This morning, I’ve been reflecting on how, since embarking on the path of sobriety with AA, so many aspects of my life have started to fall into place—especially my mental health. Before I go any further, I want to clarify that this isn’t advice or a suggestion for anyone else’s mental health journey. I still take the medication prescribed by my doctor and follow the daily routine they recommended. The key difference now is that the medication is actually working, and I’m implementing those suggestions—because I’m no longer drowning them out with alcohol.
With that said, I can continue. Once the alcoholic fog began to lift from my mind, I started to learn—through working the AA 12 Steps with my sponsor—how to truly see, listen, and follow suggestions without the weight of preconceived ideas. As those old beliefs fell away, I became more willing to try new things. Not everything worked for me, but many things did, and I incorporated those into my daily routine—or, in some cases, into my emergency kit for when I feel a wobble coming on.
One of the most valuable suggestions I’ve embraced is the constant reviewing of my role in the world—how my actions affect both myself and others. This practice aligns with another powerful tool: meditation. As I’ve written before, one of my 30-minute meditation sessions each day isn’t about clearing my mind but filling it—either with something that troubled me about my conduct or with something that inspired me. Through this practice, I’ve become more self-aware, questioning my thoughts, words, and actions. Often, I’m left with more questions than answers, but I love that—it drives me to seek understanding, keeping my eyes, heart, and mind open, waiting for the subtle guidance of my Higher Power.
By doing this, I’m able to keep my mental health challenges—ADHD, general anxiety disorder, and depression—at bay. My restless mind stays engaged with positive, constructive thoughts and projects, leaving little space for the vicious inner dialogue that once dominated me. That voice no longer has the power to tear me down, make me question everything, or convince me that I’m not good enough. Even when a thought I’m exploring seems negative, I no longer beat myself up over it. Instead, I examine it, either to prevent it from recurring or to acknowledge it as a part of me that requires attention.
Looking at things from all angles rather than brushing them under the carpet has shifted my perspective, bringing a newfound sense of calm. As a result, my mental health has improved significantly. That’s not to say I don’t have bad days—they’re inevitable due to the chemical imbalance in my brain. But the difference today is that they’re not as overwhelming as they used to be, and I no longer need to drink myself into oblivion to cope. Instead, I turn to my emergency kit and face them head-on.
Another important aspect of my journey has been learning how to be present in my own life. Before sobriety, I often felt like a spectator, detached from my own experiences. Now, I actively engage with the people and situations around me. I cherish conversations, moments of laughter, and even challenges, because each experience contributes to my growth. It’s a profound shift—to feel truly alive rather than numbing myself to reality.
I’ve also discovered the importance of community and connection. AA has given me a network of people who understand my struggles in ways others simply can’t. Through sharing our experiences, I’ve realised that I’m never truly alone. There is always someone who has been where I am, who has felt what I feel, and who can offer wisdom or simply a listening ear. The power of human connection has been one of the most healing aspects of my journey.
As I continue on this path, I remind myself that growth isn’t linear. Some days are easier than others, and setbacks are part of the process. But the tools I’ve gained—self-awareness, meditation, connection, and a willingness to keep learning—give me the strength to keep moving forward. The journey of sobriety isn’t just about abstaining from alcohol; it’s about reclaiming my life, my mind, and my sense of purpose.
Tectonic Shifts of the Soul
The fog, earths mantal, slowly shifting,
Opening up rifts, my mind exposed.
Not a sudden dawn, but a slow, tectonic shift,
plates of old beliefs grinding, fracturing, falling away.
Pills, once swallowed in a swirling, desperate sea,
now anchor buoys, steadying the vessel.
The doctor's words, seeds scattered on parched earth,
finally finding root in fertile ground.
The 12 steps, a ladder woven from shadow and light,
each rung a mirror, reflecting a truer self.
"Seeing," not just the blur of passing days,
but the intricate dance of cause and consequence.
Meditation, not an empty room, but a crowded marketplace,
where thoughts, like vendors, hawk their wares.
Some, poisonous fruits, turned over, examined, discarded.
Others, golden threads, woven into a garment of purpose.
Questions, a constellation in the night sky,
each one a spark, igniting a journey.
Not answers, but the seeking itself,
the compass guiding through the labyrinth of self.
The inner critic, once a roaring beast,
now a whisper, a curious shadow.
Its pronouncements, no longer decrees, but whispers,
subject to inquiry, dissection, and gentle refutation.
Bad days, storms on the horizon,
no longer tsunamis, but passing squalls.
The emergency kit, not a shield, but a toolkit,
for navigating the tempest, not drowning within it.
Presence, a forgotten language, relearned,
each conversation, a brushstroke on the canvas of life.
Laughter, a song, once unheard, now cherished.
Challenges, not obstacles, but stepping stones, worn smooth by time.
Community, a network of roots, intertwined,
a forest of shared understanding.
"Alone," a phantom word, banished by shared stories,
a chorus of voices, echoing, "You are not alone."
Growth, a spiral staircase, not a straight line,
setbacks, not failures, but detours, lessons in disguise.
Sobriety, not an ending, but a rebirth,
reclaiming the self, piece by fragile piece.
My God, a subtle current, a gentle breeze,
not a booming voice, but a quiet nudge.
Guiding the hand, opening the heart,
towards a life, truly, and finally, lived.
