“Celebrate yourself... and stay positive!”
— Khoudia Diop
Eighty days sober. One more than my longest stretch last year — and it feels different this time. The number itself is small, but the meaning behind it carries real weight. Today marks a turning point, not because I’ve crossed some grand threshold, but because I’m seeing myself grow in ways I didn’t trust were possible a year ago.
At the start of this project, I went back through my old journals from 2022. I tracked each lapse, counted the days between them, the gaps in my journal a record of remorse and regret. Some of those pages were hard to sit with. They forced me to remember the pain: the guilt, the withdrawals, the fear, the hiding, the stories I told myself to justify it all. Eventually, I had to stop reading. It was pulling me backward, fanning shame instead of building insight. So I drew a line. I saw no benefit in looking back at 2021 or further. Seventy-nine days became the record to beat — and with day 80, I’ve done it.
But I also know this milestone doesn’t grant immunity. In past recoveries, I’ve let the momentum of early success convince me that I’m “fixed.” I regained clarity and confidence and started believing I was safe, that I’d outgrown the danger. I let the memory of the last binge fade — the physical sickness, the emotional fallout, the hurt I caused myself and others. The farther away that memory drifted, the easier it became to think, I’ve got this. And slowly, quietly, my guard dropped.
As I reflect on my lapses, I can’t always identify a clean trigger. Sometimes it’s a rationalization whispering — just tonight, just a little, you can handle it now. Other times it’s raw defiance — to hell with it, choosing not to care for a moment. Maybe it’s emotional exhaustion. Maybe overconfidence. Maybe the physiology of addiction. Whatever the cause, the pattern is the same: I fail most often when I assume I’ve already succeeded.
This time, mindfulness is helping me stay grounded. I’m learning that the real markers of recovery aren’t the number of days that pass, but the shifts happening inside me — how I respond to stress, how I interrupt old thought patterns, how I stay present when emotions get messy. Those changes don’t show up on a calendar, but they matter more than time ever could.
The Recovery52 project gives me something I badly need: structure, accountability, and a weekly reminder of why I’m doing this. The process of choosing an image, reflecting on the week, and writing honestly about where I stand keeps my intentions fresh. It’s a creative ritual, but also an act of maintenance — both emotional and practical.
I can imagine reaching Post 52. I can picture feeling proud, steady, maybe even ready to celebrate with a short trip, a workshop, or a weekend at the coast. But I also imagine waking up the next morning — day 366 — knowing that nothing magical happens overnight. This isn’t a finish line. It’s a way of living, one I choose again and again.