Up until now, my journey towards sobriety has been much like a side hustle. It was something I did when I had the spare time or when things got really bad. It was there, but it was not my priority.
That, I confess, is where I faltered. 
Lately, I’ve been feeling like a tightrope walker who’s lost his balance. My steps are wavering, and the fall feels imminent. Sobriety, my safety net, is but a thin thread beneath, fraying under the weight of my other commitments.
I’ve had more slips than steady strides. More moments of despair than victory. It’s like battling a hydra – I think I’ve cut off one head, and two more grow in its place. This struggle has left me feeling vulnerable, worried that if I keep on this path, I might not just fall but take someone down with me.
It sucks. It’s confusing.
Sometimes I sit and wonder, “How has it been so long in this battle, yet I have so few solid streaks of sobriety to show for it?” The journey has been long, the fight hard, and yet, my victories feel fleeting, almost ephemeral. It’s like trying to hold water in my hands; it’s there one moment and slips through my fingers the next.
I know my 12-stepping friends will say let go, surrender it to God and just take one day at a time.
I’ve done that thousands of times now and keep picking it back up.
Yuck.
Cunning, baffling, powerful.
The fact that I’ve been documenting this entire struggle in such a public forum sometimes makes me feel like a fraud. I’ve been pouring out my heart, confessing my struggles, sharing my triumphs, but in the end, I keep finding myself slinking back to the same old poison. The doubt creeps in, taunting me with thoughts like, “Are you just pretending? Is all of this just for show?” But then I remind myself that this journey, with all its pitfalls and relapses, is real. It’s raw, it’s messy, but it’s mine. Even with the slips and the falls, I’m still here, I’m still fighting.
So, here’s to authenticity, to owning the struggle, to embracing the messy truth of recovery. And here’s to hoping that, one day, the sober streaks will outweigh the slips.
It’s dawning on me that I need to change my approach. I can’t afford to treat my recovery as a side hustle anymore; it needs to become my main gig. This may sound extreme, but what’s at stake is my life. The ‘either-or’ isn’t a choice anymore. Either I invest wholly in my sobriety, or I risk losing myself entirely.
This isn’t a part-time job where I clock out at the end of the day. It’s a 24/7 commitment. It’s a job where I can’t take sick leaves when I feel low or take a vacation when things get overwhelming. It’s a position that doesn’t come with an instruction manual or a guaranteed success route.
This full-time commitment is more like climbing a mountain. It’s going to take everything I’ve got – every bit of determination, every ounce of resilience, and every shred of hope. It’s a radical shift that will demand a lot from me – a sacrifice of time, comfort, and even relationships.
I’m looking ahead to the monumental goal of 90 days sober. I won’t lie, it feels like staring up at Everest from its base. But the alternative, staying where I am, teetering on the edge of the abyss, is not an option. I’m standing at this precipice, knowing that the path to recovery lies on the other side of the struggle.
I will be charting an unexplored path, embarking on a journey that might be laden with pitfalls and stumbling blocks. But I am more terrified of the alternative – of not trying, of leaving this path untraveled. Because the cost of that is too high – it’s a price paid in shattered relationships, in lost opportunities, in a life un-lived.
I’m ready to admit that sobriety is not a side hustle, it’s my life’s work. I need to work on it every day, in every decision I make. Because the real struggle isn’t in staying sober for 90 days – it’s in choosing sobriety, again and again, every single day.
So here’s to starting anew, to making sobriety my full-time job. Here’s to the radical, life-altering commitment that’s required, and here’s to believing that it will be worth it. Because every step I take towards recovery is a step away from the edge, a step towards a future I can be proud of.
I know it’s not going to be easy, but then again, nothing worth doing ever is.
Sober Tony out. 
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