Tag: shingles

  • 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,