By Derrick Robinson
I’ve been in recovery for six years. Every day, I choose not to drink, one day at a time. Every day, I navigate a world determined to offer alternatives—some dressed up as “healthier” or “natural.” The latest? THC-infused beverages, now lining shelves next to hard seltzers and craft beers, promising a “buzz without the booze.”
Let’s be clear: All the good data we have says THC is extremely bad for you—for your body and your mind. It’s addictive and linked to everything from schizophrenia to heart problems, no matter what delivery method you choose: smoking, eating or drinking.
For those of us in recovery, these drinks are less a wellness trend and more a threat in a can. Some will say we are overreacting. That THC isn’t as harmful as alcohol, that it’s about personal choice. I get it. But recovery isn’t just about not drinking. It’s about building a life that doesn’t depend on substances to feel OK.
THC drinks threaten that foundation. They invite me to a deep but fleeting relief, a slow slide into dependence.
My addiction began and ended in isolation. I was drinking heavily after hours, working in the highest levels of the federal government—first as a staffer in the White House, and later as an advisor for a member of Congress.
I was serving my country while quietly spiraling. Like many in Washington, I used alcohol to manage stress, to push through, to survive. I nearly didn’t make it out.
Now I see THC drinks marketed with the same glossy language that once hooked me on alcohol: relaxation, fun, social ease. They’re plant-based, low-calorie and supposedly a “natural” way to unwind. That’s a dangerous proposition.
When you’re in recovery, the idea of a “safe” high is seductive. Alcohol nearly destroyed my life, but the urge to escape, to numb, to belong didn’t vanish with my last drink. THC drinks offer the illusion of risk-free indulgence, but the reality is far murkier. As addiction specialists warn, swapping alcohol for THC is substituting one psychoactive substance for another.
Indeed, research shows that people in alcohol treatment who use cannabis, even occasionally, have significantly fewer days of abstinence compared to those who abstain from both substances. Heavy cannabis use during treatment has been linked to more alcohol-related physical problems a year later.
In plain terms: THC drinks don’t help people stay sober. They make it harder.
Recovery isn’t just about quitting substances. It’s about fundamentally changing how we cope with life. Replacing alcohol with THC doesn’t address the underlying causes of addiction, instead it shifts the focus and keeps the cycle going.
What troubles me most is that these drinks are being sold as lifestyle products. The packaging is sleek, the flavors are trendy, and the message is relentless: You deserve to unwind. But behind the marketing, the risks are real and largely untested. Health research hasn’t caught up with the rapid spread of these products, leaving vulnerable people at risk.
Yes, not everyone shares my experience. Some will say I’m overreacting, that THC isn’t as harmful as alcohol, that it’s a matter of personal choice. But recovery isn’t just about abstinence. It’s about building a life that doesn’t rely on substances to feel OK. It’s about clarity, connection, and confronting what you once tried to escape.
When I first got sober, I had to relearn how to celebrate, how to grieve, how to socialize without reaching for a drink. I had to build new strategies for coping with stress, anxiety and self-doubt. And I had to get honest about how easy it is to romanticize something that promises relief but ultimately leads to destruction.
That’s what makes the marketing of THC beverages so insidious. The slogans and aesthetics remind me of the same promises that once drew me to alcohol: escape, ease, freedom. But what I’ve learned in recovery is that those promises are empty if they depend on a substance to deliver them.
Research backs up what my experience has taught me: people with a history of addiction must be especially cautious around so-called “alternatives.” These substances blur the lines of sobriety and put us at risk of relapse. Even the American Society of Addiction Medicine warns that using cannabis in recovery can destabilize hard-won progress.
So when you see those sleek cans promising a “better buzz,” ask yourself: is it better—or just another version of the same old trap?
For me, and for so many others in recovery, THC in a can is a relapse waiting to happen.
Well said.