Six Weeks Loud and Sober
Here I am, standing at the edge of my life and shouting into the world—because today marks six weeks of sobriety! Six weeks of feeling every emotion without numbing them. Six weeks of rejecting the idea that alcohol ever improved my life. Six weeks of firmly saying “No, thank you,” even when my instincts screamed for just one drink. It’s been a tough journey, with a sense of purpose guiding me through.
Let’s be clear: this isn’t just a tale of willpower; it’s a story of honesty, heartfelt prayers, sleepless nights, and grace arriving when I needed it most.
Just two weeks ago, I walked into the Rogers Centre with my son for a concert, surrounded by flashing lights and pulsing rhythms, while people around us indulged in drinks. I held my reusable water bottle tightly, a reminder of the battle against the old me who would have given in to temptation.
What made that night special was my son’s unwavering support. Each smile he offered strengthened my resolve to stay sober. I wasn’t just fighting for myself; I was doing it for him, his sisters, and my grandbabies. His quiet presence made every challenge feel manageable.
And those water refill stations? They were crucial. I didn’t have to navigate beer lines or consider “just one.” I filled up, walked away, and stayed sober even as temptation loomed. The atmosphere was thick with the allure of drinks and laughter, but I stood firm. I’ve been that girl—caught up in the buzz—but not this time.
Fast forward to this past weekend when I hit the road for a roadtrip to Virginia Beach with my mom and aunt, excited to visit my sister and catch Wynonna Judd in concert. Just the three of us on the open road, and while the drive was filled with laughter and conversation, I was aware of familiar temptations waiting for me at the end of the day. After long hours on the road, I found myself grappling with the urge to unwind with a reward beer once we reached our destination—a habit I used to indulge in without a second thought.
What made this trip particularly challenging was that I hadn’t fully opened up to them about my sobriety journey yet. I felt their support, but I also carried a weight of guilt, as I had always been the one to orchestrate our activities and shenanigans. Embracing sobriety made me worry I was letting them down. It was a tricky balance—wanting to savor our time together while staying committed to my health.
As they sipped their drinks, a trace of doubt stirred. Was I still showing up in the way they expected? Maybe not. But I knew where I stood. This was my journey now—clear-headed, intentional, and quietly different. Shifting the rhythm of our dynamic took some care, but I wasn’t willing to compromise the choices I’d made. I moved thoughtfully, aware of the changes, but grounded in who I was becoming. It wasn’t dramatic—just deliberate. And that felt right.
During the concert, emotions swirled around me. Wynonna’s voice filled the venue, igniting a longing to lose myself in the crowd. Then came “Rock Bottom,” and her words struck a chord: “When you hit rock bottom, you’ve got two ways to go—straight up and sideways.” Those lyrics resonated deeply, reminding me that at my lowest, I could either spiral or rise. I chose to rise—with Jesus by my side. As tears streamed down my face, the weight of those lyrics enveloped me. I realized I had faced hard times, and this was a defining choice. I was breaking free from my past and reaching for something greater. Surrounded by music and energy, I felt strong, knowing Jesus had my back.
Adding to the magic, our seats got bumped up unexpectedly at the concert, and I didn’t buy that as just random luck. Nope—felt like the Holy Spirit dropping me a wink, a sharp reminder that I’m on the right track. Not because I’m perfect, but because sometimes grace shows up loud and clear when you’re grinding through the hard stuff. In that moment, surrounded by the music and that unexpected upgrade, I felt it—how far I’d come, how much I’ve fought to stay sober and true. It wasn’t some soft pat on the back; it was a clear sign: keep going, you’re exactly where you need to be.
That night was more than just a concert; it was a moment of reckoning. Amid the chaos, I took a step back to reflect on my journey. Each note resonated within me, proving that God is rewriting my story, one honest note at a time. It felt like the soundtrack to my transformation, celebrating my struggles and the strength I found.
Walking out of that arena, sober and whole, I felt a profound truth: this is real. This is possible. This is grace in motion. I left with clarity and purpose, fully aware that my commitment to sobriety was not just a personal choice but a shift in how I experience life. It was a moment of liberation, where I could embrace my true self without the haze of alcohol clouding my view. I felt grateful for the journey I had undertaken, knowing each step forward was a testament to the grace that had carried me through the darkest times. This night will remain etched in my memory, a reminder that I am supported, loved, and capable of creating the life I desire.
And let’s be honest—I’m not floating on some cloud of bliss. This is still a struggle. It’s still me pacing my living room at midnight while my old demons try to barter with me. “You’ve done great,” they whisper. “You deserve a break.” But I don’t need a drink. I need Jesus. And when I pray—even if it’s just two shaky words, “Jesus, help”—He meets me every time. No grand gestures. Just a quiet strength that fills me and reminds me: You’re not alone. Keep going.
Six weeks might not seem like much to some, but for the girl who couldn’t last six days, it’s a resurrection. Six weeks of showing up for my life. Six weeks of remembering every detail. Six weeks of healing instead of hiding. Six weeks of confidently saying “No thanks, I’m good”—and meaning it. Six weeks of conversations I actually remember. Six weeks of clear eyes and steady hands. Six weeks of waking up without shame. Six weeks of journaling instead of drinking. Six weeks of worship songs instead of wasted nights. Six weeks of facing my pain instead of drowning it.
This is not a diet. This is not a trend. This is deliverance. This is God performing CPR on a soul I thought was buried. I’m sharing this for anyone out there who feels it’s too late. It’s not. If you woke up today, you have breath in your lungs and a choice to make. You don’t have to earn it. You don’t have to fake it. You just have to want it—and ask. Ask honestly, and ask again and again.
Because silence kept me sick, but honesty is keeping me healed. And I’ll keep going. One prayer, one decision, one shaky “yes” at a time.
So today? I’m six weeks loud and sober. Tomorrow? I’ll wake up, hit my knees, and start again. Not perfectly. Not painlessly. But powerfully—because I’m not walking alone anymore. Jesus walks with me, and I’m not keeping quiet about it.
Looking ahead, I know there’s more in store. Each day is a new opportunity to embrace the messy, beautiful journey of life and faith, with Jesus’ love lighting the way. I’m ready to face whatever comes, one step at a time, with my head held high and my heart wide open. With my son cheering me on and God guiding me, I’m determined to keep moving forward, fully aware that with Him, I can tackle anything life throws my way.
