From Ruin to Resilience: Getting Out of My Own Way

For 34 years, I was my most significant roadblock, my sinister enemy, and the obstacle to any pretense of peace.

Sobriety didn't resolve that overnight—it just stripped away the excuses. The truth is, even without the firewater, I could still be the problem. Getting out of my own way was the key to a fresh start.

I spent years drowning in my destruction, convincing myself that life just happened to me. I was unlucky. I was misunderstood. I was the victim of a world that didn't give a damn. And maybe, sometimes, I was. But mostly, I was in my own way—making choices fueled by self-pity, self-destruction, and whatever would deaden me the fastest.

Then I got sober, and I assumed that was it. I believed I'd "fixed" myself. It turns out that all I did was turn the lights on in a room full of devastation. The real work started when I had to pick through the rubble of my choices, habits, and mind.

My mind is still a dangerous neighborhood. If I don't do the work, if I don't stay on top of my own bullshit, I can plunge right back into being the problem. Sobriety didn't hand me peace. It allows me to strive for it every single day.

But here's the thing: you don't have to be in recovery to do the work. You don't have to hit rock bottom to start rising. Whether you're sober or not, the course to real peace looks the same:

• Seek support—somebody who will call you out, hold you up and wander beside you.

• Create a daily routine—gratitude, journaling, meditation, reading, moving your body. Get out of your head and into your life.

• Be of service—get outside yourself. Help others. Give freely without expectations.

• Own your choices—no more justifications or playing victim to your life.

• Find a higher power of your understanding—deepen your knowledge of your purpose and connection.

  
  

Some days, I show up and do the work. Other days, I wake up agitated, dissatisfied, and ready to burn my life down for less-than legitimate reasons. The difference now? I have tools, a program, and people who see me—really see me—and remind me who I am when I forget.

I am still capable of self-sabotage. I still have to be diligent in staying (mostly) sane. But I don't have to drink over it. I don't have to meander into doom. And neither do you.

Harmony isn't handed to us. We aren't lucky. We achieve it. We build it—one choice, one day at a time.