You’ve stopped drinking—but the hard part isn’t just saying no to alcohol. It’s sitting in the awkward pause after someone asks, “Wait, you’re sober?” It’s
Your brain didn’t light up with insight. You didn’t walk out of detox thinking, This is it. I’m free. No tears. No breakthrough. Just a
Your child is using again. You feel it in your body before you see it in their behavior. The way they avoid your eyes. The
You’ve done the work. You’ve built a life. You’ve stayed sober through weddings and funerals, through holidays and hard days. You’ve found rhythm, routine, maybe
You’ve heard the whispers in your head: “Maybe I’d feel better tomorrow if I skipped the wine.” “I’m not sure I even know what life
You’ve got the degrees. The calendar full of meetings. The paycheck that covers more than the basics. People trust you. Some admire you. Some envy
You tried. You went to treatment—maybe more than once. You sat in group. You listened. You detoxed. Maybe you even made it a few weeks
There wasn’t some dramatic last straw. No overdose. No ambulance. No rock bottom that would’ve made a good movie ending. Just silence. And me—sitting alone
You’re not imagining it—something’s not right. Maybe it’s the way your hands shake in the morning. Maybe you’ve been waking up anxious or exhausted, not
Your stomach drops. You think about reaching back out… and then don’t. The guilt, the awkwardness, the not knowing what to say—it all piles up
