Inviting Others In

For some, the topic of addiction never crosses the mind’s threshold. For others, it barges through. Ericka Andersen vulnerably shares her story of freedom.

Elisa

Inviting Others In

By Ericka Andersen

I’d gone through the entire day feeling good, energized, and productive without wanting to drink. I assumed the feeling would continue as the day progressed. But my cravings returned.

As usual, I dreaded making dinner, so when I saw my neighbors outside with their kids in the afternoon, I avoided cooking. I brought my own children over to play and pushed responsibility out of my mind. As was so often the case, the wine at their house was flowing freely. I often went there, quietly hoping they’d offer me a glass, as they almost always did.

Wine with friends on a beautiful Tuesday afternoon—that’s a very normal thing to do. Normie drinkers do that, and I was definitely normal—at least I tried to be.

I drained the glass within ten minutes. My friend graciously offered a refill. Who was I to refuse? I could get a little buzz, which would help with the dinner dread, and my husband wouldn’t even know I’d been drinking. Or I could tell him it had just been a little.

The kids continued playing, and my friend’s husband rounded the corner with a glass of bourbon. Immediately, my mouth watered. It was a horrible idea. But reason couldn’t catch up with desire. I could already taste the fiery bourbon burn, a would-be disinfectant for a busy mind, and I wanted it.

Once home, I was brooding with self-hate for decisions I knew had brought this on. I chugged a glass of water, made a pile of cheese quesadillas, and ate until I felt sick. I hoped without hope that the food would soak up the alcohol. That’s it, I told myself. I’m quitting drinking tomorrow.

Human connection, especially with those who feel your struggle on a visceral level, is invaluable and irreplaceable. For years, I’d scan crowds listening for hints—anything that might reveal another woman struggling with the same problem I faced. But I never found her, because I didn’t know where to look. When I finally talked about my drinking with my small group from church and subsequently joined an online support group, I kicked myself for not trying it earlier. Solidarity, relatability, and spiritual support were everything at a time when I felt so alone in my struggle.

Sharing my story changed my life. I thought it would be humiliating; or, rather, that’s what Satan planted in my mind. In reality, it was transformative—the catalyst for real, long-term change. For months, the confession had been pressing on my heart, waiting for the right moment to surface. During prayer request time at my weekly Bible study, it felt impossible for me to hold back any longer. Despite my fear, the Holy Spirit urged me forward, marking the moment I could no longer stay silent.

I was flushed, sweating, and fumbling over my words. My gaze was fixed on my fingers as I shared my prayer request. The effort to speak left me breathless. The room settled into a respectful silence as the group saw that I was about to confess something serious. “I feel really self-conscious about saying this, but I have an issue with drinking,” I blurted out. “It’s been something I’ve wanted to deal with for a long time, but I’m finally just putting it out there and asking other people to pray for me.” Well, I couldn’t put it back inside now.

All eyes were on me, but they were looks of love and concern. My dear friend and group leader Lauren (who also happens to be a licensed therapist) immediately assured me that sharing was the right thing to do. When I mentioned how weird it felt to tell them this in a church setting, the group members told me that this was exactly the place I should share my struggle.

That night was a turning point. It showed me that we are all fighting something. Alcohol was part of my burden, but that didn’t make me an outsider. I was just a woman dealing with life in one destructive way, while others were dealing with it in their own.

I soon joined an online secular support group with multiple meetings per day. I could show up with my camera and mic off, or even change my name. No one had to know anything about me, but I could preview what it might be like to fully engage. After a few weeks of testing the waters, I became totally immersed. Very quickly, my view of alcohol dependence shifted—because I saw faces just like mine on the screen. I saw moms of small children, doctors, teachers, professors, and college students. Addiction and dysfunction spanned the entire spectrum.

Fictional vampires lose their abilities in the light of day. So, too, do our most significant sources of shame under the light of another’s gaze. When we speak our shames and fears out loud, we will inevitably hear someone say “Me, too.” We’ll realize that we were never beyond repair or hope, that our problem wasn’t too bad or impossible to fix.

We cling so tightly to our worn-out, threadbare security blankets, yet God invites us to consider something far better—a soft, luxurious, oversized comforter he’s offering as a replacement. Can you loosen your grip on the old, tattered blanket you’ve held for so long?

Adapted from Freely Sober by Ericka Andersen. Copyright (c) 2026 by Ericka A. Sylvester. Used by permission of InterVarsity Press. www.ivpress.com

Ericka Andersen is a journalist whose writing has appeared in Christianity Today, World Magazine, The New York Times, The Wall Street Journal, and The Washington Post. She is the author of the recently released book, Freely Sober: Rethinking Alcohol Through the Lens of Faith. Her other books include Leaving Cloud 9 and Reason to Return: Why Women Need the Church and the Church Needs Women. She lives with her husband and two children in Indianapolis, Indiana. Connect with her on her website https://erickaandersen.com/