Moderation: The Infamous Third Door

The door to hell

Let’s talk about moderation—the supposed “middle ground,” the infamous third door between bingeing and quitting.

It sounds so reasonable, right? It’s responsible. Mature. Adult-y.

It’s the Goldilocks option. Not too much, not too little, juuust right.

Except for some of us, moderation is the most exhausting, miserable option of them all.

When I was drinking, moderation looked like this:

I won’t drink on weekdays.
I won’t keep alcohol in the house.
I won’t drink before 5 p.m.
I won’t drink alone.

All noble, healthy rules.

And all fine until one random Tuesday before lunch when I found myself drinking alone from a cooler I’d hidden in the garage—a cooler containing the 30-pack I’d bought “just in case” over the weekend.

Now there were 29 little soldiers left in there, lined up and ready, staring me down like they knew I was lying to myself.

The Seduction of the Third Door

The allure of moderation is simple: You get to keep the thing you love.

You get to believe you’re not like those people—the ones who have to quit entirely. Friends and family might even clap for you: “Wow, good for you!”

Moderation is the Instagram filter on your drinking problem. It makes it look prettier than it really is.

You can sip slowly, post a cute photo, and tell yourself you’re “managing” it. The truth is, you’re just doing the same thing you’ve always done, but in nicer packaging.

Meanwhile, your brain sounds like the New York Stock Exchange in the mid-80s—loud negotiations in the midst of chaos. And your prayers sound like excuse-ridden justifications with a side of begging.

Rules, Rules, and More Rules

Moderation means rules. And rules mean willpower.

And willpower burns out fast when the thing you’re trying to “moderate” is the same thing you’ve been using as your primary coping mechanism for years.

It’s like trying to diet with a fridge full of cheesecake—except that cheesecake can whisper your name and make you put it in your face hole before you know what just happened.

The first time you break a rule—say, you drink on a Wednesday because it’s close enough to Thursday—the rest topple like drunk dominoes.

The Exhaustion of Policing Yourself

Moderation isn’t relaxing. It’s constant mental math.

“How many beers have I had this week?”
“What constitutes a ‘glass’ of wine?”
“Is a mimosa technically a breakfast food?”

You become your own parole officer, tracking your behavior like there’s an ankle monitor you can’t take off.

You’re not enjoying your drink—you’re surveilling yourself while you drink it. And all that tracking comes with a hefty side of shame:

Shame for wanting more.
Shame for breaking rules.
Shame for pretending you didn’t break them.

Why Bingeing or Quitting Feels “Easier”

I’m not saying bingeing is a good idea—but let’s be honest, it’s simple.

Bingeing has no rules. You go all in, deal with the fallout later. There’s a twisted kind of relief in not negotiating with yourself.

Quitting is also simple, eventually. One rule: I don’t drink. Decision fatigue disappears over time.

Moderation, though?

That’s a hundred little negotiations a week.
Every single one of them a chance to fail.

The Slow Creep of Failure

Moderation usually starts strong: “I only drink on weekends.”

Then weekends start Thursday. Then Thursday starts Wednesday night, because “it’s basically Thursday.” Then it’s Tuesday before lunch and you’re cracking open beer number one from the hidden 30-pack.

And the cooler in the garage isn’t just holding beer anymore—it’s holding evidence. Proof that moderation is crumbling, even if you refuse to admit it.

The sneaky walk of shame gets easier with each beer, but the guilt gun gets another round in the magazine.

The Denial Trap

The worst part about moderation? It lets you believe you’re “working on it.”

You can hold onto this illusion for months, sometimes years, because you’re not always drunk. You’re just… managing it.

Moderation gave me the confidence of a man patching a sinking ship with Scotch tape and Band-Aids.

The ship looked fine for a while. Then it sank.

The Truth About the “Third Door”

When people talk about drinking, they imagine two doors:

Door One: Keep drinking like you are now.
Door Two: Quit completely.

Moderation feels like Door Three—the one where you keep your “freedom” and still avoid disaster.

But for some of us, Door Three is just a revolving door. It spins you right back into the same mess you were in before.

The Freedom I Didn’t See Coming

I used to think quitting was the scariest thing I could do. It sounded like punishment. Like losing.

But quitting turned out to be the thing that freed me from all the negotiations.

No more counting days until Friday. No more pretending that 40-ounce Stanley flip-straw tumbler full of wine was technically one “glass.” No more hidden coolers. No more shame spirals over whether “this time” counted as “too much.”

Quitting gave me the relief moderation always promised but never delivered.

The Scenic Route Back to Hell

I thought moderation was the middle path. Turns out it was just the scenic route back to hell.

It was slower. It had more rules. But it always led me to the same place:

Drinking alone, feeling ashamed, wondering if I’d ever figure out how to stop.

If This Is You Right Now

If you’re in the moderation cycle, I’m not here to shame you. I get it. I’ve been there.

It’s hard to let go of the belief that you can “control” it.

But if you’re constantly breaking your own rules, hiding your supply, or having the same guilty conversation with yourself over and over—that’s not control. That’s captivity.

There’s a whole life waiting for you on the other side of quitting. It’s quieter, simpler, and way less exhausting.

Moderation feels like a compromise. For some of us, it’s just a slower walk to the same cliff.

If you’ve been looking for that third door, it’s not moderation. The real third door is the one marked Freedom.

And yes—you can walk through it today.

How about you?

We’d love for you to share your experience or even just say hello in the comments.