Achieving sobriety can bring profound changes: rebuilding trust, reaching milestones once thought impossible, and experiencing life anew. Before I got sober, I was making the most money I’d ever made, but no amount of money, relationships, or magical solutions could fix my issues with drinking and drugs. I needed to feel enough pain and turmoil to desire something different. Despite my family and friends’ efforts to help, I continued on a path of self-destruction, overdosing more than once, facing arrests, and losing countless relationships.
My turning point came after a particularly brutal bender. My family staged an intervention at my therapist’s office, and somehow, I agreed to go to a treatment center. Whether it was fatigue, seeing my father emotional for the first time, or my therapist’s words, something made me say yes.
Arriving at the treatment center broken and confused, I stayed for a year, learning how to be a friend, a decent family member, and, most importantly, how to maintain sobriety. I followed suggestions and gradually found my footing. I recall a speaker at a meeting saying, “Some of us have to die so that others can live.” Initially, it seemed a cold perspective, but almost a decade later, it resonates deeply.
Recovery soon became my new normal. My relationships with family stabilized, and I began to cherish steady employment, healthy friendships, and meaningful experiences. Engaging in twelve-step meetings, I found a sense of purpose and humor, bonding with my home group and discovering a passion for helping others. I returned to school, became a therapist, and started dating my wife. Life was looking up for someone who had once been consumed by addiction.
However, the journey wasn’t without its devastation. Shortly after a year of sobriety, a good friend relapsed, and I was terrified. My sponsor reminded me that I now knew how my family felt before I got sober. It was a sobering realization. Over time, I learned to accept that I couldn’t control others’ decisions.
This theme of loss kept reappearing. Friends relapsed, faced legal consequences, or worse. I became somewhat numb to the cycle, trying to balance empathy with necessary boundaries. It’s easy to fall into judgment, but recovery taught me the importance of compassion and self-care.
The most devastating moments were losing friends to addiction. I vividly remember the first peer who passed away, just days after completing his business degree. These losses were brutal reminders of addiction’s power. Despite their potential and support, some could not escape the grip of their addiction.
Working at a treatment center, I learned the importance of self-care in such an emotionally heavy field. Regular meetings, exercise, and fulfilling activities outside work became essential. Over the years, I’ve seen many come and go, and some, tragically, never make it back.
After over eight years of sobriety, I’ve realized the profound impact of these losses. Compartmentalizing was a coping mechanism, but grief is complex and inescapable. Processing these feelings is crucial, whether through therapy, support groups, or other means.
People aren’t built to endure the kind of loss I’ve witnessed since 2015. It catches up with you. Writing this article serves two purposes: to prepare those in recovery for the realities they might face and to process how these experiences have shaped me. Recently, I lost another friend. He fought hard but didn’t make it, pulling me back into the depths of powerlessness and grief.
Grief has no perfect process. It’s okay to struggle with it. This article is to let others know they are not alone. Here are the initials of those I’ve lost in recovery: it’s real, and it’s okay to talk about it.