip coming up, the social pressure he was anticipating. Watched him choose careful words when he described moments where he'd had a drink, as though he was still deciding whether to be hard on himself about it. He was working things out in real time, which is exactly what the process is supposed to look like, but the effort was visible.


Then we had a session after the trip.


He'd been away for several weeks, moving through multiple countries. Sitting at dinner tables with people who drink heavily, spending time with people who communicate love and celebration through wine. It was exactly the scenario he'd spent months worrying about.

He wasn't talking about surviving it. He was talking about the trip. The people. The food. The moments that mattered. And somewhere in that conversation, almost in passing, he said something like: I realised I could just choose when I wanted a drink, or not.

That was the moment. Right there.


I could just choose when I wanted a drink, or not.


Not "I managed to avoid it." Not "I held firm." He chose. The word landed differently to anything I'd heard from him before and the way he said it was different too. No tightness. or checking himself. He said it the way you'd say something that was simply true, because for him, by then, it was.


This is what an identity shift actually looks like from the outside. It's not dramatic. The man doesn't announce it. What changes is the language, the posture, the ease with which he talks about something that used to cost him effort to discuss. Earlier he would say "I could probably have one, but I know I shouldn't." Could and shouldn't. By January he was saying I chose. That distance between those two ways of speaking is the whole journey.


That distance between those two ways of speaking is the whole journey.


What I find most significant is that the shift happened through understanding, not discipline. He didn't force his way through the trip on willpower. He went in having spent months getting genuinely curious about what was actually driving the pull toward alcohol. The social belonging. The people-pleasing. The fear of breaking a moment that mattered to someone he cared about. Once he understood those things clearly, something released, because the grip had simply stopped being necessary.


That's what gets missed in most conversations about rethinking alcohol. The focus lands on behaviour, on rules and strategies and willpower, as though the problem lives on the surface. The behaviour sits on the surface of something deeper, a set of beliefs about what alcohol gives them, socially, emotionally, in terms of belonging, that no one has ever helped them look at in an authentic way.


When a man actually looks at those beliefs, something changes. Not overnight. But it changes. And one day you're sitting across from him, listening carefully the way you always do, and you realise the vigilance is gone. He's not managing anything. He's just talking about his holiday.

That's when you know the work has landed.


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