Imagine this: you’re in the workplace, your boss starts talking to you, and suddenly your throat closes up. Your heart races. Your mouth is desert-dry. Your tone of voice shifts into something foreign, shaky. Your brain goes completely blank, and before you know it, you’re floating away from the present moment, starting to disassociate.
The really fucking annoying part? You’ve actually been having a great day. You’re doing all the right things—you’re sober, you’re healing, you’re trying to become better. But then, out of nowhere, it’s like you’re slapped in the face with this barrage of inadequacy. It undermines your chance to shine. It pushes you back into reclusion, makes you feel smaller, less than, inferior.
I searched for answers for a long time. For a while, I thought maybe this was just me, maybe this wasn’t something other people in recovery dealt with. But what I’ve learned is that it does get better. Slowly. Gradually. With time and practice, the body starts to unlearn these patterns.
Today I celebrate 9 months clean. Nine months of showing up. Nine months of not giving in when the old me would have. Nine months of finding myself again, piece by piece.
And yeah, there are still days when the panic creeps in, when I feel like I’ll never be “good enough.” But there are also days when I look back and think: holy shit, look how far I’ve come.
