Recovery52 – Week 52 – A Finish Line

“It is during our darkest moments that we must focus to see the light.”

— Aristotle

My 52-week photography and recovery project is complete. I expected to write about the pride of reaching this milestone and the transition to a new photography project—topics I will return to shortly. But life had other plans, and recent events demanded attention first.

A projected winter storm arrived last Saturday morning. I shrugged off the warnings, thinking a couple of “snow days” might be relaxing—an excuse to slow down. The snow came, and at 11:49 a.m., the power went out. At first, it felt almost playful. I pulled out my flashlight and headlamp, bundled up, and let the child-like excitement settle in.

But the outage didn’t last a few hours—it lasted nearly five full days.

In the early days, I managed with humor: making coffee and meals on my camp stove, layering up, doubling blankets, and keeping my phone alive with a battery bank. I checked outage updates, stayed connected with friends, and tried to make the best of it.

By day three, the novelty wore off. The cold felt deeper. The isolation heavier. Thankfully, I could visit my local gym to shower and charge my devices. But the dark and silence began affecting my mood. My sleep was poor, and I couldn’t use my CPAP. Early on day four, I felt depression settling in—not just sadness, but that familiar heavy pull that once led me toward escape.

On the fourth morning, sitting with a hot coffee inside my local grocery store, I watched people buying essentials—along with plenty of beer and wine. And I heard the old voice, faint but persistent:

“You could drink if you wanted to.”

Not this time.

I remembered a winter storm in February 2021, when I roamed icy streets and returned home with a box of wine each time—grateful no one was around to see. I drank to numb. I drank to disappear. It’s a wonder I didn’t freeze.

This time, I reminded myself why I started recovery: the harm, the pain, the self-destruction. And then I reminded myself of everything I’ve achieved since. Drawing on both negative motivation and positive momentum, I came home and endured another cold, dark night—but with pride and strength.

Power returned just short of the five-day mark. Relief washed over me. Then came the cleanup: dishes, laundry, sorting out spoiled food. And just as things stabilized, frozen pipes thawed, flooding several apartments. Mine stayed dry, but the water was shut off for another seven days for repair.

Nearly two weeks without basic comforts—and I stayed sober and steady through all of it.

Now, circling back to where I hoped to begin: I’m considering a shift in my photographic efforts to a new 52-week project centered on creativity and seeing creatively. I want to expand my identity beyond recovery and reconnect more fully with the creative community. I want to enjoy life with purpose, goals, and connection outside the context of addiction.

But I will remain active with friends and groups in recovery. I’ll keep the Recovery52 blog alive and post whenever inspiration arises. And I will stay humble—aware that the old voice may return, and committed to answering it with clarity, strength, and truth.

If my reflections have supported anyone else along the way, I’m grateful. My recovery continues forward—steady, mindful, and intentional, moving with purpose into whatever comes next.

Recovery52 – Week 46 – Seeking Truth

“All too often we’re filled with negative and limiting beliefs. We’re filled with doubt. We’re filled with guilt or with a sense of unworthiness. We have a lot of assumptions about the way the world is that are actually wrong.”

— Jack Canfield

In last week’s post, I committed to staying mindful when negative and limiting beliefs surface—to pause, reflect, identify their source, and question their truth and usefulness. My intention was, and still is, to challenge the beliefs that continue to influence me today.

On Saturday, I went for a walk at a local nature park. The sky was dark with threatening rain, and I hoped to capture a few photographs while also giving attention to my internal landscape. The photography went well. But as I walked, my inner world began to mirror the sky—darkening with memories of events that have shaped my perceptions and behaviors throughout my life.

In a prior post, I described several early childhood traumas that contributed to my fear-based responses—reactions that pushed me toward substance use when pain or confrontation felt overwhelming. Here are a few more formative events that reinforced rigid, black-and-white beliefs:

·       As a young boy experiencing partial blindness and debilitating headaches, I traveled with my mom by bus to the city for a medical procedure. In the restroom at the bus station, a grizzled man approached me from behind, mumbling, and tried to push his hands down the front of my waistband. I froze, pushed him away, and he left when another person entered. I told no one. I felt shame, guilt, and a lingering fear that somehow I was to blame.

