Choosing sobriety changed everything. It brought me back to the present fully, intentionally. I can now show up for the people in my life, even when they don’t respect the boundaries I’ve set. And yes, that bothers some of them because those boundaries no longer give them the same access to me they once had.
I used to be the fixer. I believed it was my job to mend everyone and everything. But the truth is it wasn’t. I’m not Wonder Woman. I’m just Bri: a child of God trying to break cycles and heal generational trauma.
Even as a kid, I knew I was meant for something more. My soul felt called to help others heal. But what I’ve had to accept sometimes painfully is that some people don’t want to be healed. I’ve watched friends and family resist growth. They’ve grown comfortable in their pain, wrapped in a cycle of “poor me.” And while they cry rivers, I’ve chosen to face my pain head-on. That’s just who I am.
Sobriety taught me not to shatter under pressure, but to form like the diamond I truly am. And yes, my light bothers people. My strength confuses those who haven’t walked this road. But that’s okay. Not everyone is meant to understand me.
Today, I wear my sobriety. It’s in how I speak, how I show up, and how I love myself. I’ve learned to meet people where they are not where I wish they were. That alone has softened so much of my past anger.
I thank God for therapy and for a job where I finally feel valued. Being in environments that honor me has made such a difference. Drunk Bri? She lived in chaos. She made reckless decisions, often putting herself last to make others happy, just to avoid being left behind. I gave up on school, on jobs on myself to keep people close who wouldn’t meet me halfway.
Before sobriety, I was rigid. There was no room for error. Everything had to be my way or the highway. I had to control everything every conversation, every outcome, every person. Especially the kids I was raising at the time. They weren’t allowed to push back or overstep. I played the role of the strict one handling the “father” duties while my mom took care of the nurturing. And now that they’re older, you can see the imprint we each left on them.
They’ve cleaned me up after drunken nights. They’ve seen me dance on the kitchen table with a broom in hand, singing at the top of my lungs. That was their norm. One of them once called me a “nasty drunk,” which I didn’t want to believe because to me, I was just the life of the party, even if I was partying alone.
I hoped they’d learn from my mistakes. I dreamed they’d take the best from both my mother and me and leave the rest behind. But DNA has a funny way of showing up. They started making choices that mirrored their parents getting into trouble, walking paths I once walked. It’s hard to watch. The youngest, especially so sure she knows it all, making choices I know too well. Maybe it’s learned behavior. Her brothers went through it too. Arrests. Close calls. A cycle repeating itself.
That’s why I love my job now. It reminds me daily that I’m not a failure. It shows me I am making a difference. I’m doing the best I can and that is enough. For the first time, I don’t have to earn love by sacrificing myself. I don’t have to be everything to everyone. I just have to be me.
That old story, the one where I drank to feel enough, to feel seen, to survive?
That’s no longer my story.
Sobriety is.