By The Small Bow Family Orchestra

*****

Happiness has come in many forms since I got sober again. I celebrated two years in November, the third of what I consider three legit attempts at sobriety, and hopefully my last. 

I write this as I sit in the waiting room of an ICU. My sister has been hospitalized since October. She has a long history of medical issues, but this has been the worst by far. In some of my darkest moments, I’ve cursed myself for not being able to fix everything that ails her. I learned a long time ago that this is my hero/savior/oldest sibling complex creeping in. Seeing her get the strength to open her eyes, look at me, to see the words I LOVE YOU cross her lips despite her own pain. I think about all the times I thought I needed to be perfect, to be the best older brother humanly possible. It took me a long time to realize being a person who is just like everyone else made me a far better son, sibling, and friend than pretending ever did. 

Today, I try to find happiness and gratitude for being able to be present in the ways that matter. I still struggle and accept that I will have moments of struggle. Thankfully, I can take solace in the fact that I am way better than I think I am and doing much better than I think I am. In the very early parts of 2026, I am already having to lean into hope, faith, and belief in things unseen. My goal is to carry this into my daily as I wrestle with life as it comes, remembering I can deal in ways I never thought I could.

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I’m kind of in disbelief that I’ve made it most of 2025 sober. For me it wasn’t a rock bottom moment that prompted the decision, I think I was just bored and exhausted from trying to crack the code of how to drink without feeling shame. I never could crack the code so now I’m a teetotaler. The twisted part of my mind still tries to shame me into believing I’m broken because I couldn’t crack the code like other people. This felt true on Christmas eve as my relatives downed glass after glass of champagne while I drank all of the sparkling waters in the fridge, reminding myself of the hangover-free morning I’ll be rewarded with. It still made me a little mournful though, to watch their cheeks get rosier and eyes glossier with each glass down, seemingly in blissful indifference to the shame demons I know so intimately. But I’m proud of my sobriety. Proud of the way I have been more present than any other year I can recall. For all the things there are to grieve in this new sober identity, there are also infinite lessons and new ways to be more alive in myself that I am only at the beginning of uncovering. Feeling hopeful for the expansion in the year ahead.

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I wish I was happier. I want to be happier. My husband told me I’m really negative and no fun to be around. Is this what stability looks like? I haven’t had a manic episode in almost two years. My PTSD symptoms have mostly gone away. I don’t live in fear (except every time my teenage daughter goes out driving with her boyfriend). I go out with friends, I volunteer at a local food pantry once a week and I am as present as I can manage for my family. But life seems so lacking and boring compared to when I was mentally ill. I wonder if this is what everyone means when they talk about sobriety. I know that this is where I should be. But I’m so bored and tired of this. 

*****

My sink is drunk and my kitchen pipes are plastered.

This morning I emptied out a few gallons of liquor as a way to clear the decks.

I typically go dry for one or two months a year. When I was doing Ironman triathlons, I’d go dry for 3, 5, or even 11 months, once. But I’d always go back to drinking afterward. 

Yesterday morning I barely made it through CrossFit without passing out. I was that hung over. 

So for 2026 I’m intending to put 100% sober energy out into the world. Everything else about my life is as good as it’s been in decades. I’m out of an emotionally abusive marriage. I’m in great shape. I’m in love with a great guy who loves me. My job continues to interest and challenge and inspire me. I have great relationships with my kids and my sisters. I live in a safe, beautiful town. My house is paid off. I have a great dog. 

I know I drink too much, though. Even worse, I rarely ever drink too much in public, with friends, with my boyfriend, but always overdo it when I’m alone. I know from experience that putting that aside frees up a lot of energy. Putting it aside for good is what I intend to do, starting with 2026. Starting December 28, 2025, actually. Always start a new intention before you planned to start it. 

An old friend who’s an architect quit drinking ten years ago. He said, “I’m 60. That’s enough drinks.” I’m 60, too. The echo of that comment has never gone away.

There’s a new app I tried called Death Clock. You fill out a ten-minute survey and it estimates what you've got left. As expected, I’ve got about 30 years. One third of my life. I was probably 15 when I got blind drunk for the first time, so here goes. “I’m 60. That’s enough drinks." 

Come at me, 2026. I’ll be having a Pellegrino with a splash of cranberry and lime. 

*****

I turned 1 year sober on 1st of January. This time last year, 1st of January 2025, I was so hungover. I remember that day, it was the dreariest and rainiest in a way that only English weather can be. I forced myself outside as part punishment, part needing the fresh air to not feel so sick. I vowed to myself to never have this feeling again. I didn’t believe that I would keep my promise, not really, but this time it stuck. Much thanks to the essays, words of encouragement and otherworldly belief that have found its way to me. I hope that I am never hungover again, and that I will always feel as in love with life as I do in this moment in time. This is not to say I have loved it all, and that there weren’t moments that I wish were different, even in sobriety, or maybe especially in sobriety. But I have found a way to experience it all that hurts less. If 2025 was a rollercoaster, I’m manifesting that 2026 is sailing softly. Being present in all the moments, even the painful ones, and remembering the really good bits. Like how on my 1-year sober birthday, 1st of January 2026, the sun was shining brightly. The air was cold and crisp. It was the most beautiful day. 

