Eight Years Sober: Finding Home

A heartwarming tale of finding oneself, making amends, and returning to the place of one's true self.

By the Author Stephanie Kay

   Eight years. It's how long it’s been since I took my last pill. It's been eight years since I decided to stop running away from myself.I never thought I'd be the one to fall. I'm not one of them. I was the one who was aware of it all—the girl who grew up with addiction woven into her family like a warning sign. I studied it, feared it, swore I'd never let it touch me. For 28 years, I didn't.

   I did my best to steer clear of the more intense stuff, the dangerous stuff. I sat watching people that I loved disappear into it. I told myself I was different, and I was right.But, you know, pain has a way of changing the story we're all living.It all started with an injury. A real one. A prescription. A doctor's note. And then, slowly, a craving—not just for relief, but for numbness. I' was so grateful for the silence. It's like a breath of fresh air after all the noise and chaos in my head. I didn't want to feel. I didn't want to be me. Then again, I do struggle with major depressive disorder.

   I've always had this desire to find a way out, you know? Even before I started taking pills, I experimented with hallucinogens. Used to call them "perspective shifters" because they can give you such interesting new perspectives on life. Just occasionally... It was just enough to feel like I was somewhere else, someone else. And what about marijuana? It's been a cherished daily ritual of mine since I was thirteen. I added a little fog to soften the edges. 

   I used to think I was just curious, but now I feel like there's more to it. Adventurous. I'm very open-minded. But now I know—I was avoidant. I'm a little scared of being here. It's about being vulnerable, and I totally get it. It's about being myself, in all my authentic glory, without any filters or inhibitions.Addiction doesn't always look like what we see in the movies. Sometimes it looks like a high-functioning woman with a degree, a job, and a smile. Sometimes it looks like someone who "knows better."

"But, my dear, knowing better doesn't protect you from pain. And it doesn't heal the parts of you that are still hurting".

   What helped me so much wasn't just stopping the pills. It was a journey of learning to sit with myself and my feelings. To feel the discomfort. To face the grief, the shame, the fear. It was like therapy, you know? It was a kind of honesty that felt raw and a little uncomfortable, but in a good way.And it was love. I have so much love for the girl I used to be, who always did her best with what she had. Who always, no matter what- "figured it out".

"I love the woman I'm becoming, who chooses every day to stay. To feel. But more importantly, to live".

Eight years of sobriety. That's not just a milestone — it's a celebration of life and love! It's truly a miracle. And I promise you, I'm doing this for myself, but also for all of you out there still running.

Life didn’t just miraculously change the moment I decided to quit. The last eight years have honestly been the hardest years of my existence. I don’t know where Life is taking me, but I would like to believe that it's to help others. To allow my children to see the strength of a woman who has fought as though her life depended on it. Because the truth is, it did and does.I decided to get clean out of sheer desperation and fear. After being left in an alley. After being sexually assaulted at gunpoint because I allowed myself to become so high, I was unaware of my surroundings.

If I can help just one person find a way to avoid that kind of suffering, then I will have done something worthwhile. But the biggest battle of all is always with us. It's the inner battle we all face. After eight years of being free from opiates, I'm finally learning who I am. I must admit, I'm enjoying getting to know myself.You don't have to run away to stay alive. You can come home to yourself.

"You can heal. You can be free! And I'll be here, cheering you on".

Until Next time

—Stephanie Kay