Quitting Drinking: A Raw Journey from Darkness to Redemption
Alcoholism is a relentless beast—a silent predator that sinks its claws into your life, tearing apart everything you hold dear. For Joey, a man now celebrating nearly eight years of sobriety, this beast nearly claimed his life. His story isn’t just about quitting drinking; it’s a gut-wrenching tale of trauma, despair, and ultimate redemption that will leave you questioning how someone could survive such depths—and why you might need to confront your own demons before it’s too late. If you’re battling addiction or searching for hope, this is for you. Ready to stop drinking? Check out 1:1 Sober Coaching to start your journey today.
How Trauma Fueled the Struggle to Stop Drinking
Joey’s story begins in Sacramento, California, in a Catholic family of seven kids. On the surface, it might seem like a typical upbringing—mass, altar boy duties, a decent neighborhood. But beneath that facade, a storm was brewing. Trauma struck early when Joey was molested by a Catholic priest at age eight, an event so horrific his mind buried it for nearly two decades. Coupled with a rough school environment where he was jumped by gangs and a deep-seated introversion that clashed with the world’s expectations, Joey built a shell around himself. Life felt tragic, unbearable, and he didn’t want to be part of it.
Enter alcohol. Raised in a home where booze was taboo—his mother traumatized by her family’s alcoholism, his father’s side functioning drinkers—Joey’s first real encounter came at 19, living with a friend after escaping his parents’ house. Marijuana came first, a daily “wake and bake” ritual, but it soon lost its edge. Then, as a bartender, he took a shot of whiskey one chaotic night. “The heavens opened up,” he recalls. The anxiety melted, the pain dulled, and for the first time, he felt alive. But that moment wasn’t a victory—it was the start of a nightmare.
Why Quitting Drinking Became Impossible: The Spiral Deepens
That single shot ignited an obsession. Joey’s life became a calculated orbit around alcohol—jobs, relationships, every decision bent to its will. He drank to function, to numb the gnawing emptiness, to silence the trauma he couldn’t yet name. But the deeper he sank, the darker it got. Arrests piled up—destroying a TGI Fridays bathroom in a drunken rage, multiple DUIs, one with a BAC of .34 after hours of sobriety (most don’t survive .40). He drank a 750ml bottle of vodka just to shower, to stop the shakes. Emergency rooms became routine, IVs and benzos a temporary fix before he’d stumble back to the bottle.
Joey hit rock bottom repeatedly, each time thinking he’d found the floor, only to discover it could sink lower. He moved—Hawaii, South Africa, Washington—running from himself, but the alcohol followed. A dream job building bike tracks for Olympic qualifiers? Squandered. Loving parents and girlfriends? Pushed away. Even after uncovering the priest’s abuse at 27, confronting the Catholic Church, and winning a meager settlement, he didn’t heal—he drank harder, now with an excuse. “I had a reason to be an alcoholic,” he says, “and no one could touch me.”
The lowest point came after marriage and fatherhood. With a beautiful wife, a son, and a thriving business, Joey still couldn’t escape. One day, six months sober, he drove his infant son—intoxicated—to buy more booze. “I’d sworn I’d never put my child in harm’s way,” he says, voice cracking with shame. That betrayal of his own values shattered him, but the addiction wouldn’t let go.
The Moment I Knew I Had to Stop Drinking: Cows and Surrender
Then came the cows. Driving a $150,000 refrigerated van to Santa Barbara—allegedly for work, really to drink—Joey pulled over in Kings County, climbed a fence, and collapsed in a field with his vodka. “I tried everything—nutrition, exercise, yoga, AA, rehab, Kaiser. I didn’t want to die, but I couldn’t beat this,” he sobs. As he bawled, pleading with God to save him, 100 cattle surrounded him, staring with massive, unblinking eyes. “I thought they’d stampede me, or something would happen,” he recalls. Then a voice shouted: “What are you doing out there?” Five California Highway Patrol officers arrested him.
That night in jail, something shifted. Released at 2:33 a.m., license revoked, wandering a desolate town in withdrawal, Joey faced a choice. On the drive home, a vodka bottle sat within reach. “I was shaking, but I said, ‘Nope, I’m not touching it,’” he remembers. The obsession vanished—not the trauma, not the pain, but the need to drink. It was gone.
How I Finally Quit Drinking: Faith and a New Beginning
What changed? Two weeks earlier, Joey had reluctantly attended Celebrate Recovery, a Christ-centered program, after his wife’s urging. He’d mocked Christianity, scarred by the Church’s betrayal, chasing New Age fixes—yoga, mushrooms, Buddhism. But in that field, he didn’t just cry out to God—he called on Jesus Christ, a name he’d resisted. “That’s when everything changed,” he says. “I can’t explain it.”
Back home, Bible verses lined the walls. Celebrate Recovery became his lifeline—its music, testimonies, and community piercing his defenses. He surrendered his sins in prayer, and the alcohol’s grip dissolved. Today, nearly eight years sober (June 2025), Joey lives in Boise, Idaho, with a thriving family, three healthy kids, and a Christian-values coffee shop, NIKAO Coffee. “I should’ve died 20 times,” he marvels. “I’m here for a reason.”
Ready to Stop Drinking? Here’s the Truth and Your Next Step
Alcoholism isn’t a casual habit—it’s a life-stealing disease. Joey’s story proves quitting drinking is possible, but not alone. Stopping drinking means facing the raw terror of withdrawal, the shame of rock bottom, and the courage to seek help. Programs like Celebrate Recovery offer a path—spiritual, communal, real. Want more stories of hope? Visit Sober Strong for content that fuels your fight. Ready to quit? 1:1 Sober Coaching can guide you through the darkness.
Joey’s not just sober—he’s redeemed. From a nihilistic drunk to a man of faith, his journey shows addiction’s power and God’s grace. Don’t wait for your cow moment. Act now—because the bottle doesn’t care if you live or die, but you should.
