Twelve years ago today I got sober. I was 27 years old.
I’d love to say I chose to get sober on this day, as if in one moment I finally had the wherewithal to make a different choice than I’d been making for so long.
It’s that moment of choice that so many people ask about when their loved one is struggling with addiction - what was it for you? How did things finally change? What can I do?
I always give great care to my answer because on some level I don’t know, and I don’t really trust people who act so sure.
There’s a reason the actual research on addiction is so complex (not to mention hard to conduct.) If you ask ten sober people how they did it personally, you might get eleven different answers.
But although there are nuanced mysteries that make it impossible to give just one answer to this question, there are also a lot of really clear answers that are true for me and many others.
Here are a few.
I experienced enough inner and outer crises to bring me to my knees spiritually, financially, and relationally.
This was enough ego devastation to absolutely gut me but not so much that I *actually* died. This intersection of outer circumstances and inner pain tolerance is the liminal space that is different for everyone - but there is a tipping point.
I learned to take a shorter view of my life.
The whole “one day at a time” thing is a cliche because it works.
This was choice after choice toward the person I wanted to be, rather than some great leap into a different and more “successful” life. This short view has gotten me through all the other hard (or life changing-ly enormous) things since.
I had help.
People who gave me a place to stay in those early days, helped me find a county-funded rehab, helped me financially* until I could help myself, and loved me through a relapse where all of that could have been questioned.
This support went further back than my time as an addict - it included the people in my life growing up that seeded something within me that knew I could do better.
This is a fortune that not everyone has - it’s part privilege, part mystery, and a place where they meet a personal willingness to make different choices.
I know some well-loved people still descend into life-long addiction, while others with major childhood trauma are able to get sober (or never become addicts in the first place.)
These confusing truths can scare the shit out of me as a parent. The whole “genetics loads the gun and environment pulls the trigger” adage can be tricky and put us into these agonizing spirals of control versus predisposition.
But within that space also exists a few other truths I am absolutely certain of:
There is some greater force in the universe that has carried me - and that force is not just “me”
This means I don’t have to understand or control EVERYTHING (helpful for me as a parent)
The love invested in me growing up and in my darkest moments were part of how I climbed out of terrible places
*Important to note around financial and actual help: There is no clear bright line for what constitutes codependence versus what is actually helping someone until they can help themselves. I know this is a tough spot for many families of addicts (how much do I help? Is this harming them, our family, me?) which is why getting support (therapy, Al-Anon meetings, other people who have been there) is key.
I gathered (and utilized) support
I’d actually call the women I met at meetings, I began making friends who made choices I admired, and when I was in pain I’d reach out, rather than sitting with it alone. This wasn’t all the time of course (it’s still easy and sometimes even necessary to be in pain alone) but the general tool of reaching out when I’m drowning made a huge difference. And it was a direct result of another tool I learned early on:
I stopped waiting to feel better and took action to CREATE feelings.
This meant calling someone when I was feeling funky even though my brain told me that people didn’t want to hear from me unless I was in a good mood.
It meant showing up to my first college class sure that I would fail out but just keeping my butt in the seat.
It means I still show up in spaces where I feel self-doubt, but rather than waiting to feel more successful/confident/ready, I take action toward that feeling.
This is SUCH a lifelong practice - I totally still let fear drive sometimes. But the time between the fear steering me into paralysis and other parts taking over is much less. And speaking of an awareness of inner parts…
I kept reaching for healing tools.
Talk therapy, body and breathwork, group healing containers like the year-long women’s group I am currently in. There are an endless litany of books, modalities, podcasts, and practices that have all created an enormous tool kit from which I navigate life.
It’s a tool kit I always needed, because (contrary to what I thought at the beginning) my addiction wasn’t the problem. It was the faulty solution to not having the tools I needed as a deeply sensitive human in an unpredictable and sometimes painful world.
So, in closing…
My eldest and I at one of the bookstores that carry the Questions You’ll Wish You Asked journals
Though I would have never chosen this path for myself, and though I can be truthful about the deep regrets I have over the people I hurt in my descent (something quite unfashionable in our “no regrets” culture), my addiction and eventual sobriety are also the foundation of every good thing in my life today.
I wouldn’t have this beautiful life without all that darkness.
Authentic relationships. Great kids. A career and home and a future that is absolutely uncertain but which I know I can navigate because I’ve already been through so much.
That’s true for a lot of us, huh?
That the same deeply painful things we never would have chosen are also what forged our biggest strengths, our resilience, and the self-trust that will accompany us through everything ahead.
That, as Leonard Cohen told us, the cracks are where the light get in.
***
I surely don’t speak for everyone who has gotten sober, and the above tools are simply a piece of what worked for me…but I hope that in reading this you’ve found something that might be helpful to you or someone you love.
I hope that my story can remind you that there is always hope…that this moment, right here, is the one you start in.
I’m grateful for the light I’ve been allowed in my twelve years sober. I’m grateful that I get to shine it up and offer you some wisdom from my journey, and I hope you’ll share this with anyone you know who might need it.
Thanks for being here.
ARE YOU ASKING THE QUESTIONS YOU’LL WISH YOU HAD?
We all contain multitudes, and I sure wish I’d thought to ask my mom more about hers while I still could. Consider writing down answers for your kids, asking questions of your family members, or sending one of the Questions You’ll Wish You Asked journals to a person you care about today. Don’t forget about the one designed for the longest and deepest relationship of your life: the one you have with yourself. Find them here.
