I use to need a drink for EVERYTHING even folding laundry

The Shit I Learned Sober…

Turns out I was never “bad at mornings”—I was just hungover.

That doesn’t mean I wake up glowing.

Let’s not get carried away.

My body still creaks.

My brain still takes a minute.

Some mornings I feel like the Tin Man before Dorothy found the oil can.

Stiff.

Slow.

A little annoyed.

Making weird noises just trying to stand up.

That first stretch? Humbling.

That first walk to the coffee pot? A journey.

Recovery didn’t magically turn me into a morning person.

I’m not waking up at 5 a.m. to journal under candlelight.

But I’m also not waking up panicked.

Not replaying the night before.

Not checking my phone with dread.

Not feeling sick, shaky, anxious, or immediately needing something just to feel normal.

I still need a minute to get the squeaky wheels moving.

Maybe a few minutes.

Maybe coffee and absolute silence.

But it’s a real kind of tired now.

A human kind.

Not the exhausted, anxious, survival-mode kind.

And I’ll take stiff and squeaky over hungover and miserable every single time.