The "what ifs" and "if, then" statements of life never seem to fully go away. And if they do, our anxious brains just generate new ones. It's part of who we are—or at least, it's part of who I am. But it doesn't have to be that way. Or at least, it doesn't have to be negative. These thoughts can be positive. They can be motivational or encouraging.
I recently heard two phrases that have become constant reminders for me:
"If I drink, I die."
"If I stay sober, I live."
I’ve been on the journey of trying to get and stay sober for a year, and the longest stretch I’ve reached is 140 days. It’s been a roller coaster, to say the least.
I didn’t always struggle with drinking. In fact, I was the one who grew up afraid of alcohol because of my family history. I was scared that if I took one sip, I wouldn’t be able to stop. I didn’t pick up my first drink until I was 20—and only did so because of peer pressure. I learned in that moment that I liked alcohol.
Over time, it progressed from just social drinking to drinking to cope with any big emotion, stress, or overwhelm. Eventually, I started drinking to take the edge off before going places—especially therapy.
I finally reached the conclusion and admitted that alcohol was harming me and that I needed to get sober. I worked up the courage to step into my first recovery meeting and take a seat. At the end of that meeting, I picked up my first desire chip and outwardly admitted my desire to stop drinking.
I tried staying sober. But I didn’t last long and kept relapsing—anywhere from two weeks to a month and a half. I eventually lost the desire to try and disappeared from the program. I went on with life, drinking off and on, with no care for sobriety.
In November, I found myself in a severe mental decline. I ended up needing a higher level of mental health care. Within a week, I was transferred from outpatient to inpatient, and then to residential treatment.
The night before being sent inpatient, I sat on my couch completely lost and broken. All I wanted was to not live. I didn’t want to feel the pain anymore. I had alcohol in my system, a half-empty bottle in one hand, and a pill bottle in the other. I just wanted the pain to end.
But before I opened the pill bottle, I stopped myself. There was a small part of me that still wanted to live.
The next morning, I went to my outpatient program and told my therapist what had happened. That resulted in me being sent inpatient. It was in those moments that I decided I really needed to get a handle on my drinking and give sobriety another try.
I went through treatment, and by the time I graduated, I had been sober for two months. Once I was out, I got myself back into meetings, claimed a seat again, and decided I was in it for the long haul.
There have been ups and downs—it hasn’t been easy. I experienced my first loss in sobriety at four months sober. Although it wasn’t yet my longest sober stretch, I thought I could make it through. But the loss triggered past grief, and I isolated myself. I didn’t reach out. I gave in to the urges and cravings, using alcohol to cope with the overwhelming emotions.
I was embarrassed to tell anyone, but I knew I needed to be honest about my actions. So I reached out. I told my support system—my tribe.
I followed through with a prior commitment to attend a recovery retreat. At that point, I didn’t want to go because of shame, but I did it anyway. And I am forever grateful that I did. I received so much love, encouragement, and support at the retreat, it's indescribable. It reignited my desire for sobriety and helped me see how fun and joyful a sober life can be.
Even now, I still battle conflicting thoughts about staying sober and wonder why I keep trying—especially with big life changes and strong emotions arising. The "what ifs" continue to circle through my mind:
What if I just took one sip?
What if I wasn’t alive?
What if one of my suicide attempts had succeeded?
What if I followed through with my plan back in December?
These questions haunt me. But deep down, I know—nothing happens by mistake. I also know that I can’t change the past.
I remind myself of a quote I recently heard:
“Quit trying to improve your past. Do the best you can today and you'll improve your future.”
And I remind myself:
“If I stay sober, I live.”
If I stay sober, I can and will have a joy-filled, happy life. It’s possible—and it will happen.
If I stay sober, I can create new memories that I will actually remember—memories I can cherish forever.
If I stay sober, I can achieve so much more.
Staying sober isn’t always easy. There will be trials and tough times. But being sober has already changed the way I see life and how I handle what comes my way. I’ve felt peace in situations that used to fill me with anxiety. In sobriety, I’ve reconnected with God and begun to rebuild that relationship. I’ve started making real, lasting life changes.
While I’m still in the early days of this new chapter, I’m optimistic that it will stick. I look forward to each new day, the memories I’ll make, and the life I get to live—fully and freely.
Sobriety is worth it.
Add comment
Comments