Letting go is not an option for me today. One misstep, a fleeting moment of self-pity, or a poor choice could strip away everything and everyone that fills my life with purpose and love. To outsiders, my life might appear dismal; I manage to get by from paycheck to paycheck in a cramped apartment with my two children. It’s not uncommon for me to wonder how I’ll manage to fill my gas tank or put food on the table. My credit score sits at a staggering 450. I am divorced, and I often find myself borrowing money from my elderly mother, who also helps me with household tasks. At 39 years old, I’m just beginning to navigate my first career. Each day is a struggle, but I am overwhelmed with gratitude.
No one wishes to confront the depths of emotional and physical anguish that I experienced. My tale is as tragic as they come, and every stereotype about alcoholic mothers rings true. I hit rock bottom. My last years of drinking involved downing vodka straight from the bottle, just to manage the shakes and nausea. My final drink led to a blackout while driving at 10 a.m., after I vanished from my job without notice. My visits with my children were court-ordered, and while they still loved me, I couldn’t fathom why. They held onto hope for me, seeing through the sour breath and the feigned smiles, recognizing the person I am today hiding beneath the surface. They waited for me.
I was a walking contradiction, full of broken promises and empty apologies. I missed celebrations, passed out in front of my kids, and believed the lies of alcoholism that told me I could drink just a little to stave off the shakes. This disease is deceitful, overtaking the mind, body, and spirit while affecting families and innocent children. It held me captive for far too long, and I danced to its tune, believing its fabrications and forgiving its betrayals.
I considered myself unemployable, unreliable, and (I thought) unlovable. Alcohol consumed me. It was my confidant and companion, my courage and my fear, my entertainment and my escape. It took precedence over my children, relationships, health, and sanity. Despite my desperate desire to quit, I craved alcohol in my veins every waking hour.
As I approached the end of my drinking days, I sensed the looming danger. I would enter a liquor store and leave with an ominous feeling that something terrible awaited me that night. Each morning began with a grim assessment of the night’s aftermath. This marked the beginning of the end; my disease was weakening. I no longer felt invincible, nor did I believe the lies of alcoholism.
I remember buying a gallon of vodka, fully aware that I would consume it all that night. The realization frightened me; I was preparing for my final surrender. That surrender came on February 3, 2014. I didn’t want to die; I recognized that I would lose my oldest daughter forever, a truth I could see in her eyes as she started to distance herself from me. She would not be deceived by this disease for much longer. On that Monday morning, for the first time in my adult life, I allowed myself to believe that perhaps, just perhaps, there was a better way to live.
Detox, a six-month inpatient rehabilitation program located an hour and a half away from my children, followed. I engaged in intensive therapy and attended AA meetings. Gradually, I began to appreciate some aspects of myself. I relearned how to live sober. I danced sober, laughed sober, cried sober, and felt emotions I had been numbing for years. I embraced a new lifestyle, committing to remain sober for today, no matter the cost.
I have inflicted pain on those I love—pain that I cannot undo. I strive not to do that today. My children waited for me, and I aim to ensure their patience was not in vain. Today, my financial status or credit score doesn’t define me. What matters is that I am sober, and that is my success story. I now live in acceptance, self-awareness, and gratitude, even being thankful for my darkest days, as they shaped me into who I am today.
A small flicker of hope on a fateful Monday morning transformed my life. Thanks to the principles of Alcoholics Anonymous, the growth of self-love, and the unwavering support of my family, I have celebrated 1,347 days of sobriety—one moment at a time. I have never felt happier.
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Summary
Emily Carter’s story illustrates her journey through addiction, hitting rock bottom and finding her way to sobriety. Despite the challenges of her past, she emphasizes gratitude, self-acceptance, and the support of loved ones as essential elements of her recovery. By focusing on the present and committing to sobriety, she has transformed her life and found happiness.