Yesterday, I was proud of myself. I was still in a minor state of disbelief that I’d made it a year without drinking, but I was proud. And that was such a strange feeling for me.
I tried to let myself bask in it. To not push down that feeling of accomplishment with reminders about how this is a process and I still have a lot of work ahead of me. I smiled big, received hugs, and every time someone told me they were proud of me I tried to remember to say, “Me, too.”
So often, I am quick to discredit myself. Make excuses for hard work, like I somehow just got lucky. It’s easier to focus on what I haven’t done than to ever take a moment to congratulate myself on a job well done. There is always so much more to do.
Throughout the day I decided to just let myself reflect on what big deal a year of sobriety is. But I’d soon find myself letting that bleed into thinking, “If I can do that, why can’t I do this?”
Always pushing forward. I’m torn between wanting to always be growing, be learning, be reaching and allowing myself a moment to look at how far I’ve gone. I’m petrified of stagnation, but avoiding it compulsively—and at any cost—is also paralyzing.
Oh, the no-win lives we build ourselves.