Physical and emotional sobriety.

One year ago today, I hit rock bottom. I hope one day to share the full details of that harrowing experience, but for now, I am still too riddled with shame and embarrassment.

For the first three decades of my life, I managed to survive through sheer persistence and my own willpower. I was obsessed (perhaps addicted) to people pleasing and external validation, and thus, I overdeveloped my own sense of responsibility. I wasn’t just responsible for myself; I was responsible for the entire world. For a long time, this enhanced my self-esteem, because it fed my need to be needed. And so, I created perceived constructs of control. As long as I was in control, nothing could go wrong. Control was the antidote to the chaos surrounding me.  

That was all working fine and dandy (not), until I ran out of spiritual gas.

When my tank hit empty, I fueled it with a plethora of unhealthy coping mechanisms, including abusing alcohol.

Control, my dearest friend, had turned against me.

My life, ironically, was spiraling out of control.

And then came the bottom.

As I clawed my way back from the bottom, I gave up alcohol. But staying physically dry wasn’t enough. Alcohol abuse was the symptom, but I needed to understand the cause.

Emotional sobriety was the goal.

What does emotional sobriety look like? It’s ongoing, intentional work.

For me, it means trading in people pleasing for boundary setting, even at the sake of disappointing others (a concept I couldn’t comprehend a year ago). It means replacing external validation and codependency with self-love and genuine connection. It means not trying to change others, but instead, detaching from toxic behaviors – especially when the aim is to hook me into fear, guilt, or shame. It means accepting that I don’t have to fight for relationships to work when the other person is emotionally unavailable or unsound. It means understanding that I do not have control over my own feelings, but I do have control over how I react to those feelings. It means accepting unabashed peace into my life and protecting that peace at all costs.

Emotional sobriety means I am done forfeiting my own self-care and health for the good of the system.

I don’t apply these concepts to my life easily. Boundary setting is incredibly challenging for me. The guilt of putting my own emotional needs above the needs of others, at times, is soul-crushing. In some scenarios, it has resulted in detaching from people who I genuinely love and care for deeply. I don’t engage with those who do not respect boundaries, especially those who are committed to loving only the old version of me, the sick version. The agreeable version.

Today, one year removed from my rock bottom, I act in my own best interest. This is not selfishness, it’s self-love. And when I love myself – truly, fully and authentically – everyone around me is better for it.

To close, I will share a story from my daily devotional, The Language of Letting Go.

One day, my son brought a gerbil home to live with us. We put it in a cage. Some time later, the gerbil escaped. For the next six months, the animal ran frightened and wild through the house. So did we – chasing it.

"There it is. Get it!" we'd scream, each time someone spotted the gerbil.

I, or my son, would throw down whatever we were working on, race across the house, and lunge at the animal hoping to catch it. I worried about it, even when we didn't see it.

"This isn't right," I'd think. "I can't have a gerbil running loose in the house. We've got to catch it. We've got to do something."

A small animal, the size of a mouse had the entire household in a tizzy.

One day, while sitting in the living room, I watched the animal scurry across the hallway. In frenzy, I started to lunge at it, as I usually did, then I stopped myself.

No, I said, I'm all done. If that animal wants to live in the nooks and crannies of this house, I'm going to let it. I'm done worrying about it. I'm done chasing it. It's an irregular circumstance, but that's just the way it's going to have to be. I let the gerbil run past without reacting. I felt slightly uncomfortable with my new reaction – not reacting – but I stuck to it anyway. I got more comfortable with my new reaction – not reacting. Before long, I became downright peaceful with the situation. I had stopped fighting the gerbil.

One afternoon, only weeks after I started practicing my new attitude, the gerbil ran by me, as it had so many times, and I barely glanced at it. The animal stopped in its tracks, turned around, and looked at me. I started to lunge at it. It started to run away. I relaxed.

"Fine," I said. "Do what you want." And I meant it.

One hour later, the gerbil came and stood by me and waited. I gently picked it up and placed it in its cage, where it has lived happily ever since.

The moral of the story? Don't lunge at the gerbil. He's already frightened, and chasing him just scares him more and makes us crazy.

Detachment works.

Today, I will be comfortable with my new reaction – not reacting. I will feel at peace.