·       In my sophomore year of high school, our English class read Truman Capote’s In Cold Blood and watched the film adaptation. Around the same time, we were assigned to write a news-style article, and I chose a local story about two teenage girls who had been murdered and left on a forest road. Immersing myself in those horrific accounts shaped my beliefs about justice and punishment, fueling a desire for swift, harsh consequences for “bad” men.

·       September 11, 2001, was another turning point. The horror of the attacks and the extremism behind them shook me. Until then, I had paid little attention to world events. Suddenly, I wanted revenge. I became hyper-vigilant about news and politics, looking everywhere for confirmation of my outrage. I was swept up in online arguments, consumed by anger, and drinking heavily during that era.

That’s enough examples for now. These experiences shaped my worldview and contributed to my urge to numb, escape, and resist feeling difficult emotions. I can’t change any of them. But I can learn from them and commit to a better way forward.

My beliefs have deep roots. Simply recognizing their origins doesn’t transform them. I need to question whether my automatic responses and underlying assumptions serve me—or distort how I see the world, other people, and myself. To support this work, I’ve begun studying critical thinking. I hope it will help me identify and challenge the cognitive biases that darken my perception and keep old narratives alive.

I’ll close with an audiobook I’m currently listening to, one I expect will be helpful in this effort:

Critical Thinking: What You Should Have Been Taught About Decision-Making, Problem-Solving, Cognitive Biases, Logical Fallacies, and Winning Arguments — Jerrel Forman

Recovery52 – Week 44 – Happy Thanksgiving!

“Fear is a question. What are you afraid of and why? Our fears are a treasure house of self-knowledge if we explore them.”

— Marilyn French

“As we express our gratitude, we must never forget that the highest appreciation is not to utter words, but to live by them.”

— John F. Kennedy

This week’s post opens with two quotes that feel especially relevant to where I am in my recovery. Last week, I committed to beginning deeper work on the fears rooted in my early childhood. That commitment still stands. But with Thanksgiving arriving, it also feels important to pause and acknowledge gratitude—something woven into this holiday from childhood onward.

With Marilyn French’s words in mind, I want to begin addressing a few of the fears that were shaped by traumatic early experiences—what we now label “Adverse Childhood Experiences.” I’m not going to list everything, nor will I share the most painful details. I don’t want to trigger anyone who may be reading this while navigating their own recovery. But I will share a few foundational experiences, both to honor the truth of how I learned to fear, and to lay groundwork for the posts ahead:

·       My biological father abandoned our family before I turned one. He struggled with depression.

·       My first stepfather beat and burned me. I don’t remember it, but I’ve seen the photos. My amygdala was wired to High Alert before I had language.

·       My second stepfather committed acts I won’t detail here.

·       My third stepfather was a drunk and a wife-beater. I remember the screams, the fear, and my seven-year-old brother being thrown against a wall when he tried to intervene. The town cops—his drinking buddies—hauled him away to sober up.

·       A later partner of my mom’s was emotionally unhealthy and refused to divorce his legal wife, choosing to stay for financial reasons while living with us.

Damn, they were all sons of bitches. Just writing this stirs up anger. These experiences taught me to fear pain, to fear being hurt, and to fear expressing myself. I learned early that shutdown, avoidance, escape, and retreat were the safest options. As a child, I escaped into fantasy, science fiction, and imaginative play. As an adult, I escaped through alcohol and other numbing behaviors.

I’m working on this now—learning to recognize and confront the fears that still influence me. I’m not holding resentment, nor am I assigning blame. Forgiveness is not something those men deserve. Forgiveness is something I can offer myself for not healing sooner. I take responsibility for my behavior, my choices, and my recovery. I’m not asking for sympathy. I’m not making excuses. I own my future.

