
There’s this strange moment that happens after rehab.
People ask, “So… are you back to normal now?”
And I never really know how to answer that.
Because I’m not who I was before the drinking started.
And I’m not who I was when it was at its worst.
I’m… someone new, still figuring it out.
It’s funny—when I first stopped drinking, I thought everything would snap into place. I’d fix relationships. Be more productive. Smile more. But instead, life just slowed down.
And in that slowness, I noticed things.
How the morning light falls across my floor.
How good it feels to wake up clear-headed.
How awkward, but beautiful, honest conversations can be.
One afternoon, I sat on the floor with my nephew. He was building something out of wooden blocks. He looked up and asked, “Why do grownups always want to do everything fast?”
I didn’t have an answer. But I’ve thought about that question a lot since.
Recovery has taught me this:
Slowness isn’t a problem.
It’s a gift.
I still go to my weekly check-ins. Not because I’m worried I’ll relapse, but because I like being reminded that I’m not the only one figuring things out. There’s comfort in sitting next to someone who doesn’t need you to explain everything.
We laugh. We listen. Sometimes we just sit in silence.
And it’s enough.
What the Rehabilitation and Recovery Program gave me wasn’t just tools or therapy—it gave me space. Space to try again. Space to fail and still be seen. Space to grow at my own speed.
I don’t chase “normal” anymore. I don’t care about being impressive.
I care about being present.
Some days are hard. Others are light. But I stay. I show up. I live it.
And if you’re reading this and still wondering if it’s possible for you?
It is.
Not because I say so—because you’ll find out for yourself.
Just take the next step. One breath at a time.