*****

I will have 27 years in January, inshallah, and last year I packed up and left the US. I think as a high healthcare needs disabled person I might say I fled the US, especially given how hard it was to do and the absolute shambles I left in. 

Anyway now I’m in a country that is much less enthusiastic about sobriety and I have no regular meetings, so hi. I hope your holidays are at least as good as mine: solitary but not sad; broke but not desperate; warm and well-fed; peaceful.

*****

12 1/2 more years, if I stay sober another 12 1/2 years, I will have reached the 33 year mark — what I considered the length of my drinking and drugging time. But at age 65 1/2, suffering one of the worst combinations of vertigo, cold/flu, and extreme tiredness, I’ve recently had that old black dog at my feet saying maybe it’s time to check out. I have a beautiful apartment, a decent car and just got a part-time job which with my recent Social Security has my monthly income at a livable amount. I do a yearly vacation with a woman in recovery traveling to all the top vacation spots; we just started branching out of the United States and we’ll go to Mexico in February. I live three minutes either side of the Atlantic Ocean where it doesn’t snow much in the winter. I have a wonderful son and daughter and seven gorgeous grandsons ages 20 to 3. But after my mother passed 2 years ago with my brother following her 11 days later by choice or being chased by the black dog, I have no family of origin left. It’s pretty lonely. I started going to a new meeting a couple months ago where we’re reading AA history; Dr. Bob and the Good Oldtimers and now Pass It On. I never thought I’d enjoy those books but they are really interesting and surprisingly (at least for my recovery) really relevant so that’s something to look forward to weekly. Can I make it another 12 1/2 years? I believe I’m planning to — a day at a time.

*****

What I want for myself in 2026 is less delusion!

I am, notably, in my family and in my work, someone who says how things are when no one else does or will — and I have been this way since I was young and my parents announced they were getting divorced; I hopped onto that narrative and was like when do we leave? I understood the situation as a reality (but not because I enjoyed it). 

And yet. And yet. 

How things actually are in these near and intimate realms is not always clear. The lack of clarity and mis-seeing is often because of a preoccupation with how I imagine another person feels (anyone’s guess, duh), how I can try to fit in with someone instead of how I really feel, how I give up what I want moment after moment and create a wide wide gap between me and anyone (even strangers at the coffee shop). And all this nonsense creates distance and grooves for it, and the distance brings around people with even more comfort with distance. Then suddenly it is almost ten years again since I thought I got over this trap but again find that a certain slant of distance (you know what I’m talking about) becomes acceptable, feels livable, even something worthy of choosing.

Those familiar crumbs. 

It’s a misunderstanding about the difference between distance and inability to be close. Or distance and lack of interest. Or distance and an unbreachable chasm that I don’t need to ask after.

So digging back in for less delusion in 2026.

*****

My 23-year-old son relapsed. Again.

He had been sober for 15 months and had just finished — after many fits and starts — the coursework that would allow him to graduate from college. During that time, he was in treatment (fourth residential stay), where sobriety was a requirement, though something he openly admitted feeling ambivalent about.

As the reins loosened and he came home for break, my antennae began to twitch. Shortly after returning to the sober house, he was drug and alcohol tested and failed. Three bottles of vodka and a handful of shooters were confiscated.

I am grateful he didn’t have a car accident while drinking under the radar. I’m grateful we hadn’t yet signed a lease for his next chapter. I’ve become something of an expert at searching for — and, thankfully, finding — silver linings.

Still, I am angry and deeply sad. Trust has been broken once again. I’m heartbroken. His father is heartbroken. His brothers are heartbroken. I’m exhausted by yet another holiday season overshadowed by this unwieldy mess.

Yes, it’s a disease. And I love my son beyond measure. But within that disease, he is still making choices — choosing to lie, to fake it, to avoid investing in recovery capital because he believes he’s above the “hardos” who faithfully attend their AA meetings.

He will sink or he will swim. And I pray — over and over — that he chooses to swim.

*****

I may be homeless in a month and I’m still ashamed to be me, but at least I’m actively working on not hyperventilating every time I worry think about the future. Incredibly, sometimes, I’m whistling and feel content. I’ve stopped drinking alcohol, but am still doing mushrooms and edible pot gummies to try and erase my malignant narcissistic ex from my brain. Not quite there yet. I bought 1 $50 bottle of wine for us recently but it’s still tucked away in my closet and I’m trying to erase that memory too. If I can make it until January 2nd and haven’t gulped down the whole thing myself, I’ll return the bottle to the liquor store. I saved the receipt. Why bother? 

We all know how this is going to end. 

If he calls, I’ll subjugate myself cause I’m lonely and miss him, and will entice him over with booze and drugs and break my sobriety. 

If he doesn’t call, I won’t know how to handle the pain, but will still be looking for an escape. 

I need to find some self-discipline & a new place to live, my permanent home in 2026, the one I’ll retire in. I’m hoping to celebrate my birthday there next year, with a new circle of sober friends and positive energy. 

I really just wanted to move into my new place with HIM. Am I pathetic? 

Happy New Year, y’all. Here’s to hanging on by our fingernails . . .

*****

fin