And being in it still counts.
You came back. Again.
That alone says more than you think.
Maybe it’s been months since anyone saw your face on a meeting screen. Maybe it’s been years. But there you were—raw, tired, blinking through the screen, voice trembling, saying what you didn’t want to say again:
“I just can’t get this thing.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I’ve tried so hard.”
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
And I sat there wanting to reach through the screen and say something that didn’t sound like a bumper sticker or a threat. Not “you don’t want it bad enough.” Not “you’re doing it wrong.” Not even “keep coming back,” though I hope you do.
What I wanted to say is this: You’re not broken. You’re just stuck.
And stuck isn’t permanent.
Stuck isn’t the end.
Stuck is just where hope gets quieter.
You’re not the only one who’s come back with your hands in the air saying, “I give up.” I’ve watched people with twenty years in and people with twenty minutes both reach that exact same breaking point.
And if I could give you anything right now, it wouldn’t be a pep talk. It’d be a breath.
One long, deep, shame-free breath.
Because I know you’ve been holding it for too long.
Some of us get this thing the first time. Some of us don’t.
I don’t know why. I really don’t. And anyone who says they do is either lucky or lying. But I do know this: wanting it isn’t the whole story. Trying hard isn’t the whole story. It’s not about how bad you want it. It’s about what you believe you deserve when you do.
You can want sobriety with everything you have. But if you secretly believe you’re not worth it? That you’ll fail anyway? That it won’t change anything? Then you’re carrying weights that nobody sees.
This isn’t about willpower. It’s about wiring.
If you’ve relapsed over and over, it’s not because you’re weak. It’s because alcohol was wired into your solution system. It was your off switch. Your numb button. Your courage pill. Your social cue. Your grief suppressant. Your reward. Your companion. Your relief.
You can’t just delete all of that in one swing.
Here’s what I’d say to the version of you that showed up crying on the screen:
Of course you can’t get this thing. You’re trying to reprogram decades of coping with nothing but raw hope and shame beating on your back. Of course it feels impossible.
But what if you gave yourself something more?
What if you paused the punishment and picked up some curiosity?
What if instead of asking, “Why can’t I get this?” you asked, “What do I still believe alcohol is doing for me?”
Not why you’re failing—but what you’re still reaching for when you reach for the bottle.
Because recovery isn’t just about stopping drinking. It’s about learning why you started in the first place, and why it still feels like a valid option on day 1, or day 1001.
I won’t lie to you—this isn’t easy. But I’ve seen people who couldn’t put together three sober days for years finally string together six months. Then a year. Then two.
And you know what changed?
Not their desire.
Not their intelligence.
Not their strength.
They just got tired of trying the same way.
They stopped trying to white-knuckle it and started getting curious. They stopped hiding their real pain and started putting language to it. They stopped thinking of relapse as proof of their brokenness and started seeing it as information.
They started asking better questions. Not just “How do I stop?” but “What am I avoiding?”
Not just “What’s wrong with me?” but “What happened to me?”
If you’re still struggling, maybe it’s not because you don’t want it enough. Maybe it’s because you’re still treating it like a performance instead of a process.
Recovery isn’t earned through effort. It’s discovered through honesty.
And sometimes the most honest thing you can say is: “I need help rewiring my life, not just my drinking.”
Because recovery isn’t about doing it right. It’s about not quitting when it goes wrong.
You’re allowed to be frustrated.
You’re allowed to be heartbroken.
You’re allowed to be exhausted.
But you are not disqualified.
If you’re reading this, or you showed up to that meeting, or you whispered, “I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” then hear me now:
Nothing is wrong with you.
Healing is messy, nonlinear, and slow as hell sometimes.
But it is possible. Hear that again: it is possible. It is possible for you.
I don’t say that as a slogan. I say it as a man who has stared at bottles, at bongs, at nothing—and said, “I don’t know how to do this,” and still somehow stayed sober one more night.
That night added up.
They always do.
So here’s my prayer for you, the weary one:
May today be the day you stop asking what’s wrong with you and start asking what’s worth healing in you.
May today be the day you stop seeing relapse as failure and start seeing it as information.
May today be the day you believe that maybe, just maybe, you’re not disqualified after all.
You’re just still in it.
And being in it still counts.
How about you?
We’d love for you to share in the comments:
- What’s one small win you’ve had recently on your recovery journey?
- How do you usually handle those tough moments when you just want to give up?
And before you go, would you take a second to tap that little heart? It lets others know there’s something helpful here and grows our sober community.
We know that sharing about recovery and sobriety can feel vulnerable. Like in recovery groups, we ask that commenters in this space refrain from giving unsolicited advice or spreading hate and division. Rest assured, anyone who does not honor this request will be removed from the comment section. Thank you for helping us foster a kind and inclusive community!
M. Shane Willbanks is a recovered alcoholic, writer, and proud work-in-progress. In his newsletter, Sober Duder’s Spot, he writes about the gritty, beautiful, often ridiculous path of staying sober and staying human. He lives in Arkansas, where he’s learning that healing doesn’t always look heroic—but it does look like showing up.
Want to be published on Sober.com? If you’re sober and interested in contributing, we’d love to hear from you. Reach out to our newsletter manager here for submission guidelines.