There was this moment when I was lying on the bathroom floor, bottle still clutched in my hand, hating myself so violently it felt like someone was ripping my heart out while I was still breathing. I sobbed like a wounded animal because once again I couldn’t stop, once again I had betrayed everything that ever mattered to me: my kids, my dignity, the person I used to dream of becoming. Loss of control wasn’t just a slip anymore—it had become my prison, my torture, my slow daily death.
Getting sober felt like finally taking the first real breath after years of drowning. It hurts. It shakes. It still screams inside me some nights. But now it’s MY pain, MY choice, MY life. For the first time in forever I’m the one deciding who I am instead of letting alcohol decide for me.
And that single, trembling, hard-won sentence—“I’m not drinking today”—feels like the most profound act of love I have ever been able to give myself.