Sober In LA

I’m from the Inland Empire, right outside LA, and for a long time I looked like I had it together.

Housewife.

Kids.

Target runs.

Coffee in hand.

Hair done enough.

Smiling.

Normal.

But behind all that?

I loved coke.

I loved alcohol.

I smoked cigarettes.

And opioids had me in a chokehold.

It was exhausting.

Expensive as hell.

And honestly? It didn’t matter what the outside looked like. Addiction was addiction. Mine just happened to come with yoga pants, a mom car, and a house in the IE.

For a long time I kept telling myself I was fine.

Still taking care of everyone.

Still showing up.

Still functioning.

And that’s the tricky part.

You can be absolutely drowning and still packing lunches.

Still answering texts.

Still looking “fine.”

Then one morning around 5 a.m. my daughter saw me outside with a cigarette.

And something about that moment punched me right in the chest.

She was little… but she noticed.

And I immediately thought—

Oh hell no.

This is not becoming normal for her.

That was one of those moments you feel all the way through your body.

Like okay.

Enough.

This has to change.

And when I decided to get help, I went to the county MAT center with a blanket, a change of clothes, and a giant bag full of stuff to keep me busy.

Snacks.

Phone charger.

Chapstick.

Random crap.

Basically packed like I was heading to the airport or spending the day at soccer practice.

I walked in carrying all my emotional support supplies and the lady at the front looked at me and said,

“Girl… I think you’re in the wrong place. We’re here for opioid addiction.”

And I was like,

“Yep. That’s me.”

And I could tell she was surprised.

Like… you?

I guess I wasn’t what she expected.

And honestly that hit me.

Because addiction doesn’t look one certain way.

It’s every age.

Every neighborhood.

Every kind of person.

Sometimes it looks messy.

Sometimes it looks like a mom from the Inland Empire trying to keep her shit together while secretly spending way too much money making sure she doesn’t get sick.

My shape was housewife.

And trust me… plenty of housewives abuse drugs too.

We just usually still have groceries in the trunk and school pickup at 2:15.

I’m not ashamed of saying it now.

I was struggling.

Bad.

And on June 4th, 2024, I got sober.

Best decision I ever made.

Hardest too.

I had to actually feel everything I spent years trying to numb.

No hiding.

No checking out.

No running.

Just me.

Real life.

One day at a time.

And it turns out real life is actually really beautiful when you can fully feel it.

Now I wake up clear.

I’m there for my babies.

I’m present.

I laugh more.

I feel more.

I don’t have to panic.

I don’t have to plan my whole day around pills or coke or alcohol.

I don’t have to hide.

And I’m proud of that.

Really proud.

I’m still healing.

Still growing.

Still figuring it out.

But I’m here.

And if you would’ve told the old me—the IE mom walking into county MAT with a blanket and a purse full of snacks—that one day she’d actually feel peaceful?

She probably would’ve laughed and said,

“Okay… but can I still bring my blanket?”

And honestly…

yeah.

Bring the blanket.

Just keep going

if you recovery curious - sober from whatever - come here for a laugh a cry. and a whole lot of spelling errors lol... just keeping comeback