For most of my life, I gave love away as though it were something I had an endless supply of.
I gave it to my mother.
I gave it to my children.
My friends.
The people I hoped would stay.
I just never thought to save any for myself.
I wasn’t taught where love came from or how to obtain it.
Truthfully my mother couldn’t have taught me because no one taught her.
No one gave us a blueprint.
I learned the hard way after burnout, addiction, and repeated trauma that the love I was desperately searching for from others was living inside me all along.
I had just been giving it away without considering myself.
I gave and gave until I had nothing left to offer myself.
I kept giving it away un- reciprocated, until my cup was empty.
The emptiness consumed me… I needed to soothe it so I reached for things to numb it.
Not because I wanted to destroy myself, but because I didn’t know any other way.
I did what my mother did.
I reached for numbing agents like cigarettes, alcohol, and cannabis.
Trying to fill my cup with anything that made me feel a little less empty, less alone.
I searched for it in people.
I left those relationships even emptier than when I entered them.
I had been giving it away, hoping someone would finally return some to me.
I couldn’t stand the woman in the mirror.
She had become everything I resented.
I avoided mirrors.
My own reflection hurt too much to look at.
I would say awful things to myself.
I wouldn’t tell my child, “You look like trash” so why was I telling myself that in the mirror?
If I wouldn’t let my daughter wake up and numb her pain with substances, why should I?
I spent so many years asking other people to tell me I was worthy.
It never occurred to me to ask myself.
Then….
I asked myself a question I had never asked myself before.
What if the love I constantly give away isn’t exclusively for others,
What if some of that love actually belongs to me?
What if I started treating myself with the love I so freely gave everyone else?
What if that is the blueprint?
So I started small…
Tiny acts of self-love that grew into bigger moments and victories.
Slowly, I began to bloom and I realized that the love I had started to show myself was having a ripple effect on the world around me and the people I love.
One day at a time I watched love transform my life.
From the inside out.
Not because everyone around me suddenly changed.
But because I did.
The first person who finally treated me like someone worth loving…
… was me.
Everything else grew from there.
Maybe the blueprint wasn’t something I had to find…
It was something I had to learn to embody.
Category: Recovery
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The Blueprint
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100 Days
One hundred days sober.
One hundred days of choosing myself.
One hundred mornings I chose clarity over a bottle.
One hundred afternoons I chose hope over habit.
One hundred nights I stayed committed to the woman I was becoming.
It all started with one simple thought.
Let’s just see how today feels.
I didn’t promise myself forever.
I promised myself today.
Then tomorrow.
Then the day after that.
Slowly, one day became one week.
One week became one month.
And somehow, one hundred days found me.
It wasn’t easy.
It was choosing to feel instead of numb.
Facing old ghosts.
Old wounds.
Old voices.
Learning to hear them whisper…
and choosing not to listen.
Was it worth it?
One hundred percent.
Because somewhere along the way…
I found her.
The woman I had been trying so desperately to drown in shame and spirits.
I found my voice.
I found hope.
I found peace.
I found a life that had been waiting for me outside the bottle.
There were days the cravings screamed.
Days when the noise inside my head was almost unbearable.
Especially in the beginning.
But little by little, the voices grew quieter.
My own voice grew louder.
Some people won’t understand why one hundred days matters.
That’s okay.
This letter isn’t for them.
It’s for the person counting hours instead of days.
The person wondering if tomorrow is possible.
The person who desperately wants peace but doesn’t know where to find it.
I want them to know this:
Healing isn’t found at Day 100.
It’s found in choosing yourself today.
And then choosing yourself again tomorrow.
Today I celebrate one hundred days sober.
Not because I became someone new.
Because with every choice, I found my way back to myself.
One day at a time.
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Pockets
As a woman, I’ve noticed that good pockets are hard to find.
I’m not talking about pants pockets, although let’s be honest, men seem to have that department on lockdown.
Somewhere along the way, women’s pockets started shrinking.
The funny thing is, I don’t think it stopped with our clothes.
The pockets of childhood disappeared too.
The pockets of time where we were allowed to grow slowly.
Allowed to wonder.
Allowed to daydream.
Allowed to become.
We grew up too fast.
Tried too hard.
Pushed too far.
And if we’re not careful, life keeps taking our pockets away.
Work.
Responsibilities.
Phones.
Obligations.
People needing things from us.
One day you wake up and realize there isn’t a single pocket left that’s yours.
I know because I did.
I lost so much of myself that way.
Not all at once.
Pocket by pocket.
Eventually, I had to start creating pockets of time.
A walk.
A quiet cup of tea.
A long bath in the dark.
A moment to think.
A moment to write.
A moment to come home to myself.
Because life has a way of moving from one problem to the next.
One crisis to the next.
One responsibility to the next.
And if we never stop long enough to process what we’ve lived through, we miss the lesson entirely.
I’ve become protective of those pockets now.
Not because they’re empty.
Because they’re sacred.
In many ways, I’m protecting the little girl who was told she was too much and somehow not enough all at once.
I’m teaching my children the same thing.
Put the phone down.
Read a book.
Take a walk.
Write a letter.
Sit quietly for a moment and think about what you’ve learned.
Think about who you’re becoming.
Pockets are precious.
Time slips away.
Commitments multiply.
Life gets loud.
But the things we carry deserve somewhere to rest.
So make room.
Make space.
Protect your pockets.
You may discover that what’s waiting there is you.