Giving up is no longer an option for me. One misstep, a fleeting moment of self-pity, could shatter the fragile world I’ve built around love and meaning. To an observer, my existence might appear dismal: I’m a single mother, barely making ends meet in a cramped apartment with my three children. There are times I struggle to find the funds for gas or groceries. My credit score? A dismal 450. I rely on my aging mother for financial help and assistance with household chores. At 39, I find myself just starting a new career, living day by day, yet I am overwhelmed with gratitude for the journey I’ve undertaken.
No one willingly faces the depths of emotional and physical torment that I have experienced. My story echoes the tragic tales of many alcoholic mothers. I reached the lowest point of my life, drinking vodka straight from the bottle just to find some relief from the shakes and nausea. My final moments of intoxication culminated in a reckless drive during a blackout, leaving my job without notice. My interactions with my children were court-ordered and supervised. Despite everything, they still loved me. It’s hard to fathom how they maintained hope for me, seeing past my hollow smile and recognizing the person I strive to be. They waited for me to find my way back.
I was a series of unkept promises and hollow apologies. I missed birthdays and passed out in front of my children. My addiction led me to believe I could drink without losing control—just enough to stave off withdrawal. But alcoholism is a deceptive illness that consumes the mind, body, and spirit, ensnaring families and innocent children. It held me captive, and I danced in its grip, believing its lies and forgiving its betrayals.
I believed I was unemployable and unlovable. Alcohol had become my everything—my confidant, my source of courage, my entertainment, my reason for living and my desire for death. I desperately wanted to stop drinking, yet I craved it more than anything else.
In my final months of drinking, I sensed that my time was running out. I entered liquor stores with an ominous feeling that something terrible awaited me that night. I would wake each morning, surveying the wreckage of my life. This marked the beginning of my transformation; the illusion of invincibility shattered as I recognized the truth about my addiction.
I remember buying a gallon of vodka, knowing I would finish it that night. A chill ran through me as I prepared for my surrender. That moment arrived on February 3, 2014. I didn’t want to die. I realized I would lose my oldest daughter forever if I continued. I could see it in her eyes; she was beginning to pull away from me. That Monday morning, for the first time as an adult, I felt a flicker of hope that there might be a better way to live.
Detox followed, along with a six-month rehabilitation program far from my children. Intensive therapy and Alcoholics Anonymous meetings became my new routine. Gradually, I learned to appreciate aspects of myself I had long neglected. I rediscovered life without alcohol; I danced, laughed, cried, and felt emotions I had buried for years. I embraced a new way of living, committing to sobriety one day at a time.
I have caused pain to my loved ones that I cannot erase. Today, I avoid inflicting that hurt. My children waited for me, and I intend to make their patience worthwhile. I no longer concern myself with my bank balance or credit score; my sobriety has become my true success story. I live in a state of acceptance, self-awareness, and gratitude—even for the darkest days that shaped me.
A small spark of hope on that fateful Monday morning changed everything for me. With the support of Alcoholics Anonymous, a growing sense of self-love, and my family’s unwavering belief in me, I now celebrate 1,347 days of sobriety, one moment at a time. I have never felt happier.
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