Who I am today is not who I was ten years ago. I always asserted that nobody changes. “People can’t change,” I would say. This always held true until one day I looked in the mirror and realized that I changed. Others told me that I had changed. My appearance start changed. I got color back in my skin and I put weight on. I realized that I was changing on the inside too, specifically in the way that I communicated. My word choices and my mood became uplifting and hopeful. I was wrong. People do change.

My sobriety began with listening and watching other people in recovery. Listening to like-minded people suffering from the same disease made me feel normal. In college I could go to a party, hang out with friends at a bar, and sit in a circle with over 50 sorority sisters and still feel alone.

At 42 years old, over 20 years later, I was open and honest with one person and asked for help which cracked open the door to finally connect with others. With that one cry for help a chain of events began in my life. I learned that the world wasn’t out to get me, that people did care how I felt, and that I could be vulnerable. I didn’t have to hide behind alcohol pretending to be brave and strong to always protect myself. Alcohol added a protective numbing layer around me so that things didn’t hurt so bad. Maybe they hurt just as bad, but I didn’t feel the impact right away. I didn’t process my feelings in real time, if at all.

I understand today that my disease of alcoholism is a rare gift that I was given. This gift of extreme suffering enabled me to grow bigger and faster than I ever would have if I wasn’t an alcoholic. My disease allowed me to connect with other people so that I could finally stop feeling alone. I no longer had to feel like I wasn’t good enough, I wasn’t smart enough, and I wasn’t pretty enough. I could open my mouth and share about what was going on inside me. I shed lots of tears and nobody judged me for it. I was so nervous to share. I spent so much time thinking about what I was going say that I stopped listening to what other people were saying. By watching other newcomers I saw that too is completely normal.

How many times throughout the day do you actually tell somebody what’s going on inside of you? Talking about the stuff that nobody else can see inside you is where the freedom is. In the beginning, it was hard to unravel what was going on inside me. Practicing the steps of my sobriety program helped me to unravel it. I’ve been gifted with the opportunity to show up every day and practice my program to slowly discover who I am.

I had so much pain inside me that I couldn’t see beyond it. I had stockpiled so much in my dark place, and I finally shone the light on it. I repeatedly received a comforting response reinforcing me to be honest. As others accepted me for who I was, I began to feel like maybe I wasn’t so bad. My recovery fellowship loved me until I could love myself.

The way that I see the world has changed, and the way that the world impacts me has changed. I’m responsible for my happiness and my relationships with other people. I can still hurt, of course, but my sobriety program helps me navigate painful experiences with the ability to see the growth opportunity within them.

Today I compare myself to play dough. When I was drinking and the world hurt me, it was like being punched. The pain left a big indent in who I was. As a sober alcoholic, I’m being constantly molded. Who I am today is going to be totally different than who I am 10 years from now. Today I picture myself in God’s hands. He is gently molding me every day. Every time I get vulnerable and am in a situation where I’m fearful, I shift my mindset from fear to recognize the opportunity for me to learn and be molded. Some days I resist because I’m human. However, when I’m newly reshaped by my experiences, I’m always grateful.