Before I begin sharing my recovery story, I want to acknowledge something up front: I am not a saint. I am not heroic. I have been persistent, yes — but sobriety did not come with perfect clarity or acceptance.

My path wasn’t neat or obvious. It was filled with internal conflict, confusion, frustration, and long stretches where I genuinely didn’t know what percentage of the problem I even was. And like many who fall into the category of high-functioning professionals, my recovery didn’t start with rock bottom — it started with honesty.

The Years I Spent Arguing With Reality

For a long time, I believed — and still partly believe — that I wasn’t doing anything dramatically different than plenty of people around me. Other people drank. Other people coped. Other people checked out for a night or two. But for reasons I couldn’t explain at the time, my drinking created more fear, more consequences, and more difficulty for the people close to me.

And instead of accepting that, I argued it.
I debated it.
I defended myself.
I tried to explain it logically.
I tried to prove that I wasn’t “the problem,” maybe just partly responsible — 30%, 50%, 67.33%.

I spent years trying to win a debate that no one was interested in but me — a debate that didn’t matter to anyone, including me.

My bottom wasn’t dramatic. It was honest.

The Moment Everything Started to Crack

Eventually, with a lot of unconditional support from family (both private and professional), a lot of hard conversations, and a lot of effort searching for an explanation I could move forward with, things started to crack — emotionally, financially, relationally. Not because of one moment, but because years of internal strain finally caught up with me.

I could no longer fight, so I surrendered. I gave up. I chose to ignore even my most basic beliefs about myself. I begged whatever or whoever directs my days to rid me of the fear, the anger, the resentment that had been tearing my life apart. I pleaded for the courage to face my reality, accept it, and trust that my life would be okay if I focused on daily signs of direction — and had the courage to follow them.

Even then, I insisted others had contributed to my situation as much as I had. I pointed to unfair and hypocritical judgment. To people with their own issues who deflected attention onto me to avoid facing their own reality.

None of that changed the truth:

I wasn’t healthy.
I wasn’t who I wanted to be.

When I Stopped Needing to Be Right

My shift started when I stopped needing to be right.

I stopped fighting everyone — including myself.
I stopped defending my behavior.
I stopped justifying my choices.
I stopped explaining why my drinking “made sense.”
I stopped trying to get anyone to understand my side.
I stopped trying to win the argument or assign degrees of blame and shame.

Because winning the argument wouldn’t make me healthier.
It wouldn’t make me proud of myself.
It wouldn’t undo the fear or hurt I caused my family or my children.
It wouldn’t rebuild anything that mattered.

When I finally focused on getting healthy instead of being right, everything started to change.

Slowly. Unevenly. With a lot of awful days, terrible nights, and emotions I didn’t want to feel.

But honestly. It changed honestly.

Becoming the Person I Wanted to Be

As I did the internal work, something else shifted:

I stopped caring about the noise.
I stopped caring about judgment.
I stopped caring about old narratives.
I stopped caring about what people said or thought about me.
I stopped caring about the labels.

I began noticing the person I wanted to be. Maybe I remembered what it felt like to be proud of myself — I’m not entirely sure. It doesn’t matter. All that matters is that I know now.

I started moving toward the version of me that makes me proud. I hope that person is someone my children and family are proud of — but the most important thing is that I am proud of who I am.

I wouldn’t change any terrible moment from my past because they brought me here. I’m someone I’m proud of, doing something that gives me purpose and brings me joy.

The blame and the shame don’t bother me like they used to. People may not like me. People may be ashamed of me. They may have opinions or feelings. I don’t really know — that’s for them to decide. I like who I am today, and I don’t have to argue with anyone about why.

I even stopped arguing with myself when conflicts show up internally. Slowly but surely, I think people started to see the person I am now, too.

The Truth About Life on the Other Side

Things are pretty good for me now. I still have bad days and dark moments, but I don’t defend who I am. I am my best person — honest and accountable.

I can’t describe the feeling that washes over you, after decades of stress and argument and justification, when you get closer and closer to feeling good. Or maybe it’s getting further away from feeling bad. I’m not sure. If someone wants to figure that out, have at it. Either way — I’m not going to debate which one is right.

It’s not easy. It’s not clean. It takes time and work. It requires brutal honesty with yourself and others. It’s ugly. It’s sad. But it’s also beautiful.

If I can use what I’ve learned to help people get away from the shame and anger and resentment — then I will have served a purpose, and I will be proud of that.

That’s why I’m taking on this new challenge, and I’m excited to see where it leads.

My story is one of many, but above all, it comes down to truth — and it’s truth that recognizes truth. I hope my story has something to offer. Maybe hope. Maybe empowerment, permission, perspective, courage, relief, direction, meaning, guidance.

I know my story has truth to offer.

If you see yourself in any part of my story…

You don’t have to navigate this alone.

If you’re ready for a confidential conversation,
I’d be honored to talk with you.

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