Three months sober.
That number doesn’t sound big until you live it. Until you feel every uncomfortable hour, every lonely night, every moment you almost said “fuck it” and didn’t.
I’ve made it to the 8th step of the 12. The one where you start thinking about the people you've hurt, the damage you’ve done—not to punish yourself, but to begin healing. And let me tell you, looking at your past with clear eyes and a steady heart is one of the bravest and most painful things you can do.
I miss my old life sometimes.
The comfort of routine, the softness of shared meals, the feeling of Madi’s weight pressed up against me while the world spun too fast.
I miss him.
I miss the way our relationship felt when it was safe, sacred, and still full of wonder.
But I’m also learning to miss those things without needing to go back to them.
Because I’m growing.
For the first time in a long time, I have space to ask, “Who am I without the chaos? Without the coping?”
I have permission to show up fully, even when I’m a mess.
Even when I’m unsure.
Even when I don’t recognize myself just yet.
I’m learning how to love me. Not the version I showed the world. Not the curated one.
But the raw one.
The quiet one.
The version of me that needs gentleness more than performance.
Sobriety has cracked me open, and there’s beauty in what’s leaking out.
I’m not trying to fix myself anymore. I’m just trying to understand who I really am—and offer that person the kind of love I used to give away so easily to everyone else.
More to come.
More growth.
More truth.
And maybe—finally—more peace.