Once upon a time I used to write. Then I stopped writing because someone read a diary of mine. Some writing is meant to be shared, some is meant to be just for me. Writing seemed unsafe. Maybe my words, stolen and taken out of context was my fault? I made myself smaller, kept more secrets and tried to be “perfect.” In recovery, I had to get honest.

“Other people are not responsible for your hurt feelings; they are not living by the expectations or standards you have assigned them.”  Ouch, uncomfortable truth.  How rude of this person, my sponsor, to pull me out of my self-pity, disappointment spiral and make me feel better.

My 2024 began in peace and serenity on a beach I loved. I researched and wrote out my intentions for the year. I was happy, hopeful, well rested, and spiritually aligned. On January 14, 2024, two days after returning from the beach, the life I thought I had exploded.