I remember what it was like to be a drunk and try to hide it behind the nice house, successful business, and going to school to “become more.” More poignantly, I remember the guilt and shame of relapse.
It was exhausting.
I remember it when I have the inclination to think that I can have a drink like a normal person. It may start out that way, but it doesn’t stay that way, and before long, I am eyeballs deep in the alcohol and all the neurosis that go along with it.
I remember what it was like, but I don’t get stuck in the memory because I’m not in a fight with my addiction anymore. I don’t need to double down on my efforts to stay sober when I remember that I’m simply not that person anymore - AND if I get stuck in the memory, there’s a really, really good chance that I will become that person again.
It feels way better to just go with the flow of who I’ve become and what I am becoming.
For many, many years I treated my own addiction like a battle I’m supposed to win through force, willpower, and white-knuckling. I tried to fight my way out of my pain, believing that if I just worked harder, pushed harder, or “got it together,” I would finally break free.
But healing doesn’t happen to me. Healing happens because of me. And one of the most powerful portals into that healing is remembering — not re-living, drowning in the past, or staying stuck in old stories, but remembering with awareness, compassion, and curiosity.
The old wounds I thought I buried, the flashes of pain I hoped were gone, or those sudden “Why am I feeling this again?” moments aren’t necessarily setbacks, punishment, or signs that I’m going backwards. Sometimes, it’s my soul saying,
“Stop fighting… I’m trying to help you from the inside out.”
In addiction, and even during everyday overwhelm, I learned to disconnect from myself. I stuffed things down just to get through life. But my body remembered. My energy remembered. And eventually, what I was trying to avoid was resurfaces, giving me the opportunity to understand and release what I've been carrying.
Healing and recovery aren’t about defeating my past; they’re about listening to it, connecting the dots without getting stuck in the picture, and allowing what I remember to lead me into who I want to become next.
When I stopped resisting the pain and started understanding it, something shifted. I began to recognize the difference between who I was, what I experienced, and who I am today. The memories don't have to disappear, and I don't have to keep fighting them. They can simply become part of a story I've already lived and a clear reminder of who I’ve become.
