After my son died by suicide, I had lunch with a bereaved father.

It had been seven years since his son died, and he told me he couldn’t get through the day without drinking.

What struck me most wasn’t that he drank—it was where he was emotionally.

Seven years out, he was still living in the same ugly, raw, early grief that I was in at four weeks out. It’s the kind of pain that takes your breath away and convinces you this agony is now permanent.

I left that lunch thinking: If this is my future, I’m doomed.

I also realized how easy it would be to slide into drinking myself.

Sneaking downstairs for a shot because I couldn’t sleep.
Pouring a small glass of wine just to stop feeling—for a little while.

I understood the temptation.

But I didn’t want that for myself.

My son used alcohol and drugs to cope

His ending was the worst thing I could imagine. Sitting across from that father, I could see how numbing grief hadn’t shortened the pain. It had preserved it. It kept him stuck in the most brutal chapter far longer than necessary.

So I cleaned my house of alcohol and stopped drinking.

At first, I told myself it would be for a few months.
Then months passed.
Then it just wasn’t part of my life anymore.

Even though I’d never been a heavy drinker, I felt better—physically and emotionally.

A week after that lunch, I had another one—this time with a mother whose son had died of an overdose seven years earlier.

We talked about our boys. We talked about grief. She told me about a small nonprofit she had started in his honor.

And then, almost casually, she mentioned a vacation.

I froze.

Vacation?
That’s normal life stuff.

I begged her to tell me more, because I couldn’t imagine having the emotional energy to even plan a trip. I needed to know how she got there.

She said that over time, she had learned how to move forward. The nonprofit had found its niche. She had found purpose. And while the grief never disappeared, life had slowly expanded again. She had developed the emotional muscle to carry the grief with her and learned to live with it in harmony.

That contrast—between those two lunches—changed everything for me.

Numbing Is Not a Cure

Numbing doesn’t heal pain.

It delays it and prolongs it.

Alcohol and drugs rob us of the ability to build healthy coping skills. They keep us stuck in the rawest version of suffering. It compounds the hurt.

Nothing takes the pain away—but there are ways to lessen the suffering. And I learned early on that alcohol would sabotage that process.

Feeling the pain is part of healing.

Think About Knee Surgery

Before surgery, your knee hurts, and you can’t wait to get it fixed.

Right after surgery, it hurts like mad—swollen, painful, sometimes so intense it makes you nauseous.

But then, day by day, the swelling goes down. If you do the physical therapy every single day, you heal faster and regain more function. It’s not like it was when you were a decade younger but it’s better than it was before the surgery.

Your pain has a purpose. It’s part of recovery and healing.

Emotional healing works the same way.

That intense wave of grief usually peaks and lifts within 60–90 seconds. If you sit with it—really sit with it—that’s the work. Only after that can distraction with a healthy coping strategy actually help. (And that’s not a drink or ice cream or a shopping spree.)

Too many of us skip that “sit with the pain” step. We jump straight to numbing or distraction and miss the most important part of healing.

Why This Matters for Dry January

Dry January isn’t just about alcohol. It’s about learning what happens when you don’t numb.

If you’re grieving, struggling, or just exhausted—taking alcohol out of the equation can reveal what you actually need to heal. It’s not easy. But it’s honest. And honesty is where healing begins.

I stopped drinking because I wanted a future that wasn’t defined by raw pain. I wanted to lessen my suffering, and I looked for healthy coping strategies to help myself build the emotional muscle I needed to integrate the grief into the tapestry called life.

And I’ve learned that while grief never leaves, suffering doesn’t have to stay forever.

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AnneMoss Rogers

AnneMoss Rogers is a leading wellness and suicide education expert and one of the top mental health speakers and suicide prevention speakers. Known for her powerful, motivational keynotes, AnneMoss combines her personal story of loss with proven strategies to help organizations build a wellness culture that drives results and saves lives.  She speaks at conferences, workplaces, K-12 schools, and universities, delivering impactful presentations that inspire change and promote mental health awareness.
AnneMoss does this work in memory of her son, Charles, who struggled with anxiety, depression, and addiction, and died by suicide at age 20 in 2015.