Tag: mental-health

  • Unheard, But Healing: Learning to Be Seen in Sobriety

    For so many years, I felt unseen and unheard.

    My talents went unnoticed, my passions unappreciated, and slowly, that dimmed the light inside me.

    I used to pour my heart into things I loved, creative projects, ideas, words that mattered to me, only to be met with silence or surface-level support. The hardest part wasn’t the lack of applause, it was hearing people praise others for the same things I’d been doing all along. It left me wondering, Why not me? Why am I invisible in the eyes of the people I love most?

    That quiet kind of pain is heavy. It makes you want to retreat, to stop sharing, to stop caring. And for a long time, I did, or at least I tried to numb the ache of it.

    Before I got sober, those moments of being overlooked were my biggest triggers. I’d reach for a glass of wine to dull the sting or pour vodka just to escape the sadness of feeling like a shadow in my own life. I thought alcohol made me stronger, more confident, less affected. But the truth is, it only made me smaller. It silenced me even more.

    Now, almost three years into sobriety, I notice everything more clearly, the subtle hurts, the dismissive words, the moments of being left out or unheard. It’s almost as if clarity is both a blessing and a burden. Sobriety has stripped away the fog, and with it, all the excuses I used to make for people who couldn’t or wouldn’t see me.

    One of my biggest struggles lately has been feeling unheard.

    I share my heart, sometimes vulnerably, sometimes boldly, and it’s often met with a polite nod, a quick hug, or silence. That silence used to send me spiraling. It still stings sometimes.

    But instead of drinking, I write.

    Instead of hiding, I share my story.

    And instead of numbing, I sit with it, all of it.

    Because when I share here, whether it’s on my blog or social media, I am heard. Maybe not by the people I hoped would listen, but by strangers who have become kindred spirits. People who are walking through the same pain, fighting the same battles, and craving the same healing.

    That’s the beauty of sobriety, it reconnects you to your truth. It helps you realize that you don’t need validation to be valuable, and you don’t need applause to have purpose.

    Drinking won’t make them hear you.

    It won’t make them understand your heart.

    It won’t turn the silence into support.

    It will only deepen the sadness you’re trying so hard to escape.

    Sobriety isn’t just about removing alcohol.. it’s about reclaiming yourself. It’s about facing the hard things instead of drowning them. It’s about learning to stand tall in your truth, even when no one claps, and realizing that being seen by yourself is the most powerful recognition of all.

    If you’re in that place, where you feel unseen, unheard, or unappreciated, please know this: you’re not alone. So many of us in recovery have walked that same road. We’ve learned that the silence of others doesn’t define our worth, and it doesn’t get to dim our light anymore.

    Keep shining, even when no one notices.

    Keep showing up, even when no one claps.

    You’re building a life where you finally see and hear yourself, and that’s the most beautiful sound of all.

  • The Truth About My Shingles Battle

    I’ve been quiet lately—because I’ve been healing. Not just physically, but emotionally too.

    I recently had a painful shingles outbreak. And while it might sound like just another flare-up to some, for me, it was a harsh reminder: my body doesn’t handle stress like it used to.

    Any form of pressure—whether physical, emotional, or even just a busy week—can leave me completely broken. Weak. Worn down. Exhausted. And this time, it hit me hard.

    What made it even more difficult was realizing that in the past, I would’ve numbed all of this with alcohol. I wouldn’t have sat in the pain. I wouldn’t have felt the fear. I wouldn’t have had to face the questions like “Will I ever feel normal again?” or “Why is my body always fighting something?”

    But I’m sober now. And sobriety doesn’t let you run.

    It makes you feel everything.
    It forces you to sit in the mess.
    And it teaches you that healing isn’t always pretty—but it is powerful.

    I won’t lie. There were moments I wanted to escape, to go back to the old way of coping. But I didn’t. Because I’ve come too far to go backward.

    This is the raw, unfiltered side of sobriety that no one posts about.
    The sick days. The dark days. The lonely moments when your old life whispers, “It was easier back then.”

    But it wasn’t. I was just more numb.
    Now I feel everything. And while it hurts, it also means I’m truly alive.

    If you’re in a battle—physically, mentally, or spiritually—please know this: you’re not weak for feeling broken. You’re brave for choosing to face it without the escape.

    This is Sober Without Secrets.
    No hiding. No pretending. Just healing—day by day.

  • When Sobriety Meets Suffering: Shingles, Pain, and the Power of Staying the Course

    This week has brought me to my knees, literally and spiritually.

    I was diagnosed with shingles, and not just anywhere, on my eye. The pain is excruciating. It feels like someone lit a fire behind my face and it won’t go out. My eye is swollen, my head is throbbing, and every nerve on the left side of my face is screaming. It’s terrifying. Not only because of the physical pain, but because shingles in the eye can threaten your vision. That kind of fear can rattle you to your core.

