The hardest thing I have ever done is get sober

The hardest thing I have ever done is get sober.

The second hardest thing I have ever done was enter the convent.

There was a time in my life when I considered being a nun. I began the formal process of discernment with a congregation of Sisters. I entered their community as an Aspirant–somebody starting the journey that could lead to taking vows and, eventually, making a lifelong commitment to being a religious sister.

I love the word discernment. A potentially high-scoring Scrabble word that translates to uncertainty. A fancy synonym for "What the hell do I do next?"

After my Aspirancy ceremony, the Sisters welcomed me with hugs and joy, wishing me "holy perseverance." I had no idea what that meant at the time.

I kept thinking I had already persevered. I had already done the most demanding things by giving up my job, bank account, phone, makeup, and leaving family and friends. (Full disclosure–I kept all my earrings and shoes. Detachment is complicated.) I quickly found out there was more to let go of. And, the layers seemed endless.

But each layer seemed to lead me to a little more peace and a little more assurance. They each strengthened my voice and my resolve. And as each layer slowly peeled away, I understood that to keep going was a sacred thing. To keep going was radical, and bold, and brave. Ultimately, to keep going helped me out of confusion and into a state of absolute knowing–my true calling was elsewhere, and the life of a religious Sister was not my destiny. And, I kid you not, as I drove away from the convent on a cold winter day and turned on the radio, "Free Bird" was playing. I rolled down the windows, laughed, cried, and sang at the top of my lungs.

Keep going.

Perseverance in my recovery has felt more messy than beautiful. Peeling away layers and unearthing pains and hurts that need healing has often led to resistance. It has illuminated some of the hardest things to look at and some that I can't touch quite yet. Sometimes, it felt like the longest walk during the hottest part of the day. And sometimes, the next step has been a sharp turn, leading me on a wildly unexpected path. Rest was (and still is) very much needed. I've gone backward to go forward. And many (many!) times, I've had to reset, recommit, and renew.

Perseverance in recovery has looked like screaming and raging. It has looked like the quiet acknowledgment of milestones and sometimes shouting my victories out loud. It has never looked like a straight line. And yet, each step on this path has brought me the same clarity and peace that I experienced in the convent.

Sobriety saved my life. It gives me access to the truest parts of myself.

Every day I touch my sobriety is a day I touch the strength and resilience within myself, embracing a path of healing and self-discovery.

Every day I touch my sobriety, I touch the renewed hope and commitment to a healthier, happier life.

Every day I touch my sobriety is a day I touch the profound courage it takes to overcome challenges and embrace positive change.

Every day I touch my sobriety is a day I touch the unwavering support from within, fostering a sense of self-love and acceptance.

Every day I touch my sobriety is a day I touch the ongoing journey toward inner peace and a brighter, more fulfilling future.

This is perseverance. And it is so hard. But it is always holy. It is always sacred. And it is always a wonder.

Keep going.

Friend, your perseverance is a precious thing. It is bold, brave, and beautiful to have the audacity to step towards freedom.

Whether that looks like making it through the next 5 minutes without drinking, reading this email, taking a deep breath, pouring the rest of the wine out, setting a boundary, putting a marble in a jar, or tattooing NQTD (never question the decision) on your arm, you are worthy of every single step.

Keep going.

Keep going, keep going, keep going.

I love you.