I can still remember what it felt like to live in that fog, the constant heaviness, the ache behind my eyes before the first drink, and the only two thoughts that truly existed in my mind: “When can I drink?” and “Why can’t I stop?” There was no room for dreams, no motivation, no sense of direction… just this low-grade dread that followed me from the moment I woke up to the moment I passed out.

Looking back, it’s almost hard to believe how small my life had become. I had no aspirations, no goals. I wasn’t making plans for the future; I was just surviving the hours until I could drink again. My world revolved around numbing pain I couldn’t even name, and the idea of life without alcohol felt not just impossible, it felt meaningless.

It’s wild to think of how far I’ve come, especially when I remember the things I used to believe about addiction. I grew up in a home where the phrase “If they wanted to stop, they would” was spoken often and without much thought. Back then, addiction was seen more as a choice… or worse, a weakness of character. I can still hear myself parroting those exact words as a kid, not really understanding what I was saying, just repeating what I heard.

But the truth is, we didn’t know what we know now.

Today, we understand that addiction is a chronic, complex, and deeply human disorder. We’ve learned that it’s not just about willpower. That it rewires the brain. That trauma, stress, genetics, and even loneliness can all play a role in shaping the path to substance use. And yet, even with everything science has shown us, there’s still so much we don’t know. Still so many people caught in the grips of it, feeling ashamed and broken, wondering why they can’t “just stop.”

I think about that girl I used to be… the one who thought she was too far gone, too tired, too lost. And I want to tell her: You’re not broken. You’re not bad. You’re not beyond hope. You’re just hurting. And hurting people don’t need shame. They need grace, compassion, and support.

Recovery didn’t happen for me overnight. It came in pieces. It came through faith, through community, through facing the things I had tried so hard to run from. And with time, it brought me back to myself.

Today, I live a life that’s full, not perfect, but full of meaning, purpose, and peace. I don’t spend my days waiting to drink anymore. I spend them helping other women realize they’re not alone, that healing is possible, and that sobriety doesn’t mean the end of joy, it means the beginning of real freedom.

So if you’re in that space right now, the one where everything feels pointless and painful, I want you to know I see you. I was you. And you don’t have to stay there.

There is hope.

There is healing.

And there is a whole new life waiting on the other side.