In the days after I was discharged, I spent a lot of time trying to make sense of what had happened. I read through my hospital charts, studying the notes left by the nurses and doctors who cared for me. I looked up my bloodwork. I replayed uncomfortable moments from the hospital over and over again.

And beneath all of it was one feeling I couldn't escape: embarrassment.

You’ll learn more about what led to my hospital stay—and the journey that followed—as you read through my posts. For now, there are a few things you should know.

A few days after being discharged, I had a follow-up appointment with my primary care doctor. He’s a personal friend of my husband and mine, so our typical doctor/patient visits were light. We'd joke around, catch up on life, and usually spend part of the appointment laughing.

This time was different.

When he walked into the room, his face was somber and his body language was stern. I knew something was wrong. Much more than I had allowed myself to believe.

He sat down in his wheely chair and said, “You need to stop minimizing what just happened.”

I could barely make eye contact with him.

“I’ve seen patients in your exact shoes—people who’ve just been discharged with pancreatitis—and they could quit drinking tomorrow and it wouldn’t matter.”

My cheeks warmed and my ears started to pound. Cold chills flushed across my skin. I could feel my heartbeat in my throat as tears filled my eyes. Heavy tears. The kind that don't even roll down your cheeks. They just fall straight into your lap as you hang your head.

“Your organs look good. Your pancreas will heal. You’ve been given a second chance. You can either continue down the path you’re on and you'll die or be back in my office in a year carrying your piss in a bag—or you can quit drinking and live a long and healthy life.”

That was the day I understood that I could never drink again.

At his suggestion, I found a therapist who specialized in addiction and began seeing her weekly. About a week later, that same doctor drove me to an AA meeting—one I still attend today.

I took my last drink on July 14, 2023, and I’ve been sober ever since.

Not every day has been easy. Some have felt impossible. Even three years in, there are moments when I struggle to sit with my feelings without reaching for the escape alcohol once gave me. I'm still working on my sobriety, and I expect I always will. The addiction didn't disappear when I stopped drinking. I know I'm one drink away from finding my way back to the person I worked so hard to leave behind.

Getting here has taken years of self-discovery and constant appraisal. Years of reprogramming the way I think, talk, and act. The way I approach conversations, relationships, social settings—and myself.

But I'm happier today than I was then. I'm a better partner. A better daughter. A better aunt. A better human.

And I'm proud of the work it took to be able to sit here today and share this.

When I first got sober, though, I couldn't stop wondering one thing: How will I ever have fun again?

Alcohol and fun were synonymous to me. Without one, I couldn't imagine the other existing. I essentially resigned myself to the idea that I would have to live an unhappy life in order to live a healthy, sober one.

I pictured dark days. Zero joy. A lifetime of missing out. It was daunting, to say the least.

Luckily, I was wrong.

As you read these stories, you'll see how I got from there to here—and what I've learned along the way.

My story isn't unique, and I'm no different from anyone else living with a substance use disorder. But I hope sharing the good, bad, and very ugly parts of navigating sobriety might help someone who's struggling, or perhaps give courage to someone who feels alcohol has too much control over their life.

But you don't have to be sober to find something here.

Whether you're sober, sober-curious, navigating your own kind of recovery, looking for your next adventure, or simply trying to slow down long enough to notice the life happening around you, I hope you find a little piece of yourself in these stories.

Sobriety is the lens through which I tell them.

Being alive is what they're really about.