Turning to President Kennedy’s quote, I want to express my gratitude this Thanksgiving. I’m grateful for 325 days of sobriety, and for growing in ways I never reached in prior attempts. I’m grateful for a skilled therapist whose guidance helped me rebuild the foundation I stand on today. I’m grateful for family and friends whose concern, honesty, and sincerity have helped me become more open and trusting. And I’m grateful for learning to trust myself—finally feeling a sense of pride in my recovery.

I still have work ahead, but I’m confident in the skills, awareness, and mindset I’ve built. I’m grateful for my relationships, my health, my resources, and the moments of meaning and joy that fill my days.

I’ll return to exploring the past experiences that continue to influence my present. For now, I’m grateful. And I wish everyone a peaceful, meaningful holiday season.

Recovery52 – Week 43 – Pick Up The Shovel

“If one is estranged from oneself, then one is estranged from others too. If one is out of touch with oneself, then one cannot touch others.”

— Anne Morrow Lindbergh

In preparing to write this week’s post—and following last week’s intention to dig deeper into the roots of my substance abuse and long-standing patterns—I reread every post I’ve written so far. I’m proud of the progress I’ve made: the sobriety I’ve held, the growth I’ve earned, and the consistency of this photography project.

But rereading also made something unmistakably clear: I’ve been staying safe.

I’ve written about meaningful topics, but often in ways that circle the edges rather than dive into the center. Each week I’ve hinted that deeper work is needed, but I’ve also kept my distance from the very places that need exploring. I’ve mentioned fear, trust issues, and old wounds many times, but I haven’t truly confronted them. It’s as if I’ve been writing from the doorway—looking inward without stepping inside.

A fear of facing fear itself. Phobophobia, maybe.

I recently finished a recovery book that described four major risk factors for addiction: Genetic, Developmental, Environmental, and Creative Nature. I align with all four. While I’ve resisted the idea that I need to relive my past to move forward, I also recognize that early experiences shaped my beliefs, reactions, and emotional defenses. These long-standing patterns—fear, shame, distrust, self-protection—still influence my life today. I’m tired of their grip. I want better for myself and for the people close to me.

So how do I move forward?

I’m choosing to explore these patterns through the lens of Attachment Theory. Attachment Theory examines how early bonds with caregivers shape our emotional and relational patterns throughout life. Without claiming expertise, the model resonates with what I experienced growing up. Given my history, it’s not surprising that I lean toward a Fearful-Avoidant attachment style—wanting closeness, yet fearing it; desiring connection, yet withdrawing emotionally when things feel uncertain.

Afraid to feel.

Afraid to trust.

Afraid to love.

That’s not the life I want anymore. I’m not looking to blame people who were hurting in their own ways, nor to stay anchored in victimhood. I have autonomy now. I have agency. And I have people who care about me, if I choose to allow that care in.

As a next step, I plan to use the SMART Recovery ABC problem-solving framework to address specific fears and traumas—a tool that has already helped me work through challenges in Posts 38, 39, and 40. A structured approach may help me unpack the beliefs and emotional reactions that still have power over me.

This week isn’t about tackling one specific fear. It’s about laying the groundwork for the deeper work ahead. These are some of the questions I’m ready to explore:

• Why do I lie, even the small “white” ones? What fear sits underneath the avoidance of full honesty?

• Why does my mind default to “Why I can’t” instead of “Why can’t I?” when opportunities arise?

• I’m intensely triggered by violent crime and cruelty. I believe some people choose evil and deserve punishment. Is it wrong to want retributive justice?

• When I’m confronted with anger or threat, I freeze or flee. Why? And how do I change this?

These questions form the shovel I intend to pick up. It’s time to dig.

Recovery52 – Week 42 – My Why

Carefree youth

“Fear is the memory of pain. Addiction is the memory of pleasure. Freedom is beyond both.”

— Deepak Chopra

Here I am at Week 42 of this photography project documenting my recovery from alcohol addiction. Forty-two weeks of steady work—self-analysis, self-awareness, and daily practice of healthier skills and habits. I have changed the way I react to external triggers and how I respond to my internal thoughts and feelings. I’m proud that I have not turned to the false comfort of alcohol this year. And still, I know there is more work to do.

