SIX YEARS SOBER: PROOF THAT CHANGE IS POSSIBLE
Today marks six years of sobriety. That’s 2,190 days of choosing myself over the bottle — of saying yes to clarity, peace, and purpose. Six years of detoxifying my body and purifying my mind. It almost feels surreal — partly because at first I wasn’t sure I could get here, and partly because the version of me who started this journey feels like such a distant memory. I remember that guy vividly — full of potential, full of untapped love, but clouded by pain, distraction, and a need to numb. Fractured, broken, fearful, and alone — but doing the best he could with the limited internal tools and skills he had. And in many ways, he’s the one who handed me the keys to this new life. I’m proud of him for deciding we deserved better — for hitting an internal bottom, shattering into a million pieces, and realizing that the only person who could put him back together was himself.
Sobriety hasn’t just been the absence of drinking or doing drugs — it’s been a return to wholeness. It’s been the most sacred act of self-respect I’ve ever committed to. It’s been my daily offering of love — one that, over time, compounds and grows in ways that still shock me. With each sober day, I’ve peeled back layers of avoidance and stepped into presence. It’s given me access to my creativity in a way I never thought possible. My vision, my mission, my words, the way I communicate and connect — they’ve all deepened because I’m no longer hiding. Everywhere I go, there I am. I’m fully in the room now — present, tapped in, and deeply rooted in my authenticity. People feel that.
One of the most powerful things sobriety has taught me is how to sit with myself. Not just the shiny parts — the real, raw, dirty, complex parts, too. Learning to navigate the quiet moments without reaching for an escape has given me strength. It’s also taught me that healing isn’t linear, and that grace is a daily practice. I've had to forgive myself — and others — over and over again. But from that place, I’ve found freedom. Real freedom. The kind that can’t be bought or borrowed — only earned through truth and time. This is the kind of freedom that unshackled me from the sources of my wounds and broke the cycle of leaving emotional trauma in my wake.
My relationships have changed. They’ve shifted, molded, deepened, and become more intentional. I show up now with an open heart and a clear mind. I listen better. I speak with more love. And I’ve watched those around me soften and expand because of that. I intentionally create space for us to come as we are — a sacred, safe landing pad where we can be vulnerable without judgment or accusations. I know for a fact that my sobriety has inspired others to look inward, to ask better questions, to believe that maybe they can do it, too. That’s not a small thing. That ripple matters. It matters more than I can probably even see — and it affects people in ways I may never even know.
This path has gifted me so many positive attributes — clarity, self-awareness, emotional intelligence, patience, and discipline. I’ve become self-dependable, self-sufficient, creative in my coping, and grounded in my values. I no longer chase chaos. I seek peace — and more importantly, I protect it. There’s a calmness and joy in me now that didn’t exist before, and I don’t take that lightly. It took a lot of storms to get here. It took a lot of drowning beneath the currents of my shame, but the divine glimmer of hope that shined through the waves gave me the courage to learn how to swim. And now, I can’t help but surf through the polarities of life with a smile on my face and gratitude in my heart. I never knew the access point to sunshine required walking through the storm — but now, I can’t unsee the gift in every weather pattern.
I sustain this life through daily choices — sometimes loud ones, sometimes quiet. It’s in the way I start my mornings, how I speak to myself, and what I allow into my space. It’s in the accountability I keep, the community I nourish, and the self-love I practice even when it’s uncomfortable. I’ve learned that sobriety is like a garden — you have to tend to it daily: water it, protect it from weeds, let the sun in, and say thank you for the harvest.
Most of all, I stay grounded in my “why.” I stay close to the truth of who I am when I’m not trying to numb or run. I love that guy. I like that guy. I trust him. I root for him. I believe in him. And I know now that he’s worth showing up for every single day. This isn’t about perfection — it’s about presence. It’s about choosing love over fear, again and again.
And though it’s not the typical protocol offered by professional behavioral therapists for healing addiction patterns, this is what I’ve found useful on my own: I choose to use my shame as my guardrails. I use the shame I felt when I was that blacked-out version of myself — the chaos I induced, the pain I caused, the manipulation, the broken promises, and the way that version of me made others and myself feel — as a barometer for where I never want to go again. That version of me is not my truth. That version of me is not who I was created to be.
He was in survival mode, using any tactic he could muster to bypass the hard work and tough changes required for radical transformation. He didn’t trust that this version of me — the one writing this now — could love us enough to save us, to rescue us, to be someone we could depend on. But now he has proof. And that proof is how we trust that we will never go back to that old place — the ruins of our past. We’re only interested in the present and the journey toward our future. We’ve grown too big to fit back into that old life.
So today, I celebrate — quietly, loudly, and fully. Not just the time that’s passed, but the man I’ve become. A moment to tenderly acknowledge and honor the broken boy, and to applaud the warrior he’s grown to be. Six years of sobriety. Six years of becoming. I’m still unfolding, still learning, still loving, still transforming. And that, to me, is the most beautiful part of this whole thing.
To my friends, and to the strangers I haven’t met but still root for — I know this journey can feel tough, maybe even unfathomable. But I promise you, you are more powerful than you think. Those temporary band-aids we with addictive tendencies tend to lean on never offer a permanent solution. And that’s what we’re really after — a solution. Even that bottle in your hand or those drugs in your system are attempts to solve something deeper. But they’re not the actual source of pain. They’re not the root of the behavior, only a byproduct. The only thing you can truly pour that offers a real fix… is love. Love is the antidote. Forgiveness is the key. Healing is the journey.
I believe you can reach a level of self-love, self-acceptance, and self-worth that may currently feel like a distant mirage in a dry desert littered with the skeletons of your past. I say this with conviction because I’ve walked that difficult terrain myself. But somewhere along the way, I looked down and saw footprints already there — footprints of love, hope, and faith that knew this version of me before I did.
Follow those footprints leading to the life you deserve and the lasting transformation you deeply desire. The you that you were created to be is patiently waiting — arms wide open — ready to love you, hold you, and tell you how proud they are to finally have you back. I know it’s hard, but you have to keep going. You have to keep fighting, because YOU are so worth it.
Your friend,
Danny