When I walked through the doors of recovery 18 years ago, I carried more than just my addiction. I carried shame, fear, and the heavy question of whether change was really possible for someone like me. Over the years, I’ve learned something important: relapse does not have to be the end of the story. Not everyone in recovery experiences relapse, but for those of us who have, what matters most is not how many times we fell, but that we chose, again and again, to get back up.
Recovery is not a solo journey. Families and loved ones carry their own kind of weight- the fear, the heartbreak, the cautiously optimistic hope that maybe this time will be different. For so long, even when I was able to put some clean time together, I felt like everyone in my life was waiting for the other shoe to drop. They loved me, they cheered me on, they wanted what was best for me, but I could still feel the fear in the room. And I understood it. I had given them reasons to be afraid. Carrying that unspoken tension often filled me with guilt and shame.
But there came a point where I decided I could no longer live as a captive to the fear of when or if I might fall again. My sponsor gave me an image I still carry today: instead of waiting for the other shoe to drop, I kicked them off and ran barefoot through the fields of serenity. I stopped trying to perform like a tap dancer waiting for applause and began making recovery a daily choice. For me, each morning, I chose to be a little better than the day before. I chose joy. I chose life. I chose freedom.
To anyone reading this who loves someone battling addiction: relapse does not erase progress, and it does not mean hope is lost. Your loved one may carry guilt and shame you cannot see, but your support matters more than you realize. I couldn’t imagine the life I live today when I was in the thick of it, but I stand as proof that miracles are possible.
As long as there’s a heartbeat, there’s hope.
Jamie, in Recovery
