Sober Talking Points
Three years ago today, I made a personal vow to stop sabotaging my own life. It was not until I realized that merely surviving had become my only lifeline that I finally began to live genuinely. The first thirty days were not impossible, but they certainly felt that way. Unlearning the habit of disconnecting from my emotions and choosing instead to nourish my spirit with something healing rather than poison was a difficult transition. I often revisit the morning everything changed. The guilt, remorse, depression, embarrassment, and shame I felt then still live with me. They remind me of why I keep going. In my story, the damage did not just happen to me. It happened to everyone around me.
If you have battled addiction, you know how substances can offer an escape. How, for a fleeting while, they made life feel transcendent as I felt whole. In those moments, I believed I was tapping into my most authentic self. However, the truth is that for much of my life, I was living a lie. I wore a mask. A hardened, distant, damaged version of myself that was not real. Who I am now stands in stark contrast: a man shaped by understanding, driven by empathy, hungry for knowledge, committed to experiencing life fully, and most importantly, capable of facing pain without needing something to numb it.
Ironically, sobriety comes with a harsh truth that few talk about: without a support system, no one truly knows your deepest struggles. In choosing sobriety, I removed the common ground that once held many of my friendships together—mutual numbing—and, unsurprisingly, those connections faded. It is isolating, yet it forces you to face your thoughts head-on. I once believed solitude was a symptom of depression, but now I find my healthiest routines happen in the very quiet of my home.
Another brutal truth is that my sobriety was never fully respected by my own family. In the early days, they would casually offer me drinks, fully aware of what I was trying to overcome. Where it was discourteous, that kind of dismissal was motivating as it felt as though it came from a place of doubt. But over time, you learn to separate emotional obligation from moral clarity, and in that space, you discover that sometimes being selfish is necessary for your survival. I allowed my convictions to guide me, and I was able to find family through other channels of life.
I write this today in the quiet realization that I have yet to build a support system that truly reflects who I am. No one remembered what this day means to me. Maybe no one even thought to. But in truth, I can only hold myself accountable for the choices I have made in adulthood. Yes, we all crave validation, acceptance, acknowledgment, the comfort of being seen, but we can only determine who shares that with us if we offer vulnerability. Still, I’m grateful for the strength I have developed, the tools and resilience I once lacked, that now keep me from breaking; to be able to stave off the emotions of doubt in my chosen family.
I write this not just for myself, but for anyone else tucked into this same corner. I see you. I feel what you feel. I understand in ways words often fail to explain. And no matter the circumstance, know this: I am in your corner, always. I believed this journey was to be the person I am today, only today I realize my devotion to self is for you [whoever you may be].
