01.25.26
Today cracked my heart wide open. My baby is 21, and I don’t know how that’s real. There’s joy in it, but there’s also this deep, almost aching awareness of how close I came to missing all of it. How easily this day could’ve been one I wasn’t part of.
The women’s meeting this morning was amazing. The speaker didn’t sugarcoat a damn thing. Trauma, grief, and victories. She carried them all like they belonged to her, because they do. No shame. No pretending the hard parts didn’t almost take her out. That kind of honesty sits heavy in my chest because it mirrors what recovery has forced me to learn. I don’t get to edit my story; I only get to decide what I do with it.
Then the brunch. I looked around the table and felt all the love, history, forgiveness, patience. People who stuck around. People who helped raise my daughter when I was either emotionally unavailable or straight-up spiraling. I could see pieces of all of them in Kendall, and instead of feeling guilty, I felt grateful. She was never alone. Even when I wasn’t at my best.
The truth I don’t run from anymore is that without sobriety, none of this exists. These people would be gone. She would be distant or gone too. And they would’ve been right to walk away. I was a fucking dumpster fire. Self-destructive, unreliable, and convinced I was the victim while burning everything down around me.
Sobriety didn’t magically fix me. It made me accountable. It made me stay when leaving was easier. It made me feel the weight of what I’d broken and still show up to rebuild it anyway.
Living amends aren’t poetic. They’re repetitive. They’re quiet. They’re choosing differently every day even when no one’s watching. Waking up knowing I’m repairing relationships not with words but with consistency, especially with my daughter, is the most meaningful work I’ll ever do.
Kendall is all the good in me that survived the chaos. None of the worst parts made it into her. She is strong, loved, and becoming her own woman, and I get to witness that with a clear mind and an open heart.
I am proud, but not in an ego way. In a holy shit, I made it way. Grateful. Humbled. And a little wrecked in the most beautiful way.
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