Day 522

Monday evening marked my return to the sober living house, the first time since I was “kicked out” during the period between Christmas and New Year’s. I had a delightful dinner with my former housemate, who still lives nearby. Our bond remains strong, and we even have plans to attend a Beth Hart concert together next week.During our meal, my caseworker from back then unexpectedly joined us. It was a pleasant surprise to see her, and the tight, hopeful hug we shared felt amazing. I proudly presented her with my second book as a gift, which I had initially intended to drop off at the office of the sober living house. However, this spontaneous encounter turned out to be even more convenient and enjoyable.As time passed, my friend Petra and I bid farewell to Roon, who was heading to a meeting to receive his 9-year sobriety chip. I felt a mix of anxiety and anticipation as we approached the sober living house, an old mansion exclusively for women. I sensed the energy growing denser, and I was relieved to see that those who had entered the house before or around the time of my departure were still there, indicating their continued sobriety. Unfortunately, someone who arrived after I left relapsed over the weekend, serving as a stark reminder of the importance of diligently working the recovery program each day.Monday evening, I gathered at the house to share my recovery story, something I had always declined in the past. It was particularly challenging since there were restrictions on discussing triggering topics. As I sat there, nervous as ever, I tightly clutched my anxiety device, feeling the weight of everyone’s gaze upon me. I wondered what thoughts were running through each person’s mind. I couldn’t help but feel a twinge of disappointment that one of the beloved “house moms” I had grown fond of was not on duty that evening.As I began speaking, my anxiety intensified, and I checked in with myself. Though I felt anxious and nervous, I reassured myself that I was okay. I did my best to tell my story, and a sense of relief washed over me when it was over. Beads of sweat trickled between my breasts, and my dress clung to me like a confession exposed.Nevertheless, I had done it. Being in the spotlight was not my preference; I have always been and will forever be a wallflower. I find comfort in sharing my words while hiding in the shadows.I hope that my story conveyed faith, hope, and a longing for a better life. I wished for everything to turn out alright, and I had faith in the resilience of those listening. The group of women who sat before me were diverse, hailing from various cultures, backgrounds, and struggling with different forms of substance abuse. Yet, they all shared two commonalities: addiction and the desire for a better future.Today, I feel tired and somewhat melancholic. It’s a familiar response when my emotions become overwhelming. I still struggle to manage these intense feelings all at once and know that I need a few days of solitude to recharge.And that’s perfectly okay. I understand my patterns and what I must do. However, it remains a challenge each time. Like others, I too am propelled forward by faith, hope, and longing. Along my journey, I have also learned to embrace trust. Trust that if I prioritize self-care, everything will ultimately be well.

©️ Stephanie Haveman