By Rick Dulaney, Recovered Alcoholic
For a long time, I told myself I didn’t have a real problem with alcohol. I wasn’t drinking every day. I wasn’t waking up needing a drink. I was still functioning—at least on the surface. But underneath that story I told myself was a much harder truth: my binge drinking had begun to quietly, then loudly, take control of my life.
It affected my private world first. Relationships were strained. Mornings were filled with regret, anxiety, and mental fog. I’d reply to conversations I barely remembered and promises I wasn’t sure I’d kept. Eventually, it spilled into my business life too. Missed opportunities, diminished focus, and decisions made while not fully present became harder to ignore. I could still point to successes, but I knew I was operating far below my potential.
The truth is, I had never really tried to stop drinking, at least not seriously. I had taken breaks, made rules, set limits, and convinced myself I had it under control. But those were half-measures. Deep down, I wasn’t ready to confront what life would look like without alcohol. Letting go felt like losing something, even though that “something” was slowly taking more than it gave.
That realization is what led me to The Magdalen House.
One of the core principles of Alcoholics Anonymous is Step One:
“We admitted we were powerless over alcohol—that our lives had become unmanageable.”
For me, that step wasn’t about weakness; it was about honesty. Admitting powerlessness didn’t mean I had failed; it meant I could finally stop fighting a battle I wasn’t winning. My life wasn’t in total ruin, but it was becoming unmanageable in ways that mattered. Alcohol had more influence over my choices, emotions, and direction than I was willing to admit.
Another barrier I had to confront was my hesitance around religion. I came into recovery with prior misgivings about God, ideas I’d inherited, rejected, or struggled to reconcile with my own experiences. I worried that recovery would require me to accept a version of faith that didn’t feel authentic to me.
What I learned was something far more flexible and humane.
At The Magdalen House, I discovered that I didn’t have to accept anyone else’s definition of God. I was encouraged to find my own understanding of a higher power, something bigger than my ego, my fear, and my compulsions. That higher power didn’t have to be religious in the traditional sense. It could be clarity. It could be truth. It could be the collective wisdom of people who had walked this path before me.
That shift changed everything.
Instead of arguing with beliefs I didn’t share, I focused on what worked: humility, accountability, and the willingness to ask for help. My version of God became something that helped me pause, reflect, and choose differently. It gave me a center when my mind wanted to spin and an anchor when old habits tried to pull me back.
Recovery hasn’t been about perfection; it’s been about direction. The Magdalen House gave me structure, community, and a place to tell the truth without pretending I had it all figured out. Step One opened the door to the rest of the work by helping me accept a simple fact: I couldn’t do this alone, and I didn’t have to.
Today, I’m focused again. I’m present in my work, grounded in my personal life, and learning how to move forward without numbing or escaping. Choosing recovery wasn’t the end of something; it was the beginning of getting my life back on track, on my own terms, with clarity instead of chaos.
Alcoholics Anonymous: The story of how many thousands of men and women have recovered from alcoholism. (4th ed.). (2001). Alcoholics Anonymous World Services.
