I wanted 2022 to be my comeback story. I even chose my word of the year with manifestation in mind. I chose “thrive,” because I was so sick of barely surviving. I wanted to take 2022 by the horns, feel like myself again, and smash my goals. I wanted to feel deep joy and let go of deep pain. After two years of having my life completely turned upside down by grief, loss, a pandemic, postpartum depression and anxiety, changing jobs, and more, I wanted to dig my heels in again, commit to myself and truly come out on top.

As the sober community flourishes, we are seeing more and more sober curious folks and fewer people attending 12 step meetings. We are seeing people take breaks from alcohol just because, and not feel the pressure of defining their relationship with alcohol. Frankly, I am shocked and impressed by this shift. If you told me 9 years ago when I first got sober that this would happen I would have said, “no way.”

Nobody told me life was riddled with so much grief. Nobody told me at times it would be hard to see any joy or hope at all. Nobody prepared me for the depression and grief of being an adult. When you’re a child you get time to rest and your parents will likely let you lay on the couch while they bring you snacks and in general, having fun is a top priority. As an adult, your top priorities are keeping yourself and your family alive, paying the bills, giving enough at work so that you can keep your job and hopefully get a raise, and shield yourself from the inevitable wrenches that home ownership and other unforeseen tragedies under capitalism will throw your way. What’s not to love?

I feel like I’m always bombarded by authors who write about the worst circumstances you could think of, their husband dies unexpectedly, they lost everything they have, their life goes nothing as planned, yet they always persevere. It’s a happy story about their success and their triumph. The reader is always left thinking “how does this person find joy and success in their life after all of that?”

How can an entire year be simultaneously the hardest year of your life and also the one where the most magical thing happened? How can I love my baby so much, but also acknowledge that his presence has turned my world upside down?

Eight years ago I embarked on a journey that has shaped how my life has unfolded. Before I got sober I never thought about my future much. I didn’t consider if what I was doing was good or helped people. I wasn’t worried about my career or achievements. I didn’t think about yesterday or tomorrow. And though I was “living in the moment,” those moments added up and the years passed me by.

Typically I love the end of the year. I love Christmas and then preparing for New Year’s Eve. I love reflecting on the previous 365 days, looking at all I have achieved, what went well, what I’ve learned, and what I want to leave behind and what I want to take into the new year. It’s generally a refreshing time when I feel content and hopeful. I think about all the things I want to do in the coming year and my motivation is renewed.

Our pregnancy was not a result of this pandemic or quarantine. We are not having a “covid baby.” We are having a baby after almost a year of trying to conceive. We are having a baby after a miscarriage last year and an abortion 8 years ago. This was a planned and calculated decision, which I am truly grateful for, but of course, like most family planning journeys, it didn't happen as soon or as easily as we thought it would.

I might be crying as I write this. For a number of reasons - the first being it’s my favorite time of day - a quiet, windy morning and I am overlooking my lanai watching the trees blow in the wind. I am watching my cats curiously examine the outside environment while my husband sleeps peacefully in our bed. I’ve just done my morning meditation and moved on to writing. But today is different. Today is my birthday and I turn 35.

Seven years ago my life changed forever. I still count it as the biggest and best decision I’ve ever made and sometimes I still can’t even believe it happened. It seems like just yesterday I was living in different cities and countries, partying in dark nightclubs until dawn, doing lines of cocaine with strangers, having wine with dinner, and indulging in dirty martinis with sushi. I had no idea what my life would turn out to be and I didn’t care much. Frankly I was more concerned with what party I would be attending or which occasion I would be celebrating and how extravagant it could be, one day at time until those days became years.