If you are responsible for people in the workplace, sooner or later you will face the problem of alcohol use disorder. You may already have. It crosses every boundary of class, education, and responsibility. It can appear in an entry-level position or in an executive suite. It may have already cost your business time, money, and morale. And it may be costing lives.
The instinct is often to punish or to discard. Someone fails to show up, deadlines are missed, excuses multiply, and patience runs thin. At last comes the verdict: “Enough. He’s out.” It feels decisive, even righteous. But the truth is more complicated. Replacing a worker is costly. Training a new one takes time. And the person you let go may have been struggling not with weakness, but with illness—an illness that is treatable, and from which people do return.
Alcohol use disorder is not a moral defect. It is not simple stubbornness or lack of will. It is a sickness. And many who suffer from it are talented, creative, and loyal when sober. What appears as wasted potential may in fact be capacity waiting to be freed. If you are willing to see it, you may discover that a worker who seemed beyond hope is capable of recovery, and of repaying patience with steady service.
We do not say every employee can or will recover. Some will not. Some will refuse help or resist every chance. You are not asked to carry someone who refuses to change. But there are many who will try—many who want to stop but cannot alone. For those people, a humane and structured path back can make the difference between waste and restoration.
What does that path look like? First, clarity. If an employee’s drinking has damaged their work, it must be named. Be direct about what has happened and what cannot continue. There is no need for sermons or shame. What matters is honesty. “This cannot go on. Here is what must change.” That clarity itself can be a gift.
Second, support. Many organizations today have resources for workers in crisis: treatment coverage, leave policies, employee assistance programs. Make these known. Connect the person to help that is real and available. Guard confidentiality. Few things destroy the chance of recovery more quickly than workplace gossip. Protecting dignity is as important as providing treatment.
Third, accountability. A return-to-work agreement written in plain language is better than vague promises. Set clear expectations. Hold the person to the same standards as anyone else—not higher, not lower. A recovering employee does not need a pedestal, nor do they deserve permanent suspicion. They need fairness, steadiness, and the chance to prove themselves.
Fourth, patience. Recovery is rarely smooth. Many stumble before they find their footing. A relapse does not always mean dishonesty. It means the illness is still at work. You must decide how far to extend patience. Sometimes another chance is cheaper—and more humane—than replacement. Sometimes the line must be drawn. What matters is that the decision be made with both clarity and humanity.
Early sobriety carries its own risks. Some workers return determined to prove themselves by overworking, trading one excess for another. Sixteen-hour days may look impressive, but they are unsustainable and dangerous. Encourage balance. Encourage rest. A steady employee is more valuable than a frantic one.
At the same time, do not underestimate the value of purpose. Many who recover find strength in helping others. If an employee wishes to support a colleague who struggles, and if it does not interfere with their duties, allow them the space. Peer support is powerful. It helps the one who gives and the one who receives. But keep boundaries clear. No worker should be expected to carry the burden of counseling others. Their first responsibility is to their own job and their own recovery.
To the worker who returns sober: your employer is not your confessor, and your colleagues are not your sponsors. You do not need to disclose more than is necessary. Share only what protects your recovery and allows you to do your work. Ask for what you need—time for appointments, confidentiality, fairness. Then do your job. Let your work speak for itself.
If you wish to make yourself available to others who struggle, do so quietly, without neglecting your own role. Your example is often more powerful than your words. Show that a sober life is not only possible but stable, and you may open doors for others without even knowing it.
Employers may ask whether all of this is worth the effort. We believe it is. The cost of waste is high. The cost of training is real. And the human cost of discarding people without hope is greater still. When a worker recovers, you do not only gain back an employee—you gain someone deeply loyal to the organization that did not give up on them.
This is not sentimentality. It is not charity. It is sober realism. Human beings are more than their worst moments. And a workplace can either magnify a sickness or help steady a recovery. The choice lies with those who lead.
Some employees will not stop. Some will not meet the standard. When that is the case, parting ways is right and fair. But many do recover. Many repay patience with years of steady service. We urge you not to discard people too quickly, and not to mistake disgust for strength. The stronger path is to act with clarity, fairness, and understanding.
Alcoholism will find its way into every business, whether admitted or not. You may believe your workplace has no such problem. Take another look. It is almost certainly there, hidden in plain sight. The question is not whether you will face it, but how. Will you treat it as weakness to be cast out, or as illness to be addressed with honesty and resolve?
If you choose the latter, you may find that what once seemed a liability becomes an asset. A life is restored, a worker is steadied, and your business gains more than it loses. Even when recovery fails, you will know you acted with fairness and humanity. And that balance—between clarity and compassion—is one that no employer will regret keeping.
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This post is part of a larger project, A Fearless Inventory, where I walk through AA’s Big Book chapter by chapter. Along the way, I try to honor the spirit of the original while also offering critique, context, and a re-framing that speaks to our time. My hope is to open a conversation — not just about how recovery looked in 1938, but how it can be lived today.