69. A New Meaning to the Word Gratitude
Gratitude. It’s a simple word, but its weight has never been heavier, its meaning never clearer than since I returned home from treatment. I suppose that’s the first thing I need to express gratitude for—the opportunity to feel grateful at all. There was a time when I didn’t think I’d make it to this point, a time when the haze of addiction clouded everything in my life. I couldn’t see clearly, and I couldn’t appreciate the good things that had been there all along. Now, on the other side of treatment, I can see the people who’ve stood by me, the second chances I’ve been given, and the simple joys that I had lost sight of. All those things continue to fill me with an overwhelming sense of gratitude.
Coming home wasn’t easy. I returned to a life that I had nearly destroyed, to relationships I had damaged, and to a sense of deep responsibility to make things right. In the midst of that, my family welcomed me back with open arms. They didn’t have to. I certainly wouldn’t have blamed them if they had needed more time, or if they had put up walls to protect themselves from being hurt again. Yet, here they are, showing me love, support, and an understanding that I can never fully repay. I feel gratitude for my family in a way I can’t fully put into words. They are the bedrock of my recovery, the foundation that steadies me when the ground beneath me feels shaky. There were nights in rehab when I wondered if I could ever mend the hurt I caused them. I wasn’t sure they’d ever truly be able to trust me again. Coming home and feeling their love wasn’t just reassuring—it was lifesaving. Every hug, every word of encouragement, and even their silence when words fell short is a reminder that love can be unconditional, that it can endure, and that it can heal. I am grateful for every ounce of patience, every conversation, and for their presence in my life, which I had taken for granted so many times before.
Then there are the readers of my column. I was so afraid of how my honesty and my openness about my relapse would be received. When I relapsed, I knew I’d let so many people down, not just my family and friends but also the readers who had followed my journey and sent messages of hope all along. I didn’t know what to expect when I returned to my writing. I feared judgment, disappointment, and maybe even scorn. Instead, I was met with kindness and empathy. The outpouring of support from my readers, the way they have continued to stand by me when I stumble, has been a source of strength beyond what I could have ever imagined. I am grateful for every email, every comment, every note of encouragement. People I’ve never even met have shown me a level of compassion that I don’t think I deserve but that I’m deeply, deeply thankful for. Their belief in my ability to recover, and in my worth as a person despite my mistakes has given me the courage to keep going on the hardest days. As humans, sometimes we forget how powerful words can be, but the words of my readers have helped me rebuild myself, one step at a time. For that, I owe you all more than I can ever express.
I also have to talk about the gratitude I feel for the gentleman I work for. He didn’t have to take me back. He had every reason to turn me away, to protect his business and himself from someone who had clearly made more than a few mistakes. He didn’t do that. He immediately opened the door for me to return to work, reclaim some sense of normalcy, and contribute in a meaningful way again. That act of grace didn’t just give me a job—it gave me back a sense of purpose, a belief that I could still be trusted and still be valuable, even after stumbling and falling. I’m thankful for his trust, his patience, and for the opportunity to prove that I’m more than my past mistakes. I’m determined to show up every day, not just for him but for myself, to live up to the second chance he gave me. He didn’t have to extend that chance, and I know that. I’m grateful every day that he did, and I won’t let that go to waste.
I am also deeply grateful for Wendy Bynum, the woman who has continued to give me the opportunity to document my journey in the Independent Republican. In a world where so many people shy away from uncomfortable truths, Wendy has embraced mine and given me a platform to share my story with honesty and vulnerability. She didn’t have to keep that door open for me, especially after my relapse, but she did—and for that, I am endlessly thankful. Her belief in the importance of telling these stories and of giving voice to the complexities of recovery has been a crucial part of my healing. Wendy’s trust in me has allowed me to share my journey and help others who are walking similar paths.
Lastly, I’m grateful for this moment where I’m able to reflect on everything and truly feel it. Gratitude is something I overlooked for so long, caught up in the chaos of addiction and the constant pursuit of something to numb the pain. Now, sobriety has given me the clarity to appreciate life in ways I never could have before. I’m grateful for every morning I wake up without the weight of shame, for every small victory in this recovery process, and even for the setbacks that have taught me how strong I can be.
Gratitude doesn’t erase the past, and it doesn’t make this journey easy, but it does make it bearable. It reminds me of what’s important. It keeps me focused on the people who matter, on the things that really count, and on the person I want to be. I am far from perfect, and I still have a long way to go, but if I’ve learned anything, it’s that I don’t have to walk this road alone. I have family, friends, readers, and colleagues who are walking it with me, and for that, I am profoundly grateful.
Gratitude has become the light that guides me as I continue to find my way forward. Gratitude is no longer just a word to me. It’s a lifeline.
And remember, if you’re struggling, or know someone who is struggling, please don’t lose hope. If that had happened to me, I wouldn’t be able to help spread awareness today.
