I’m not haunted by my past anymore. I’ve made peace with it. Healing doesn’t mean pretending it never happened — it means learning to see those old versions of yourself with compassion, not shame.

Learning to trust my Higher Power and quiet my inner critic hasn’t been some magical enlightenment — it’s been more like herding cats in a thunderstorm. But I’m realizing that the voice in my head isn’t always truth; sometimes it’s just fear with a microphone. These days, I’m choosing to pause, breathe, and let faith — not perfectionism — narrate the story. Even when the universe is quiet, I know it’s still working behind the scenes.

Trust isn’t about feeling certain — it’s about choosing faith when everything feels uncertain. I’m learning that your higher power’s silence, or the universe’s quiet, isn’t absence; it’s an invitation to listen differently. Even when I can’t feel much, I know I’m being guided — through stillness, through people, through grace I don’t always recognize until later. Sometimes the most sacred growth happens in the quiet.

Sobriety can feel lonely, especially at first. Weekends, holidays, and social events can bring up a longing for “normal,” but true freedom comes from showing up as your authentic self. Loneliness has taught me to build a relationship with myself, slow down, and trust in something greater than you. With faith, community, and self-compassion, those quiet moments become opportunities for growth, clarity, and empowerment.

Wherever you are in your journey — whether you lean toward faith, spirituality, or both — opening your heart to something greater can help you keep moving forward.

I used to believe life without alcohol would be boring—but sobriety has shown me the opposite. From discovering new hobbies to finding joy in simple routines, I’ve learned that fun doesn’t need to come from a bottle. Sobriety gives you clarity, laughter, and connection that last.

Discover how friendships shift in sobriety and why losing old drinking buddies can make room for deeper, authentic connections. Learn how to trust in your higher power to bring the right people into your life.

Recovery doesn’t always look like big milestones—it’s often built on the quiet, ordinary wins that carry us through the day. Making the bed, saying no without guilt, walking off anxious thoughts—these small moments add up to extraordinary change. The little things really do become the big things.

Social gatherings can feel intimidating when you’re sober, especially at first. But sobriety doesn’t mean missing out—it means showing up authentically. From weddings to holidays, I’ve learned how to set boundaries, stay present, and enjoy the people and conversations around me without a drink in hand. The rewards aren’t just surviving the event—they’re connecting deeper, remembering the moments, and feeling proud of myself the next day.

When most people think about sobriety, they imagine loss—the nights out, the drinks with friends, the easy escape from stress. But what often gets overlooked are the countless joys that come with living sober. From waking up clear-headed to rediscovering your true self, sobriety gifts you energy, clarity, deeper connections, and a confidence no drink can replicate. It’s not about giving up—it’s about gaining a life richer, freer, and more meaningful than you ever expected.

I don’t journal every day. I don’t pray every day. I’ve fallen flat on my face plenty of times in recovery — but that doesn’t make me a failure. It makes me human. Recovery isn’t about being perfect, it’s about getting back up (even if it’s with coffee in hand and a bad attitude).

Spirituality for me now isn’t perfect or polished — it’s messy, sarcastic, and sometimes just making sure I’ve had my morning coffee before I snap at anyone. But it also shows up in the most unexpected ways. My sobriety date, April 15th, is the same day my great aunt passed away seven years earlier, and my six-month milestone landed on my grandpop’s birthday. Those “coincidences” remind me I’m not walking this alone.

I’ve learned spirituality isn’t about control — people will do what they want, life will unfold how it will. It’s about surrendering, even when it’s uncomfortable, and trusting that rejection can actually be redirection. It carried me through heartbreak, helped me avoid relapse, and led me to the kind of love I never thought I’d find.

For me, spirituality now is simple: have faith, let go, laugh when I can, and trust that something greater is guiding me forward.

When I first quit drinking, I thought sobriety would feel like waking up in a wellness retreat—glowing skin, endless energy, and inner peace on tap. Spoiler: it didn’t. My Day 1 was groggy, hungover, and filled with night terrors instead of morning mantras. I thought I’d instantly morph into a calm, kind, green-juice version of myself, but what I really got was cigarettes, coffee, and the uncomfortable task of learning how to sit with life sober. The funny thing is, sobriety didn’t erase my problems—it just made me face them. And while that’s not glamorous, it’s where the real growth started. Today, “fun” looks less like bar tabs and more like peace: morning walks, sunsets, books, and the absolute pleasure of missing out.

There were days I wanted to give up — moments where sobriety felt fragile, uncomfortable, and impossibly hard. Not because I didn’t want to stay sober, but because life still showed up messy. In this post, I’m sharing the real things that helped me stay sober when I almost didn’t: the phone calls, the awkward prayers, the iced tea, and the one quiet reminder that kept me grounded — you don’t have to do this alone.

Early sobriety was like being emotionally sunburned — everything felt raw, uncomfortable, and way too bright. I had to relearn how to live, talk, feel, and trust myself again. From being emotional to awkwardly praying to a Higher Power I didn’t quite believe in, this is what my first 60 days looked like. Messy, healing, and full of tiny, brave steps forward.

In my first post, I share a real and honest look at what recovery has meant for me over the past six years. From nearly relapsing at two years sober to discovering how vital spirituality, connection, and self-awareness are in my life, this post reflects how my approach to sobriety has evolved. I talk about the pressure I once felt to do recovery “perfectly,” how I’ve learned to find peace in the simplest moments, and why humor and faith keep me grounded. Most of all, I hope to remind others that recovery isn’t one-size-fits-all — and that healing is possible, even in the messiest seasons of life.