134 Days Sober: A Thanksgiving I’ll Never Forget

Today is December 1st, 2025 — 134 days sober — and I’m still trying to wrap my mind around that number. One hundred and thirty-four days. It’s wild how a stretch of days can feel like a lifetime and yet a blink at the same time. Some mornings I wake up and I can still feel the old version of me tugging at my ankle, like it wants me to look back and return to the chaos I fought so hard to climb out of. But then there are days like yesterday — Thanksgiving — where I feel so rooted, so present, and so deeply alive that I can’t imagine ever going back.

This year was different. Everything about it felt intentional. Emotional. Sacred. It wasn’t the loudest Thanksgiving. It wasn’t the most glamorous. But it held a softness and a strength that I’ll remember for the rest of my life.

For the first time in a long time, I was actually there with my family. Not half-there. Not pretending. Not zoned out. Not numbing myself through the hours. I was fully, undeniably present — in my body, in my mind, in my spirit. And honestly… that alone felt like a miracle.

Walking Into Thanksgiving With Clarity

I woke up yesterday with this calmness in my chest that I don’t usually have on holidays. Holidays used to trigger me — the pressure, the emotions, the expectations, the energy of everyone in one house. Before, I’d walk into gatherings with a drink already in my system or a plan on how I’d sneak away to “take the edge off.”

But this time, I walked in with nothing but clarity.

I could smell the stuffing and the cinnamon coming from the kitchen. I could hear the laughter from the living room, the pots clanking, the football game humming in the background. And instead of feeling overwhelmed, I felt grateful. I felt grounded. I felt like I belonged — not in a forced way, not in a “let me act like I’m okay” way — but in a real, peaceful way.

Sobriety does that. It doesn’t just give you your clarity back. It returns your presence. Your identity. Your humanity.

Seeing My Family Through New Eyes

One thing sobriety has done is sharpen my awareness — in a tender way, not a painful one. I saw my family yesterday with new eyes. I noticed things I had brushed over before.

I watched the way my mom moves in the kitchen with her quiet confidence — tired but proud, always making sure everyone else is fed before she sits down herself. I saw the slight worry behind her smile when she looked at me, the kind only mothers carry when they remember watching their child suffer and aren’t ready to let go of that relief just yet.

I heard the way my relatives laughed — the deep, warm, belly laughs that only happen when people feel safe and happy. I listened to the unfiltered conversations, the jokes, the stories, the memories being shared like little treasures.

And most importantly, for the first time in a long time, I wasn’t watching them through a fog. I wasn’t hiding behind a buzz. I wasn’t disconnecting. I wasn’t running from myself.

I was present enough to feel the warmth, the love, the connection — and even the little irritations — that make families… families.

The Quiet Moment That Hit Me the Hardest

At one point, I stepped outside just to breathe in some cool air. I didn’t realize how emotional the day was making me until the air hit my face. I stood there under that soft gray sky, listening to the muffled voices in the house behind me, and it hit me —

I’m really here. I’m really sober. And I’m really healing.

I remembered past holidays where I cried in the bathroom because I felt trapped in my own cycle. I remembered the guilt. The shame. The fear. The lies I told myself about “starting over tomorrow.” The moments where I genuinely doubted I would ever find a way out.

And then I thought about right now — 134 days sober, standing on solid ground, breathing deeply, thinking clearly, being loved fully, and loving back without walls or fog or broken promises.

It was one of those moments where you realize how far you’ve come, even if you haven’t been counting the miles.

The Conversation That Shifted Something in Me

Later in the evening, my aunt pulled me aside. She hugged me and whispered, “You look happy. You look like yourself again.”

That hit hard — not in a painful way, but in a freeing way.

Because I do feel like myself again… but I also feel like someone new. Someone stronger. Someone softer. Someone wiser. Someone who’s not afraid to choose peace even when the old version of me wants chaos.

Sobriety didn’t just give me my life back — it allowed me to meet a version of myself I had never met before. The version of me who can sit with her feelings instead of running from them. The version who can speak with clarity. The version who can walk into a room without trying to hide behind a drink. The version who can sit in silence without spiraling.

This is the version of me my family saw yesterday.

And honestly, I’m so proud of her.

When the Night Started Winding Down

As we started cleaning up, gathering leftovers, packing plates, and hugging goodbye, I felt this deep wave of gratitude wash over me.

Gratitude for a family that never gave up on me.

Gratitude for a mind that fought to steady itself again.

Gratitude for a body that survived what I put it through.

Gratitude for a spirit that refused to stay broken.

And gratitude for the chance to experience a holiday sober — present, aware, and whole.

What 134 Days Really Means to Me

It’s not just about the number. It’s not just about counting days. It’s about rebuilding the foundation under my feet. It’s about letting myself enjoy moments without guilt. It’s about proving to myself, every single day, that I can create a life that feels good to live — not one I need to escape from.

134 days means:

• I’m choosing myself.

• I’m choosing my future.

• I’m choosing my family.

• I’m choosing presence.

• I’m choosing peace.

• I’m choosing healing.

And Thursday, surrounded by the people I love, I felt all of that.

A Thanksgiving I’ll Carry With Me

This Thanksgiving wasn’t perfect or dramatic or extravagant. But it was meaningful. It was healing. It was honest. And it was mine.

I didn’t numb anything. I didn’t run from anything. I didn’t pretend.

I just… lived.

And for someone who once felt trapped in her own shadows, that alone is a blessing worth celebrating.

Here’s to 134 days.
Here’s to family.
Here’s to presence.
Here’s to healing.
Here’s to every holiday I get to experience fully awake.

And here’s to the version of me who keeps showing up — even when it’s hard, even when it’s messy, even when it’s emotional — because she knows the life she’s building is worth every moment. 🌹⛓💥