I Thought I Was Different Than Them

✨ I THOUGHT THEY WERE DIFFERENT THAN ME ✨

When I first came into recovery and sat in the rooms of AA, I remember looking around and thinking, “These people are different than me.” Many of them had lost everything. Their homes, marriages, jobs, families, and sometimes even their freedom. I believed that in order to be an alcoholic, you had to lose it all.

After all, I was only sitting in those rooms because of a court card. I had been in an accident after having a glass of wine. Technically, according to the law, it was considered two glasses. The thing was, I did not feel drunk. I was not stumbling, slurring my words, or passed out somewhere. I was only a few short blocks from my house. The judge sentenced me to attend three AA meetings along with a long list of other requirements, so I went. Not because I thought I had a drinking problem, but because I had to.

What I did not know then was that alcoholism is a progressive disease. Like many newcomers, I misunderstood what that meant. I thought progressive meant that if I kept drinking, things would eventually get worse. While that is true, it is not the whole story. What I learned in recovery is that alcoholism continues to progress whether we are drinking or not. I did not know that I could have 60 days sober, 90 days sober, a year sober, or even 18 months sober and, if I picked up a drink again, I would not start over where I began. I would pick up exactly where I left off.

The disease would be waiting. Not out in a parking lot doing push ups. For me, it would be inside my soul, hiding in the dark shadows, quietly doing push ups while I convinced myself I was different this time. Patiently waiting for me to forget the pain, minimize the consequences, and start believing the lie that maybe I was not really an alcoholic after all. Waiting to whisper, “Just one will not hurt.” Waiting to tell me I could drink only on special occasions, only on vacation, only with dinner, or only when life was going well.

The problem is that alcoholism is cunning, baffling, and powerful. It does not disappear because I stop drinking. It waits. And if given the opportunity, it picks up right where it left off.

One of the biggest misconceptions about addiction and recovery is that alcohol is the problem. Alcohol was really the symptom. What drove me to drink was often what was happening underneath. The fear. The loneliness. The anxiety. The shame. The guilt. The restlessness. The feeling that I was not enough. The drinking became my solution long before it became my problem. When I finally stopped drinking, all those emotions were still there waiting for me. Recovery forced me to look at them, feel them, and learn healthier ways to live with them.

I cannot tell you how many people I have met who have relapsed and then sat across from me saying, “Michelle, I feel like such a loser.” My heart breaks every time I hear those words because I know exactly how that feels. The shame can be crushing. The guilt can feel unbearable. The remorse can make you want to hide from the world. But relapse does not mean you are a loser. It means you are suffering from a disease that wants you isolated, disconnected, and hopeless. It wants you to believe that you are beyond help. It wants you to stop asking for support. It wants you sitting alone in your house convincing yourself that nobody understands you.

The truth is that nobody comes into recovery on a winning streak. We do not walk into AA because life is amazing. We come in broken. We come in exhausted. We come in desperate. We come in scared. We come in tired of trying to do it our way. Most of us have tried every form of controlled drinking imaginable. We have tried only drinking on weekends, only drinking beer, only drinking wine, only drinking on vacation, only drinking after work, or taking breaks and proving to ourselves we can stop. The problem is not stopping. Many of us have stopped hundreds of times. The problem is staying stopped.

I also remember thinking, “Who has time for all these meetings?” Seriously. I had young children. I was raising a family. I had responsibilities, bills, work, and a life that demanded everything I had. Sitting in meetings every day sounded impossible to me. I remember looking at people who seemed to live in recovery and wondering how they found the time.

Then someone told me something that changed my life.

“If you do not put your sobriety first, everything else will eventually come last.”

At first, I did not understand what they meant. I thought my children should come first. My family should come first. My responsibilities should come first. What I eventually learned was that if I lost my sobriety, I would eventually lose my ability to be present for all of those things. Alcoholism does not just take away our drinking. It takes away our peace, our relationships, our purpose, our self respect, and eventually the people we love the most.

Someone else pointed out something that was hard to argue with.

“Michelle, if you found time to drink, surely you can find time for a one hour meeting.”

They were right.

I found time to buy alcohol.

I found time to think about alcohol.

I found time to recover from alcohol.

I found time to sit with hangovers.

I found time to feel guilty about alcohol.

Yet somehow I was telling myself I did not have time for recovery.

The truth was, it was not a time problem.

It was a priority problem.

Prayer does not require a meeting hall. We can pray anywhere. We can pray while driving, cooking, walking, working, or lying awake at night. But the truth is, I was not praying. I was not reading recovery literature. I was not calling other sober women. I was not reaching out for help. I was not doing inventory. I was not doing service work.

I was not doing recovery work.

And that is exactly why I relapsed.

Today I understand that recovery is not something I attend. Recovery is something I live. The meetings help me. The fellowship helps me. The Steps help me. Prayer helps me. Service helps me. But none of those things work if I am unwilling to do the work.

Sobriety is simple, but it is not passive.

We must do the work.

One of the greatest gifts recovery has given me is a completely different perspective on pain. For most of my life, I thought pain was the enemy. I spent years trying to avoid it, numb it, escape it, drink over it, and run from it. Whenever I felt fear, loneliness, disappointment, grief, shame, or uncertainty, I wanted relief. Alcohol became my solution long before it became my problem.

Looking back, I can see that the pain was not the punishment. The pain was the invitation. The pain was the wake up call. The pain was showing me that the life I was living was no longer working. The pain was exposing the cracks in my foundation. The pain was inviting me toward change.

Today, I believe that pain was our admission to freedom.

Without the pain, many of us would never have walked into the rooms of recovery. Without the pain, we may never have become willing to listen, willing to learn, or willing to surrender. Without the pain, we may never have asked for help. We often think our greatest weakness is what brings us to recovery, but sometimes it is actually our greatest teacher.

For me, that pain became the doorway to healing. It led me to recovery. It led me to the Twelve Steps. It led me to fellowship. It led me to service. It led me to a relationship with God. It led me to discover strengths I never knew I had. Most importantly, it led me back to myself.

Today, I no longer see my past as something that disqualifies me. I see it as part of my story. My experience gives me the ability to sit with someone who is suffering and honestly say, “I understand.” My wreckage became my message. My pain became my purpose. My struggles became the very things God now uses to help someone else find hope.

Has recovery made my life perfect? Absolutely not. But it has made my life meaningful. It has made me kinder, more patient, more dependable, and more useful to others. It has taught me how to show up when life gets hard instead of running from it. It has taught me that freedom is not found in a bottle. Freedom is found in truth.

If you are struggling today, if you have relapsed, if you are questioning whether recovery is worth it, or if you are wondering whether you can ever get your life back, please know this:

You do not have to lose everything before you decide to save your life.

There is hope.

There is healing.

There is a solution.

Recovery gave me something alcohol never could.

Peace.

Purpose.

Connection.

Freedom.

And the chance to become the woman God intended me to be.

And if it worked for me, it can work for you too. ❤️

Michelle Montoya

THE HEALING CHEFF®

Healing Hearts. Restoring Hope. Transforming Lives.

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