01/01/2026
January 1st
Dear Me,
Today I pause, not to rush ahead, not to prove anything, but to honor you.
Twelve years sober.
After decades of chaos, destruction, burned bridges, broken promises, and surviving things you never thought you would. This day matters. You matter.
I know where you came from. I remember the nights filled with shame, fear, and self-loathing. The mornings where you swore it would be different, while secretly wondering if you were even capable of change. I remember how heavy life felt when you were running from yourself, numbing pain you didn’t yet have words for.
And still; you stayed.
You stayed when leaving would’ve been easier.
You stayed when the cravings screamed.
You stayed when the guilt tried to convince you that you didn’t deserve a better life.
You learned how to sit with discomfort instead of escaping it.
You learned how to feel again, joy, grief, love, anger, without destroying yourself in the process.
You learned that strength isn’t loud or dramatic; it’s quiet, consistent, and often invisible.
Twelve years ago, you didn’t get sober because you were confident.
You got sober because you were desperate, and brave enough to ask for help.
Since then, you’ve rebuilt a life with honesty, humility, and purpose. You’ve turned pain into service, scars into wisdom, and survival into leadership. You’ve shown up for others in ways you once needed someone to show up for you.
You are not defined by your worst years.
You are defined by your decision to change.
So today, I thank you:
For choosing life.
For choosing accountability.
For choosing growth, even when it hurt.
For becoming someone you can respect.
This journey was never about perfection. It was about progress, integrity, and staying true to the work, one day at a time.
I am proud of you. I trust you. And I am deeply grateful that you didn’t give up.
Here’s to twelve years of sobriety. Here’s to the man you’ve become. And here’s to the quiet promise you keep every single day—to keep going.
With gratitude and respect,
Me.