    And let me be brutally honest: in moments like this, my old self starts whispering to me.
    “Just one drink. Just one cigarette. Just one moment to take the edge off.”

    That was my go-to comfort before. In pain, in panic, in sadness, I numbed. That’s how I survived back then. But now, I’m sober. And I’m not just sober when it’s easy. I’m learning how to be sober when it’s excruciating.

    There’s nothing easy about walking through a health crisis without your old crutches. My body is screaming, my nerves are shot, and my emotions feel like a rollercoaster. I’ve cried from the pain. I’ve cried from the fear. I’ve cried from the sheer exhaustion of holding the line.

    But I’m still holding.

    Because in this moment, I’m not turning to the bottle or the lighter, I’m turning to God.
    To prayer.
    To worship.
    To quiet moments of begging Him to get me through the next hour.

    And He is. He doesn’t always take the pain away. But He does meet me in it.

    I wanted to share this not because I have it all together, I don’t. But because someone out there might be going through their own storm and wondering how to hold on without falling back. This is your reminder: You can. You can do hard things. You can stay sober through the fire. You can cry and still be strong. You can feel broken and still be healing.

    Shingles on my eye may have knocked me down, but it hasn’t taken my sobriety. And it won’t. Because I’ve fought too long and too hard to get here.

    This is just one chapter, not the whole story.

    So I’m choosing faith over fear. Prayer over panic. Sobriety over suffering.

    And if you’re walking through pain too—physical, emotional, spiritual—I’m walking right beside you.

    We don’t have to hide our hard days.
    We don’t have to keep secrets anymore.
    We heal out loud.
    We stay sober—even in the storm.

    With love and honesty,

  • The Things I Once Prayed For (And Sometimes Forget to See)

    There’s something sacred about looking around your life and realizing you’re living inside answered prayers.

    The home.

    The kids.

    The health.

    The steady love.

    The moments of peace you once thought you’d never feel.

    And yet… lately, I’ve been struggling. Not in a way that screams for help, but in that quiet, heavy way that makes you forget how far you’ve come.

    It’s not that I’m ungrateful — I am. I know how hard my husband has worked for this life. I know how much has changed. But mentally and emotionally, I’ve been going through a storm. There are days I feel lost in my own head, like I’m constantly searching for where I belong and if what I bring to the table is even seen.

    Motherhood is hard.

    Marriage is hard.

    Being a working mom is hard.

    Being a stay-at-home mom is hard.

    Trying to show up for everyone while figuring out who you are is hard.

    Lately, I’ve been diving deep into the Let Them theory by Mel Robbins — the idea that when you finally get through something big, your mind and body kind of crash. You let your guard down. You fall apart after the breakthrough.

    That hit me. Because that’s exactly where I’ve been.

    After years of pushing through survival mode, after getting sober, after building this beautiful life — I’m now sitting in the emotional release. And it’s confusing. Because why would I feel down when everything looks so good?

    But I get it now.

    It’s a letdown. A pause. A chance to process.

    Sobriety, too, has stripped away all the numbing I used to rely on. No more hiding behind a glass of wine. No more muting the shame or the self-doubt. I’m feeling everything now — and that’s powerful, but it’s also hard.

    The tears I used to cry.

    The prayers I used to whisper.

    They built the foundation of this life I’m standing in.

    I’m still healing.

    I’m still learning to love myself — especially the parts of me that I used to hide.

    And I’m still figuring out how to be proud of where I’ve been because it’s what made me the wife, mother, and hard-working woman I am today.

    Today I was listening to a podcast with Mel Robbins and Jay Shetty, and one thing really stood out:

    It’s okay to notice things in others — even to feel judgment or jealousy — but don’t let it harden you. Let it inspire you.

    That’s been a huge shift for me.

    Instead of letting someone else’s success make me feel “less than,” I’m learning to say: “If it’s possible for them, maybe it’s possible for me, too.”

    So here’s your reminder — and mine:

    You are allowed to be overwhelmed and still be grateful.

    You are allowed to grieve your past while celebrating your growth.

    You are allowed to feel it all.

    And you are never alone in that.

    The life you’re living now?

    You once prayed for it.

    Don’t forget to see it.

  • Clarity Over Chaos: How Returning to My Career Sober Has Changed Everything

    Before March 2023, I was living in a fog—mentally, emotionally, and physically. From the outside, it may have seemed like I had it all together, but behind the scenes, I was battling health issues, chronic anxiety, and a quiet internal chaos that alcohol only made worse. I was exhausted, disconnected, over weight and running on empty.

    When I made the decision to get sober, I didn’t fully realize how much my life was about to change. I knew I needed to heal. I knew I wanted to be more present for my family. What I didn’t know was that sobriety would eventually lead me back to my career—not just as the woman I used to be, but as someone completely renewed.

