Nine thousand one hundred thirty-one days divided by 365 equals
Today is a milestone in my sobriety – I've now been sober for as many years as I drank.
(You can read my story here. I've been marking this occasion on this or my previous blog for nine years now, and it's easier for both of us to just point you to the first time I told it.)
In meetings, when you announce a sobriety "birthday," you're often asked, "How'd you do it?" And my answer always has been, "One day at a time."
I have to admit that this birthday seems a teensy bit more significant. Evening out the drunk days with the sober ones is something to think about. It's … a moment.
But it's just one moment among many.
I'm not the same person I was at 14, when I had my first drink, or at 39, when I had my last one. I'm not perfect now, none of us are. I've learned a lot about myself along the way, most importantly this: I can't do life alone.
Sometimes I need you, and sometimes you need me. Twenty-five years of sobriety has given me the gift of community. I'm no longer on that island of stubborn independence, spiraling downward and afraid to ask for help, although it's still sometimes difficult to request assistance.
Will I ever get over that? I guess the upcoming surgery experience will provide some answers.
What I have overcome – and I can honestly say this – is the feeling that you don't need me. I have gifts to give; we all do. Staying sober has allowed me to be generous with them.
Thank you for reading. Thank you for being a part of my real or on-line life. Thank you for helping me stay sober for 25 years … one day at a time.