6.8.25
I’ve been reflecting a lot today on the past seven months. The person who walked into rehab was completely broken—lost, afraid, overwhelmed by pain and sorrow, drowning in self-loathing and self-pity. Now, I only catch rare glimpses of that person. Mostly, what I see is growth.
Mental, emotional, and spiritual growth toward the person I want to be.
I want to make the most out of every day and go to bed each night knowing I gave it my all—that I tried my best to be someone my family, my friends, and most importantly, I can be proud of. I want to be trusted. To be someone who shows up, who can be depended on when it matters.
Some days are easy. They fly by. Others are really fucking hard and seem endless. And that’s just the way it goes.
This is a lifelong journey. Knowing that makes seven months feel like just a baby step—but it’s still a step in the right direction. A step away from bad decisions and a lifestyle that was killing me faster than I wanted to admit.
I had a lot of plans for today, but I wasn’t feeling great. So, I listened to my body and rested. I made bracelets and keychains while I reflected. I read. I meditated. And now, I’m writing.
I’m not going to beat myself up for not doing chores—I’ll get them done during the week. (Yes, I’m writing this and saying it out loud as an order to myself.)
Today was a good day.
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