March 29th marked seven years alcohol free and I wish I could lie and say I spent it in celebration. In truth, when I started writing this post I stopped and spent the rest of my afternoon mired in a bout of guilt and self-flagellation.

Celebrating sobriety considering the clown car of horror shows that’s been the past two years, and on-going Ukrainian conflict felt paltry and—in a way—inappropriate. I mean why should I feel good about the comparatively small accomplishments, achievements, and more good things coming my way when held up against the blinding light of Covid, political strife, and the looming fear of a third world war?

I let myself sink further into this vicious cycle of doubt of shame and I’m so tired of the constantly whispering voice in my head. Why should I feel good about being sober when I know countless others couldn’t? How many people like me didn’t have the support systems I do and let it claim them for the last time? You’ve gotten to seven years, hasn’t that been long enough? I mean if there’s a time to celebrate with a good whiskey, it’s surviving a pandemic amirite? A warning light went off in my head. I was letting guilt for things so far out of my control rob me of my joy. I needed to pull myself out of it, so I went back to rehab. Or at least, the techniques I learned there and more specifically, practicing gratitude. I reflected on what I can and should be grateful for, count the things I could change or manage for the better to turn the tide and it turns out I have a lot that I need to allow myself to feel good about.

I’m in good health, my family is fully vaccinated, my parents, siblings, and grandmother made it out of COVID none the worse for wear, my children are thriving, and so is my marriage. Despite my mania. (I love you, babe). I kept my sobriety throughout the onslaught of shit that flew our collective way the last two years, and that’s something I am…learning to be proud of. Our careers are on the precipice of taking off and we’re actually looking forward to making plans that we never thought we’d be able to. So here’s to flipping a middle finger to all the bad that tried to tear me down, and to looking ahead full of gratitude for the people who helped me along the way. To another seven years, and more.

Salúd.