I’ve become more open and honest with family, friends, a trusted therapist, and myself. Yet I also recognize how often I remain guarded—defaulting to self-protection, avoiding confrontation, suppressing difficult feelings, and distracting myself instead of allowing vulnerability. These patterns limit my growth. They can hold me back from forming deeper relationships. And sometimes, unintentionally, they can even cause harm.

I’m reading a book on recovery right now, and a chapter on risk factors underlying addictive behavior struck me with unexpected clarity. Below are those factors and how they relate to my own life:

Genetic: There were drinkers on both sides of my family, along with diagnosed mental health issues.

Developmental: My mother’s multiple marriages—and the trauma brought on by abusive husbands and stepfathers—left deep marks on my early childhood. My ACE (Adverse Childhood Experiences) score is high.

Environmental: Without strong role models, and with the compounding effects of trauma and genetics, I grew up lacking confidence and the skills to stand up for myself. These patterns carried into adulthood.

Creative Nature: A sensitive nature, low self-confidence, and memories of criticism around creative activities led me to hide or abandon my artistic interests. Today, though, my photography is something I’m genuinely proud of. It proves that my creative voice never disappeared—it just needed space and safety to emerge.

These risk factors will be the focus of upcoming posts. Recently, I’ve used SMART Recovery’s ABC framework to navigate challenges. Moving forward, I want to blend that with other cognitive behavioral tools to better understand how these long-standing factors shape my thoughts, behaviors, and reactions. Greater clarity may help me see what truly needs to change.

I can’t change my past. But I can examine how I respond to triggers today. I can look at which risk factors are influencing me, and acknowledge the impact of old wounds without clinging to them. This isn’t about claiming victimhood or placing blame. It’s about forgiving myself for developing coping strategies that once helped me survive—and recognizing that the beliefs formed in childhood no longer serve me.

“I have the power of choice, and I can choose better.”

Recovery52 – Week 40 – Transitions

From an early morning contemplative walk at the Japanese Gardens in Portland, OR.

“A man's pride can be his downfall, and he needs to learn when to turn to others for support and guidance.”

— Bear Grylls

This week brought unexpected change in my recovery support network. After more than ten months of consistent, steady work with a therapist who helped me rebuild my life, I received an email letting me know he would be leaving the practice. We would have only one more session together. I sat in my car for a long time after reading the message, letting the weight of it settle.

A few thoughts rose quickly:

• I have not been successful long-term in past recoveries when I convinced myself I could do this alone.

• I have ended counseling relationships too early before—and relapsed.

• I did feel some relief around my tight budget, but I also understood that the cost of relapse is always far greater.

This situation deserved to be examined using the SMART ABC tool.

Activating Event: After ten months of sobriety and growth, much of it supported by the guidance of a skilled therapist, I received the news that he would be moving on, leaving us with one final session together.

Belief: My first thoughts were conflicting. I felt fear because past attempts without strong therapeutic support have not ended well. I also felt relieved at the financial break, while knowing that avoiding relapse matters far more than saving money.

Consequence: I immediately recalled where past recoveries faltered—when I lacked the proper tools and support. But I also felt proud of my therapist and grateful that he offered referrals. I chose not to let anxiety spin out. I let the news settle in the background, knowing it would surface again in writing.

Dispute: Today, I have intrinsic motivation, momentum, and a solid foundation. I trust myself more than I ever have. I have tools, healthy routines, and genuine pride in my creative work. I live more consciously, more intentionally. I am stronger and wiser this time.

Effective New Belief: I will continue forward with the skills, insight, and clarity I’ve gained. I will seek new therapeutic support if I even sense the need. My recovery is worth the cost, the energy, and the adjustment. I have agency in my choices. I will not relapse.

I am deeply grateful for the support my counselor provided over the past year. His guidance helped me build the stability I now stand on. I will continue my recovery with the same honesty, curiosity, and commitment that have carried me this far.

Recovery52 – Week 37 – Moving Forward

“No one saves us but ourselves. No one can and no one may. We ourselves must walk the path.”