    Taking a break from work was one of the hardest choices I made. I felt guilty, uncertain, and a little lost. But now I can say, without hesitation, it was one of the best decisions I’ve ever made. I needed that space to breathe, to process, to reset. I needed time to learn how to take care of myself again. Not just my physical body, but my soul.

    Now, I’m back in my career with more energy, more confidence, and more clarity than I’ve ever had. I’m not dragging around the emotional weight that alcohol once tried to bury. I’m no longer navigating work with a cloudy mind or low self-esteem. I walk into each day with a sense of peace and purpose that only sobriety could give me.

    What’s different this time?
    Everything.

    I’m no longer trying to prove myself through burnout or chasing validation through work. I’m showing up because I love what I do. I’m driven by passion, not pressure. I’m building relationships with authenticity and actually enjoying the process instead of just pushing through the motions.

    Sobriety didn’t just give me my life back—it gave me me back. And that has made all the difference.

    If you’re in a place where you’re wondering if a reset might be what you need—this is your sign. You don’t lose time when you step away to get healthy. You gain strength, vision, and a solid foundation to come back stronger than ever.

    This next chapter of my career isn’t just a comeback—it’s a whole new beginning. And I’m stepping into it with clear eyes, a full heart, and a freedom I never knew was possible.

    Here’s to doing it sober. Here’s to doing it well.

  • The Moment Everything Shifted: When I Took Back My Life

    There was a time when I walked through life feeling like I was constantly under attack. Every rejection, every cold shoulder, every unreturned call felt personal—like proof that I wasn’t enough. I spent years carrying the weight of assumptions, believing that people were intentionally hurting me, leaving me out, dismissing my feelings. And it broke me.

    But then, something shifted.

    I realized that people weren’t trying to hurt me at all. They were just trying to survive. They were protecting themselves in the only ways they knew how. Their silence, their distance, their detachment—it wasn’t a reflection of my worth. It was a reflection of their fears, their struggles, their own battles that I couldn’t see.

    And when I let go of the idea that I was the target, I found peace.

    Love Is More Than Words

    I used to think love had to be spoken. That if someone truly cared, they’d say it loud and clear. But life has a way of teaching us the lessons we most resist.

    Love doesn’t always come in the form of words. It’s in the way someone checks in on you, even if they don’t have the right things to say. It’s in the way they sit beside you in your silence, not needing to fill the space with empty comforts. It’s in the small, unnoticed acts—the coffee made just the way you like it, the text that simply says, “thinking of you.”

    Love exists in gestures, in patience, in presence. And just because it doesn’t look the way I once thought it should, doesn’t make it any less real.

    The Power of Alignment

    I spent so much time feeling disconnected, like I was living a version of myself that didn’t quite fit. I said things I didn’t mean, I made choices that didn’t align with my values, and I let my actions contradict the person I wanted to be.

    And it left me exhausted.

    Then, I learned that true magic happens when my thoughts, values, and actions finally align. This is integrity—not just honesty, but wholeness. The moment I stopped trying to be who the world expected me to be and started honoring who I truly am, everything changed. Life felt lighter. My relationships felt deeper. The noise in my head quieted.

    I wasn’t chasing something anymore. I was finally living it.

    Judgment and Acceptance: A Mirror to Myself

    I used to be quick to judge. I’d see someone make a choice I didn’t agree with, and I’d form opinions about their character, their motives, their worth. I didn’t realize that my judgment wasn’t about them—it was about me.

    Every criticism I had for someone else was a reflection of something I hadn’t yet accepted in myself. My discomfort with their choices was actually my own internal struggle, my own lingering insecurities.

    But when I started showing myself grace—when I embraced the parts of me that I used to reject—I found that I had more grace to give to others. The way I saw the world changed. The way I saw people changed. And most importantly, the way I saw myself changed.

    This Life Is Mine

    And maybe the most powerful thing I’ve learned—the thing that truly set me free—is that this life is mine.

    I get to decide what meaning I make from my experiences. I get to choose the story I tell about myself, about my past, about the road ahead. I get to define my purpose, my path, my worth.

    I am not a supporting character in my own life. I am the writer. The narrator. The one who decides how this story unfolds.

    And knowing that? Feeling that deep in my bones? It gave me the courage to truly live.

    To Anyone Who Needs to Hear This…

    If you’re struggling, if you’re carrying the weight of feeling unseen, unheard, misunderstood—I want you to know that you are not alone. You are not too much. You are not unworthy. You are not the sum of your worst days or the rejections you’ve faced.

    You are growing. You are learning. You are becoming.

    And when the moment comes—the moment when everything shifts, when you finally see yourself with the same love and grace you offer others—you’ll realize that your story is still yours to write.

    And it’s going to be beautiful.