RECOVERY STORY OF THE MONTH
I’m Rachel D, and my sobriety date is June 30, 2023. Growing up was chaotic, but I still had hopes and dreams. I didn’t set out to burn my life down. I just wanted the noise in my head to quiet and the ache in my chest to ease. The first time I put substances in my body, it felt like someone had finally found the dimmer switch on my fear. I didn’t know it then, but I had just handed over my coping to something that didn’t care if I lived or died—only that I kept feeding it.
My using was lonely. It looked like promises I meant but couldn’t keep. It looked like saying I was fine while I was bleeding out emotionally. It looked like lying to people who loved me, then resenting them for noticing. Addiction taught me a sick math — the more I tried to control it, the more it controlled me. My world shrank until it was just me, the substance, and the next excuse.
I stayed sober for two years, but I confused compliance with surrender.
When I walked into Jean Marie in November 2019, I had a stroke that forced me to relearn how to walk and talk. That should have been my permanent wake-up. I stayed sober for two years, but I confused compliance with surrender. I performed recovery instead of living it. On the outside, I looked okay. Inside, I was exhausted, scared, and resentful that life still hurt even though I wasn’t using. Little by little, I stopped protecting my sobriety. I got busy and skipped meetings. I told myself I’d call my sponsor tomorrow. I let the steps slide because ‘life’ was happening. I called isolation – independence. I drifted from my Higher Power and called it maturity. I thought the rules didn’t apply to me because I had time and a ‘strong mind.’
The phenomenon of craving isn’t always a punch in the face—sometimes it’s a soft voice whispering, ‘one won’t hurt,’ until I believe the lie. I relapsed. I wish I could tell you it was a noble choice, but it wasn’t. I folded. Relief beat out reality. For a moment, the fear, the shame, the anxiety – gone. But the cost came due. The lies multiplied. The distance from my kids wasn’t just measured in miles, but in broken trust. I went from promising them security to praying they wouldn’t see the truth in my eyes. The disease demanded more, and I paid in dignity.
The disease demanded more, and I paid in dignity.
When I came back through the doors of Jean Marie June 2023, I was defensive, embarrassed, and desperate. I sat in a chair and let other people’s hope hold me up until I had some of my own. I reached out for a sponsor and leaned on her when I wanted to run. I put pen to paper and wrote an inventory that made my stomach turn. I told the truth, even when it shattered the mask I’d been hiding behind. I made amends from the heart, not with conditions. I prayed until those prayers turned into light breaking through the darkness. Life didn’t suddenly get easy when I got sober. But I became available to my life.
Today, I am a mother who shows up—present for an 8-year-old who watches my eyes and a teenager who needs consistency more than speeches. They don’t need me perfect; they need me honest and sober. If I don’t protect my sobriety, my kids don’t just lose their mom— they lose their safe place. When I stop doing the things that keep me well, I start becoming the person who uses again. But when I stay in this program, when I lean on God and the fellowship, I get freedom. Not just freedom from the drink or the drug—but freedom to live, to show up, to love, and to be loved. I didn’t come here to get my old life back—I came here to build a new one. And today, by the grace of God and this fellowship, I am free.