— Buddha

I’m a couple of days late with this week’s post, missing my self-imposed Thursday deadline. And I’m completely at peace with that. I chose instead to enjoy a road trip through central Washington, traveling part of the Cascade Loop with a good friend. We drove long miles on rural roads, photographed landscapes, and embraced a sense of adventure. A missed deadline was a small price for time well spent.

Recently, both my own reflections and a friend’s observation made me aware that my posts have been leaning toward the “safe” end of the emotional spectrum. Topics like mindfulness practice, healthy routines, stable sobriety, and passion for photography are all true—and all important. But they aren’t the whole story.

There are deeper and darker chapters in my past that I avoid writing about—topics tied to shame, guilt, resentment, or anger. Experiences painful enough that I’ve hesitated to confront them, let alone share them. Some of these memories could upset others or even risk judgment or rejection. And although I’m not ready to detail those experiences publicly, I recognize they are threads woven through my thoughts, emotions, and behaviors—even now.

But ignoring it hasn’t freed me from its influence on my life.

I’m beginning to see that part of moving forward means turning toward those moments with honesty and curiosity. I plan to focus upcoming journaling on the critical events that led me toward escape, numbing, and self-limiting beliefs. Through self-reflection, awareness, and conversations with my therapist and trusted loved ones, I hope to find whatever resolution or understanding is needed.

This work will require vulnerability, courage, and emotional openness. I may walk it with the support of others—but ultimately the path is mine to travel.

Recovery52 – Week 30 – My Coping Styles

Escape or healthy distraction?

“Life is not what it’s supposed to be. It’s what it is. The way you cope with it is what makes the difference.”

— Aleatha Romig, Consequences

As a follow-up to last week’s reflection on defense mechanisms, this week I’ve been thinking about coping mechanisms—what they are, how they function, and the ways I’ve used them in both healthy and unhealthy ways. My goal is to connect past alcohol misuse with ineffective or maladaptive coping strategies while becoming more aware of how I currently respond to stress.

Coping mechanisms are the conscious strategies we use to handle stress, while defense mechanisms are unconscious reactions—deeply rooted, often fear-based, and automatic.

Significant life events—even positive ones—can create stress, and how we adjust depends on our thoughts, behaviors, and emotional responses. Coping strategies generally fall into problem-focused or emotion-focused approaches. They can also be described as active (addressing the issue directly) or avoidant (evading the issue). Maladaptive coping describes methods that may help temporarily but become harmful long-term.

I reviewed several sources this week, including a helpful overview from GoodTherapy, and reflected on which coping strategies I tend to use.

Primary coping styles I relate to:

• Support: Talking with others, asking for help.

• Relaxation: Time in nature, meditation, quiet time.

• Problem-solving: Identifying a problem and developing possible solutions.

• Humor: Helpful at times, but easy for me to overuse.

• Physical activity: Exercise, hiking, and movement reduce my stress.

Maladaptive coping mechanisms I recognize in myself:

• Escape: Withdrawing or isolating.

• Unhealthy self-soothing: TV binges or distractions that become numbing.

• Numbing: For me, binge drinking—my most damaging coping mechanism in the past.

• Compulsions or risk-taking: Not a major area for me, but worth being aware of.

• Self-harm: Not part of my history, but important to acknowledge as a possibility for others.

Even though my recovery is solid and growing stronger, I still slip into avoidant coping at times—ways of ignoring, escaping, or deflecting rather than addressing what needs attention. My recovery tools, especially mindfulness and journaling, help me catch these patterns and shift toward healthier responses.

The work ahead remains the same: breaking old patterns, being honest with myself and others, practicing vulnerability, and choosing coping strategies that support my well-being. Healthy coping is a learned skill, and I’m committed to learning it.

Recovery52 – Week 28 – Avoiding and Evading

“We cannot selectively numb emotions; when we numb the painful emotions, we also numb the positive emotions.”

— Brené Brown

I’m a couple of days late with this week’s post. My Recovery52 schedule—publishing every Thursday—has become a quiet form of accountability. Without goals, I drift; without structure, I slip. The delay came partly from a needed camping trip, and partly from wrestling with a topic too big to fit neatly into a single week’s reflection.

