Dear Former Self,

Ah, where to begin? It feels like addressing a distant friend, one who’s both intimately known and weirdly estranged. These first 30 days without the siren call of alcohol, they’ve been an odyssey, haven’t they? A journey through turbulent seas, where each wave of craving threatened to capsize our resolve. But here we are, standing—a bit wobbly, perhaps, but standing nonetheless.

Do you remember day one? The fear that gnawed at our insides, whispering that we couldn’t survive without our liquid crutch.

That first night was a battle, where every tick of the clock was a reminder of what we were denying ourselves. But we made it, didn’t we? With shaky hands and a heart drumming a frantic rhythm, we watched the dawn break, not with a bottle in hand, but with a cup of tea that never tasted so bitter and yet so sweet.

In the initial days, it felt like walking through a fog, where every step forward was a question mark. The world seemed too loud, too bright, too real. The numbness we’d cocooned ourselves in was gone, leaving us exposed and raw. Remember how the simple act of passing the liquor aisle in the supermarket felt like an epic feat? The bottles gleamed like forbidden treasures, promising solace and oblivion. But we walked past, heart pounding in our ears, clinging to the trolley like a lifeline.

It’s funny, in a not-so-humorous way, how the small things became mountains. The clink of glasses in a nearby café, the waft of alcohol on someone’s breath – these were our dragons to slay. And slay them we did, not with swords and shields, but with deep breaths and clenched fists.

Weeks two and three, they were a blur of emotions. We oscillated between anger and sadness, hope and despair. It was as if all the feelings we’d drowned were resurfacing, gasping for air. I remember the night we sat on the kitchen floor, surrounded by photos of days gone by, tears streaming down our face. Not tears of regret, but of awakening, a poignant mix of loss and liberation.

And let’s not forget the small victories – oh, how monumental they seemed! The first social gathering we attended, sober as a judge, the nervous laughter that bubbled from our lips, more exhilarating than any drunken chuckle. Or the morning we woke up without a hangover, the clarity of thought, the absence of guilt – it was like seeing the world in high definition for the first time.

Now, as we stand at the threshold of a month, I want to say I’m proud of us. Proud of the resilience we’ve mustered, the demons we’ve faced. The road ahead is long, and I won’t lie—it’s daunting. But we’ve taken the first steps, and that’s something, isn’t it?

So, here’s to us, to this journey of rediscovery, to the battles won and those yet to come. We’re stronger than we ever gave ourselves credit for. And remember, in the moments of doubt, in the times when the cravings claw at our resolve, we’ve got this. We really do.

With love and newfound hope,

Lucy