Still Sober, But Barely
I haven’t shared this with anyone. Admitting when emotions like despair or guilt take over—and the urge to drink creeps back in—is terrifying. After more than six years of sobriety, the thoughts don’t disappear entirely, but the urges usually do. Unless something big happens.
For me, sobriety thrives on routine. A carefully curated life with structure and healthy goals keeps me grounded. But major disruptions, like a global pandemic or, more recently, October 30, 2024, can throw me completely off balance. When the ground beneath me feels shaky, I need two things: to call someone—my sponsor, a trusted friend, or family member—and to get outside. A walk under towering Doug Firs and Ponderosa Pines reminds me how small I am, making my problems feel smaller too.
Sometimes, I also need stillness. One of the wisest pieces of advice I ever received in AA was to “sit still and hurt.” Don’t react to the discomfort. Just feel it. Cry, clench your fists, clench your jaw and stay silent or scream and punch the ground! Whatever you choose —but stay with the pain. That practice has saved me from regret more times than I can count.
But this time, the pain demanded a strength in me I didn’t know existed. That quiet kind of strength where you absolutely know all control is out of your hands and the only answer is to remain calm, make the next best decision and listen carefully.
It was a Wednesday evening, right before dinner, when my 13-year-old daughter tried to take her own life. She took a handful of her ADHD medication then came to me hours later to confess. Even here and now, I have to repeat that; my 13-year-old tried to kill herself.
We made it to the ER though, just in time. That night, and the two weeks that followed, felt unreal—like a fever dream.
“Cry, clench your fists, clench your jaw in silence or scream and punch the ground, whatever you choose --but stay with the pain. Sit still and hurt.”
She told me later, “I just suddenly felt like you would be better off if I didn’t exist.”
The guilt, anger, shame, and sadness threatened to consume me. I hid my feelings for two reasons: first, out of respect for my daughter. She didn’t want anyone to know, and her fragile state demanded privacy. Second, I needed and still need time to make sense of my emotions, to determine which are valid and which are fueled by my inner critic.
And yet, a dark voice crept in: What was the point of quitting drinking if you can’t heal your own kid sober? You worthless piece of shit, you’ve ruined her life completely.
That’s all addiction needs—a sliver of doubt to slip through the door and then the windfall of self-loathing, self-deprecation and shame hits you like 100ft wave. Suddenly I was drowning inside but doing my best to hide the signs of weakness. I know where that path leads: blackouts, empty accounts, more shame, and bigger regret. So this time, I didn’t let it take me there. My kids need their mom—especially now. And I need to be sober if we have any shot at making it through this.
I haven’t picked up a drink. I’m grateful that alcohol no longer has the power over me it once did. Three years ago, I might have relapsed.
This situation truly challenged 6 years of recovery. This event challenged my confidence as a mother, my faith and my reflex to isolate in shame.
The shadow work for both my daughter and myself started here: What feelings, behaviors or thoughts do I avoid or feel too uncomfortable expressing?
My daughter came to realize her hidden thoughts of unworthiness, shame about being transgender and her fear of intrusive thoughts.
For me; I avoid anger and fear. I tell myself it’s because I want to stay strong in the faces of my kids but the truth is I avoid those feelings because by admitting I am angry that my kid doesn’t feel loved or accepted and terrified that eventually these feelings inside them will manifest into deeper isolation and addiction, is me admitting my own feelings of insecurity. I have to admit I’m to blame and force myself in the mirror reminding myself 1. it’s time to forgive myself for past mistakes and 2. I cannot control my inner environment by manipulating my external environment.
By digging deep right away to what we hide the most we were able to start the process of comforting each other and also ourselves. Bringing what lies in the shadows of our minds into the light we force shame out of the equation and empower one another towards living a life of authenticity and transparency. There’s so much confidence born from that.
We’re certainly not healed and it’s impossible to tell if the worst is behind us but at least I’m still sober and my baby girl is sitting in the room with me. We’re here, we’re present and we’re leaning on each other in ways I never dreamed possible because of the hardest and scariest moment either of us have experienced yet. The fact that she’s still here and so many other teens aren’t isn’t a statistic that escapes me. I’m wildly grateful and holding so much tender loving space for those that have experienced the loss of a loved one falling victim to the tragedy of self-harm.
I don’t want any of us going through this alone. So if you need support or just someone to listen, I’m here. Please don’t be hesitant to reach out and grab a copy of my shadow work reflection journal, it helps!
With love and care,
Jenn
