Is having fun out of the question now that I’m in recovery?

sites • Nov 02, 2020

Is having fun out of the question now that I’m in recovery?

I’m pretty transparent about being in recovery. Actually, I would say I am overly transparent. When I first got sober, I made it a point to let it be known that I was not drinking anymore and the reason is because for so long, that’s what I was known for…partying. 


I felt like I was on a mission to change everyone’s mind about who I was and what they could expect from me as a person, a friend, a son and a brother. 


Having said all of that, I had absolutely no idea how I was supposed to have fun without drinking, I mean…did anyone do that? The last time I had fun with friends without drinking I was 13 and having sleepovers with my friends ordering domino’s and playing football in my basement (yes, that’s a thing). I needed to figure out who I was. Was I going to be fun to be around? Would I be outgoing still? Could I still be talkative? Could I talk to girls?! These were all pressing questions.


Enter karaoke. 


[kar-ee-oh-kee]

noun

  1. an act of singing along to a music video, especially one from which the original vocals have been electronically eliminated.


Or as I thought “the most embarrassing thing anyone could ever do.” I was on vacation and everyone wanted to go to a karaoke bar. I was a little over 6 months sober and the first thought in my head was “uh-oh, can I handle being in a bar?” Luckily, the people I was with were so supportive and I knew that I was safe and that if anything got weird, no one would care if we left. With that being somewhat settled, my next fear was actually getting on stage, completely sober, and singing a song that normally would be reserved for the shower or alone in a car. 


To answer some of the questions from above: I was always an outgoing person. The thing was, I hadn’t done that in a social “night-life” setting in so long, let alone without drinking. As I was sitting there deciding whether or not to get on stage, the thought occurred to me that I eventually need to be able to be social and go out and do fun things sober. I realized that even if this was embarrassing, I had put myself in far more embarrassing situations when I was drinking. Now, I not only would remember what happened, but I would be able to seriously bring my A game to this performance. 



I went with “Are you gonna be my girl” by Jet and obviously, I blew it out of the water. After it was over, I did that classic self-assessment that everyone does after you put yourself out there in some capacity. “Everything seems to be okay, not too embarrassed right now, that was actually pretty fun. I think I feel great.” And so, I had my answer to my original question – having fun in recovery is absolutely a possibility and something that CAN be done.


Now when I get the question “well what do you do now that you’re sober?” my answer is simple: I do everything. I just don’t add alcohol or drugs into the mix. I can do everything everyone else does. Now that I am sober, nothing can stop me from doing anything and everything I want to do. 

Worth the Wait: Megan's Path to Lasting Addiction Recovery and Purpose

By Megan Miller, CAC • 29 Oct, 2024
I grew up full of fear. Everything terrified me. I never felt comfortable in my own skin. It wasn’t until I started smoking pot at 14—because I was too afraid to stand up to peer pressure—that I finally felt a sense of freedom and relaxation for the first time. I chased that high for the next 16 years. Somehow, I managed to graduate college with an OxyContin addiction, and after that, with nothing tethering me to the real world, things got a lot worse. I went to detox for the first of many times in 2005. I left there thinking I wasn’t an addict and that my use had just gotten out of control. That denial kept me in and out of treatment for the next decade. Heroin became my entire life. I couldn’t hold a job, I overdosed, I got Hepatitis C from sharing needles, and I didn’t care about anything except getting high. I was so full of shame at what my life had become, but I just couldn’t stop. I was great at trying to stop, but I couldn’t stay stopped. The gift of desperation came to me in April 2012. I couldn’t keep living the way I was. I finally wanted to live instead of die. That compulsion to use left me when I finally surrendered to it. Today, I wake up grateful for the life I have. My 6-year-old daughter is the greatest joy of my life, and she has never seen me use. Today, with the support of my wonderful husband, my family, and my recovery network, I live a full life of joy and purpose. There is no more rewarding feeling in the world than sharing the gift of recovery with others.

Overdose Awareness Day: A Reflection on Hope and Recovery

By Dave Aumiller, CPS, NCPRSS • 03 Sep, 2024
Overdose. It’s a word that catches in my throat and a topic that stops me in my tracks. As a person in long-term recovery from Alcohol Use Disorder (AUD) and Substance Use Disorder (SUD), I have overdosed many times. I have been revived by paramedics three times. Waking up in a hospital bed with no idea how I got there—scared. Or in the back of an ambulance, sick and angry for being Narcaned, a crazed hostage of my addicted mind. Or in a front yard, soaking wet from someone throwing me in a cold shower, unsuccessfully trying to revive me before leaving me outside—confused. These experiences don’t account for the countless times I have overdosed and been revived by a concerned party—now scarred by the trauma of my disease in its final stage, trying to carry out its final act, resulting in an untimely death. Overdose. After all of this, it was the kindness and care of others that made the difference between another chance and another day. Another dose of hope and life. An opportunity to begin again. On a day like today, reflecting on a topic that is so close to the heart of everyone connected to this reality, I am grateful. I am hopeful. I am humble. Because I know how lucky I am. How undeserving I was. And I live my amends and gratitude by doing my best to embody and live the values of a recovery that works. I also keep close to my heart, at the forefront of my mind, and on the tip of my tongue, the names of the countless others who weren’t as lucky as I. In honor of Overdose Awareness Day, I will say the names of my friends who weren’t fortunate enough to receive as many chances as I did, and I will live in their names—sober today and willing to extend a hand to anyone who needs it in their journey to recover and spread hope to both the sufferer and the caregiver.  Today, let us remember those we have lost, cherish the moments we have been given, and continue to fight for a future where overdose is a distant memory. Together, we can make a difference. Together, we can spread hope.

Overdose Awareness Day: Survivor's Guilt Transformed into Hope

By Shannon Schwoeble, CPS • 29 Aug, 2024
I was devastated when I heard that another close friend I'd made in treatment was gone. Seven friends in my first six months—two had come into treatment, left, and passed away while I was still there. In the years that followed, many others who had walked this path alongside me were lost as well. Nine in my first year of recovery. I found myself asking, "Why am I still here? Why didn’t they ‘get it’?"  Survivor’s guilt was not something I expected to experience in recovery. It hit me hard and fast when I began my journey in 2011. I was terrified. I would sit and think about friends I had just seen or spoken to—did they seem different? Did they sound off? I was so scared of who I would lose next. Through my work with a therapist and finding my own voice, I learned to transform my survivor's guilt into hope. I realized that by using my voice, sharing my story, saying their names, and talking about the profound impact each of them had on me—in life and in death—I could help others understand that recovery is possible. Perhaps, something I share will give someone struggling a glimmer of hope that they, too, can find recovery. On Overdose Awareness Day, August 31, we remember and honor those we've lost to this devastating disease. In loving memory of Ben, Pat, Krista, Harry, Christina, Brook, Dustin, Jeff, Jamie, and everyone we have lost—you are remembered and loved, today and every day.
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