Ninety-five days without alcohol.
I wish I could say today feels victorious. I wish I woke up glowing, peaceful, grateful, emotionally balanced, and possibly dressed in linen.
But today I feel sad.
Not dramatic sad. Not burn the whole life down sad. Just that quiet, heavy kind of sad that sits next to you and refuses to explain itself.
…but this is part of sobriety too — feeling what I used to pour wine over. Sitting with the ache instead of numbing it. Letting the day be honest instead of forcing it to be inspirational.
The strange thing is, I can be proud and sad at the same time.
I can be grateful for ninety-five days and still have a heart that feels tired. I can know I’m healing and still miss the old escape hatch. I can be stronger than I was and still want to hide under a blanket like a Victorian widow with Wi-Fi.
Today may not feel like a celebration.
But it is still a victory.
Because I didn’t drink.
Because I stayed.
Because I let the sadness come without handing it the keys.
And maybe that’s what Day 95 is teaching me: peace isn’t always happy. Sometimes peace is simply not running away.
UNCLOUDED 