what Does Recovery Mean To me?

Recovery didn’t begin as a spiritual awakening or a journey of Self discovery, it began with one simple goal: Stay Sober

If you have found yourself here, my offering to you is the story of my early days in recovery. What follows is my experience within the rooms of AA, along with my exploration of recovery through many different forms of therapy and personal growth. Together, these experiences helped me accomplish a goal as monumental as the one I set for myself: getting sober.

I explain much of my journey through the framework of the Twelve Steps for those who may be seeking this path. AA was a vital stepping stone in my recovery, and I will always be grateful for it. Yet my recovery required more. Removing alcohol and working the steps gave me the clarity to see the deeper work that still needed to be done.

Forty-one years later, I understand that growth and evolution are lifelong processes. I will never be finished learning, healing, or becoming. Most importantly, I have learned that I can never truly get it wrong. Every experience—whether joyful, painful, successful, or difficult—has contributed to my growth.

Everything I have learned and practiced throughout this journey has profoundly improved my psychological, emotional and spiritual life. At the same time, I now understand that each breakthrough simply opens another door, inviting me to learn, grow, and deepen my understanding of who I am even further.

Recovery didn’t begin as a spiritual awakening or a journey of self-discovery.

It began with one simple goal: stay sober.

In 1984, my life had become unmanageable in every sense of the word. I was exhausted by the chaos—waking up each morning after a night of drinking, filled with shame, guilt, and fear. At the tender age of 24, I wanted out. More than anything, I wanted to escape the embarrassment. Deep down, I knew that if I drank again, I might not survive. That's how far it had gone.

By October 3, 1984—just eleven months after getting married—legal consequences had become part of my new marriage. I felt defeated. Having grown up with an alcoholic stepfather, I was all too familiar with the judgment society places on people struggling with addiction. The thought of others discovering how much I drank terrified me.

Throughout the years I was drinking, I sensed that something was wrong within me, but I couldn't fully understand what it was. Looking back now, the night everything became clear was when I attended an open AA meeting as a family member of someone else. Sitting there, I realized—for the first time—that I, too, was an alcoholic.

Everything clicked.

I knew I could never drink again. In that moment, I was able to be brutally honest with myself. I also knew, without a doubt, that I would do whatever it took to stay sober—not only for myself, but to break the cycle of alcoholism in my family.

On October 3, 1984, I made a promise to myself—a promise as monumental as the task ahead. I committed to lifelong sobriety, not just for my own sake, but for the well-being of my entire family.

In those early days of recovery, I learned that honesty wasn't optional—it was everything. I learned that my self-will had failed me and that I needed something greater than myself. Asking for help became essential, even though it terrified me. Letting people in felt unnatural, even dangerous.

I Learned That Not Drinking Was Not Enough

The awareness—and then the acceptance—that emerged during those first few years of recovery was profound. Recovery stopped being just about not drinking. It became about understanding why I drank in the first place. It became about examining the patterns, the pain, and the beliefs I had carried for so long.

I began to understand how early trauma had shaped my sense of safety. Much of my childhood and early adulthood was spent feeling unprotected, constantly searching outside myself for something—or someone—to fill that void. What I didn't yet understand was that I am an extremely sensitive person.

I had never learned how to honor that sensitivity. Instead, I overrode it, ignored it, or numbed it. In recovery, I began to do something radically different: I started setting boundaries. As a sensitive person, I slowly discovered new ways of relating to my environment, my relationships, and the world around me because I was on a mission to feel safe without alcohol.

Once I realized that safety was what I had truly been craving all along, boundaries became the way I created it. By giving myself permission to design a life that honored who I was, I was able to calm my nervous system. The real shift came when I stopped looking outside myself for safety and began creating it from within through self-awareness and self-respect.

These boundaries were not always something I explained to others, but I understood them—and that was enough.

They became the mechanism that allowed me to slow down, turn inward, and listen to my Higher Power. I began to understand that life is an inside job. Instead of reacting with, "Run. This isn't safe. Protect yourself," I learned to pause and respond from a place of grounded awareness.

For the first time, I learned how to protect my energy because I was no longer living in survival mode. I created space for myself in a way that felt genuinely safe. Not drinking was not enough, but learning to trust people in these new environments helped me grow into a healthier, more whole version of myself.

I also came to a difficult but necessary realization: many of the close relationships I had formed during my years of alcoholism and survival were never going to support me in the ways I now needed. That awareness was painful, but it was also freeing. It created room for new relationships—ones built on honesty, growth, and genuine connection rather than shared dysfunction or survival.

And that’s when everything opened.

Today, what I know for sure is this: the same force that brought me into those rooms… is the same force that continues to guide my life.

What I know for sure is that there is a deep core of wisdom always trying to rise within us—whether alcoholic or not—guiding us and offering insight. This wisdom goes beyond the thinking mind—the part that overthinks, sabotages, and just lives with a dysregulated nervous system. These are human experiences, not something unique to alcoholics.  Through my work beyond the 12 Steps of Alcoholics Anonymous, I came to understand this more fully.

All of us are made of energy. All of us have access to deep wisdom.

Today, I understand that it was this wisdom that guided me to that meeting, sat beside me, and supported me as I came to terms with my drinking, and ultimately gave me the gift of recovery.

Today, recovery means something entirely different than it did in the beginning. For me, it is no longer just about staying sober. It’s about living awake. It’s about healing what once drove me to choose alcohol as a coping mechanism. It’s about choosing truth over fear, connection over isolation, and faith over self-will.

What follows may be difficult to read. Some of the experiences I share involve my childhood trauma, pain, and loss. If at any point it feels overwhelming, please honor yourself and take only what serves you.

As you read, know this: the little girl who endured all that she did is deeply cared for today. She is safe, loved, and no longer alone. My hope is that my story serves as a reminder that healing is possible.

In the same way, you, too, deserve care, compassion, and support. Recovery begins with a single step, and each step forward creates the possibility for something new.

Take what you need, leave what does not resonate, and trust your own journey.