08/19/2026
We have a 9 year old, 7 year old, and 2 year old. Number 3 definitely surprised us.
I'm coming up on 7 years clean and sober today. I don't remember a lot from the toddler years for my older two. I don't remember a lot of my life from those early years of sobriety.
I've not seen it mentioned elsewhere. Getting sober, getting clean, is hard. Staying that way is even harder. Everyone says that.
What they don't tell you is that, depending on how big an as***le you were, it's infinitely harder just trying to navigate life without the crutch. Trying to be present. To remember. To provide and lead and love and keep growing up even as you shepherd your own kids.
The greatest gift I've been given in sobriety is our third child. I'm getting to experience a toddler with a completely clear head and open eyes. There's no anger, no cravings to drown or work through. Just ordinary life.
As the world continues to spin, I do everything I can to slow that inexorable rotation as much as possible. Dance parties. Art. Baseball. Reading the same book for the billionth time.
I thought these days were gone for good. There were many days and many more nights in the first two years that I thought it would all be gone for good.
Being an addict is hard. Being sober, clean, is hard. There's a choice to be made either way.
I've lost many friends at this point in life to substances. I've shown up on scenes with active overdoses and alcohol poisoning. I've said "we'll do everything we can" to mothers and fathers while racing to the hospital.
Nobody will ever say that to my wife. Nobody will ever say that to my kids.
There's a mantra I hold deep in the pudding of my brain: Be The Man They Think You Are.
That's it. That's what keeps me going, putting one foot in front of the other, when I don't want to. When I'm tired, hurt, whatever.
I won't waste the years I've got left. They're short. And each day is as long as I can possibly make it.