In previous entries, I’ve written about accepting help, working with my therapist, and developing mindfulness habits that support sobriety. Those efforts remain solid, but they’re not the whole story. True recovery, I’m learning, asks for more than abstinence and awareness. It requires honesty, courage, and a willingness to be seen.

The quote above captures where I am right now. I may no longer reach for alcohol to numb discomfort, but I still find ways to go half-numb—through reading, film, chores, photography, even naps. None of these are harmful on their own; the problem comes when they become quiet escapes from self-reflection or necessary action. Awareness is one thing; avoidance dressed as productivity is another.

The second challenge is evasiveness—hesitation to speak difficult truths, especially when I fear they might upset or expose me. Old fears of rejection, conflict, and vulnerability still whisper: Don’t make waves. So I smooth things over, change the subject, or retreat behind silence. Those habits once protected me; now they confine me.

“Lying is done with words and also with silence.”

— Adrienne Rich

Avoidance and evasiveness are deeply rooted patterns, and unlearning them will require sustained attention.

In the coming weeks, I plan to explore the limiting beliefs and self-protective reflexes that hold me back. I’m proud of how far I’ve come—216 days sober—but I know there’s deeper work ahead. Relapse is not an option.

Riffs: Courage, Resilienc

Recovery52 – Week 25 – Feeling My Feelings

“We cannot selectively numb emotions; when we numb the painful emotions, we also numb the positive emotions.”

— Brené Brown

Unapologetically, I find myself circling the edges of fear again—resistant to diving straight into the deep. Last week I wrote about exploring the fears that hold me back: fears of hurting myself or others, of being hurt by others, and the very human fear of uncertainty. These fears were shaped over a lifetime, living both in the mind and the body. But this topic requires honesty and vulnerability, and I don’t feel ready to reveal more without additional contemplation and conversations with people I trust.

So this week, I’m letting myself lean into pride and gratitude for my sobriety. This has been a good week. I spent meaningful time with others and was able to be of service. I had creative time with photography and contemplative time through journaling, planning, and mindfulness. My meditation practice continues. I’ve rested, exercised, and slept well. I am grateful for my physical health and mental clarity. I am sober.

Of course, I’ve still had moments of moodiness and irritation—everyday annoyances like traffic, discovering sour milk just when I wanted breakfast, dropping my phone irretrievably between the seat and console while driving, or finding my parking space taken by a “jerk.” I felt myself slipping into old patterns of rumination and worry, but I recognized my state quickly and returned to the present.

In perspective, I am very fortunate. My struggles are real but manageable. Others in my life are carrying far heavier burdens—a family member in poor health, a close friend going through treatment for a serious medical condition. And although I see the daily headlines designed to agitate and divide, I try not to dwell on them.

I’ve also been reacting to the “toxic positivity” that seems to dominate quotes, memes, and recovery groups online. I’ll mention “The Law of Attraction” specifically, as its premises feel dubious at best and potentially harmful. Life and recovery are hard and cannot be reduced to forced cheerfulness. Both positive and negative emotions must be acknowledged, validated, and felt.

A quote from a SMART Recovery meeting stays with me: “You have to feel your feelings.” Paired with the Brené Brown quote above, this idea is central for me right now. I used to drink to avoid emotional pain. In doing so, I also numbed joy, connection, opportunity, and meaning. Alcohol froze me; fear kept me from thawing.

My sobriety continues. My recovery work moves forward. And my gratitude grows—for loved ones, family, friends, and the broader recovery communities who walk beside me.

Recovery52 – Week 24 – Trust and Fear

“May your choices reflect your hopes, not your fears.”

— Nelson Mandela

I’m writing this week’s post on the Fourth of July. Invitations to parties and potlucks have come in, and there are plenty of events happening around me. But I’ve chosen to stay home—away from environments where alcohol will be present. Two honest thoughts guided that choice: first, would I be susceptible to the old whisper of “just a little, you can handle it now”? And second, would I feel left out or unsettled watching others drink? I even avoided grocery shopping this weekend to sidestep the crowds stocking up for celebrations. It simply felt wiser.

