I knew what it was costing me for six years before I did anything about it.
Not vaguely. Specifically. I knew what it was costing me physically, what it was costing my marriage, what it was probably costing my career even though nobody was saying it out loud. And I still didn’t move. Knowing the cost and feeling it are two different things, and for a long time I only had the first one.
Why doesn’t knowing the cost make you change?
Because the cost compounds quietly. It’s not one bad night. It’s inflammation that creeps up over years. It’s irritability your kids stop mentioning because they’ve stopped expecting it to change. It’s a version of you at work that’s fine, not sharp, just fine, and fine is easy to live with when you don’t have anything to compare it to.
The cost of staying is always higher than the cost of changing. I believe that completely. But you can’t feel a cost you’ve gone numb to. That’s the trap. The cost is right there and it still doesn’t move you.
What actually moves someone off the fence?
Two levers. Different people respond to different ones.
The first is the cost of staying. At some point the weight, the fog, the fights, the way your kids look at you on a Sunday, it stops being background noise and starts being data you can’t unsee. You realize you can’t have the marriage you want, the health you want, the career you want, and keep doing this. The cost stops being theoretical.
The second is fear of loss. This one hits hardest when you’ve built something, because you have more to lose and you know it. Your career. Your marriage. Your kids’ respect. The status you spent twenty years building. Nobody wants to be the guy who had it all and let it slip because he couldn’t put the drink down. That fear is real, and for some people it’s the louder signal.
I felt both. But the one that finally got me off the fence was watching the cost compound for six straight years until I couldn’t ignore it anymore.
What do you do with that once you feel it?
You don’t need a program to feel this. You need to stop numbing yourself to your own cost. Write down what staying the same has actually cost you this year. Not hypothetically. Specifically. Then write down what you’re afraid you’ll lose if nothing changes. Most people find one list is longer than they expected.
That’s Stage 3 in the Prepared Sobriety framework, Compounding Friction, and it’s usually the stage right before someone finally picks a date. I’m not going to walk through the whole framework here. That’s its own conversation.
Colin Casillas founded Prepared Sobriety to help men and women in every line of work retire from alcohol on their own terms. He retired on April 16, 2025, after 30 years of regular drinking. Four months later his LDL was down 33% and he’d lost 14 lbs. Within ten months he was off two medications. You can work with Colin one-on-one or on your own time.
If you’re tired of carrying this alone, here are the two ways to work with me.
Frequently asked questions
What finally makes someone stop drinking without hitting rock bottom?
Usually one of two things. Either the cost of staying the same becomes undeniable, or the fear of losing something they’ve built outweighs the pull of staying comfortable. Neither requires a crisis.
Why do people wait so long to change their drinking?
Because they can still function. The costs compound quietly while the person on the outside still looks fine. That gap between how you feel and how you look to others can last years.
Is fear a good reason to stop drinking?
Yes, if it’s true for you. Fear of losing a career, a marriage, or your kids’ respect is a legitimate motivator. It doesn’t need to be dressed up as anything more noble than what it is.
How do you know if the cost of staying has become too high?
If you can name specific things this year that drinking has cost you, physically, relationally, professionally, the cost is no longer theoretical. That’s usually the signal.
