Something Has to Give
Estimated Read Time: ~5 minutes
Today at a Glance
How one small habit can quietly undo everything good in your life
Why guilt and frustration don’t always lead to change until you face them honestly
The version of yourself you want to be six months from now
A reminder that you’re not alone in trying to figure it out
I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how one part of your life can quietly undo everything else that’s good.
By all accounts, my life is in a great place. I’m healthy. I have a good career, amazing friends, a great relationship, and a lot of projects that excite me. On paper, it all looks balanced, like things are exactly where they should be.
But there’s this side of me that doesn’t fit. The part that comes out when I drink.
It’s only a few hours at a time, a Friday or Saturday night that starts innocently enough, but it throws everything else off balance. I stay out later than I want to. I spend more money than I should. I wake up the next morning feeling like shit, physically, mentally, and emotionally. I’m tired, embarrassed, and asking myself the same question: why did I do this again?
That’s the part that gets me, the again.
Because I know better. I’ve had this realization before. I’ve told myself to be smarter, to drink less, to leave earlier, to call it a night when I know I should. And still, I find myself in the same place, replaying another version of the same morning-after regret.
It’s frustrating. It’s guilt. It’s knowing I have so much good in my life and that I’m letting something small unravel it piece by piece.
The Pattern
It’s weird. Before going out, I always feel excited. I look forward to seeing my friends, catching up, laughing, just having fun. But somewhere in the back of my mind, there’s always this nervous voice that says, don’t let this become another night you regret.
And then, somewhere between good intentions and bad decisions, that voice gets quiet.
The night goes long. Another drink turns into another hour. The version of me that makes strong decisions during the week hands the wheel over to the one that doesn’t care.
By the time I wake up the next morning, the excitement’s gone. It’s replaced by dread, exhaustion, and shame. The hangover isn’t just physical, it’s emotional. It’s the feeling of knowing you’ve chipped away at the person you’re trying to become.
The Realization
Lately, I’ve started to see how much this pattern affects more than just me. It bleeds into relationships, friendships, my work, and how I feel about myself.
And it’s made me realize something important: something has to give.
I don’t know exactly what that looks like yet. Maybe it means setting stricter boundaries, only going out one night a week, not drinking past 9 p.m., or learning to be okay with one or two drinks and calling it there. Or maybe it means eventually giving it up completely, for a little while, or maybe forever.
I haven’t decided yet. But for the first time, I’m honest enough to admit that it might have to happen.
The Version I Want to Be
When I picture the version of myself six months from now, he’s not someone who hides from this. He’s still social, still fun, still himself, but he knows when to turn it off. He can go out and enjoy the night without needing to go all in. He can have one, two, or even zero drinks and still have a good time.
He’s confident in that choice, not conflicted about it. He wakes up feeling good about how he spent his time, not dreading what he said, did, or missed.
That’s who I want to be. And this is where that work starts.
Closing Thoughts
I don’t have all the answers yet. I’m still figuring it out what balance looks like, what discipline feels like, what peace when I drink actually means.
But I do know this: when one part of your life starts taking more than it gives, it’s time to look at it honestly. To stop pretending it’s fine just because everything else looks good.
For me, this is that part.
So I’m drawing a line not to be perfect, but to start protecting the life I’ve worked so hard to build.
If you feel a similar way, just know that I hear you and I see you. Much like me, you’re not perfect, but you’re doing your best. You will probably fuck up again… twice, ten times, maybe even forty more times but I’m here with you.
If you ever need someone to talk to about it, please reach out. I don’t have all the answers, but I’ll be here to listen.
Much love,
QT