After last week’s stressful but successful moving trip—and my recognition that old patterns didn’t take hold—I’ve found myself thinking about trust. Primarily, self-trust. My long history with alcohol and relapse feels both distant and painfully recent. With only about six months of uninterrupted sobriety, I can’t yet claim full trust in myself in all situations. My past is riddled with “I can handle it” and “forget it” moments that led to relapse and hurt the people I love. Shame and questions about my integrity followed.

This lack of self-trust naturally leads to questions about how much others can trust me. I’ve made promises, felt the strength of the forgiveness offered to me, then stumbled again into another binge—selfishly and carelessly. I’ve chosen numbing over relationships, over responsibilities, over people who cared for me. I’ve injured trust many times.

So how can I expect trust—from myself or from others?

With more reflection, I realized something deeper: I don’t fully trust others either. Old experiences, especially childhood trauma, have left a long shadow. And like many people, I’ve carried the human tendency toward “negativity bias”—giving more weight to painful experiences than positive ones. It’s a survival instinct at its core, but taken too far, it locks a person into a life lived in fear.

Fear. That’s the root:

• I fear hurting myself.

• I fear hurting others.

• I fear being hurt by others.

• I fear emotional pain, physical pain, and the vulnerability that closeness demands.

In the past, I chose the familiar pains—hangovers, regret, anxiety, shame—over the unknown pains of honesty, change, and trust. Alcohol dulled the fear but never solved it.

The real work now is to understand and address those fears. Not necessarily by dissecting every traumatic event from my past, but by using the “pause points” I’ve been practicing—moments of awareness that let me notice when fear is driving my reactions. With recognition comes the ability to respond differently.

This is a broad topic, and I expect to explore it more in future posts. I’ve now reached six months of sobriety with therapeutic support, and I’ll be taking these insights into counseling as well. The work will be difficult, but I believe the healing will be worth it.

Recovery52 – Week 21 – Myopic Recovery

“It is great to be introspective, self-analysis can be useful, but only if it results in action.” — Joe Sacco

 I feel solid in my sobriety. But through deeper awareness and the self-inventory work I wrote about last week, I’ve also been feeling a sense of selfishness in how narrowly focused my recovery has been. I’m strong and successful in my abstinence from alcohol. I appreciate the clarity of mind, the physical improvements, and the integrity returning to my life. I feel in control of my addiction.

Yet while my recovery mindset serves me well around alcohol, I can still see echoes of addictive thinking in other parts of my life:

• Food and diet: I generally eat well, but still allow too many poor choices and oversized portions, ignoring what I know to be better.

• Escapism and distraction: Reading, binge-watching shows, listening to podcasts and YouTube, or filling time with low-priority tasks.

• Shopping: Not buying excessively, but chasing the excitement of searching, comparing, imagining how a new item might improve my life.

Of course, alcohol would make all of these areas far more difficult to manage. But my mindfulness practice is strong enough now that I can apply it more broadly—to my thoughts, feelings, and behaviors across the board.

More importantly, I’m noticing something about my relationships: while I’m focused on maintaining sobriety, several close friends and family members are facing serious health challenges. I’m offering support, and I care deeply—but I know I could be more present, more available. I’m also engaged in several online recovery groups, seeing people struggling through relapse or painful early recovery. Compared to what many of them are facing, my own problems feel small.

I remind myself that comparison has limits, but still I worry: if I take my attention away from my own recovery to be more available to others, could I put myself at risk? That fear makes me feel selfish. And yet I know—because others remind me—that if I don’t take care of myself, I won’t be able to care for anyone else.

When I began this Recovery52 project, I intended to keep each weekly post short and focus on one topic. This one is broader, but these areas deserve attention as I move forward. I can work on multiple fronts. I will keep alcohol out of my life while expanding my field of view—addressing lifestyle habits, strengthening my mindfulness, and being more fully present for those who need me. To be of service, with action.