There was a time when I thought “just don’t drink” was the whole deal. Simple, right? Turns out, that’s like saying, “just don’t bleed” after getting stabbed. Sobriety isn’t just about removing the alcohol—it’s about figuring out how to live without it. And let me tell you, that part can get weird.
For me, the hard times hit when I wasn’t expecting them. I had years of sobriety under my belt, a solid job, a family that (mostly) tolerated me, and then—bam—life sucker-punched me right in the nervous system. PTSD showed up like a stranger that wanted to beat my ass for no good reason. Anxiety came over me like a 24/7 storm cloud and turned everything into an emergency, and my brain was a 24/7 roller coaster of intrusive thoughts.
And let’s be honest—my line of work didn’t exactly help. The Army, the ambulances, the fire department… I signed up for jobs that put me right in the middle of the chaos, and I took pride in that. But after years of seeing the worst moments of people’s lives—war zones, wrecks, overdoses, fires—I started carrying all that inside me. I ignored it, stuffed it down, told myself I was fine. And I was fine… until I wasn’t.
So what did I do? Well, first, I considered how nice it would be to just to not wake up. I know that sounds morbid AF, but that’s the truth. BUT…since I’d spent 30yrs telling AA members to “hang in there until the miracle happens”, I went with Plan B:
1. Working the 12 Steps (For Real, Not Just Waving at Them)
I had done the steps before, but this time, I had to work them like my life depended on it—because it did. Step One? Yeah, I was powerless over my brain. Step Two? Maybe something bigger than me could help because I sure as hell wasn’t getting the job done. Step Three? I had to stop trying to white-knuckle my way through life and actually hand some of this over.
I revisited my inventory, got honest (like, really honest), and started looking at the stuff I was carrying around like a hoarder who justifies keeping broken appliances “just in case.” Turns out, hanging onto old resentments and traumas doesn’t make them useful—it just makes them heavier.
2. Leaning on My Sober Crew
I’ve always thought the “I got this” attitude was what made me tough. What I actually had was a mess of emotions I didn’t know how to process. So I did something radical—I talked to my people. I told them when I was struggling instead of pretending I wasn’t.
And these weren’t just any people. They were the ones who had been in the trenches themselves, who could call me on my BS, and who knew when I needed a pep talk versus when I needed to shut up and listen. Sometimes, the best advice I got was just, “Yeah, man. That sucks. But you’re not alone.” And weirdly enough, that helped more than any “just think positive” nonsense ever could.
3. Seeking Professional Help (Because Trauma Doesn’t Just Magically Go Away)
This part was tricky because, for a long time, I had an attitude about therapy. I figured I had AA, I had my faith, and I had stubbornness—what else did I need? But the truth was, my brain was running an outdated program, and I needed some debugging.
PTSD had wired me to see danger everywhere, to always be on edge, and to assume the worst. My mind was like an overactive smoke detector—always convinced everything was on fire. Therapy, and EMDR has helped me begin to rewire that, to separate real threats from old ghosts, and to realize that just because I felt something intensely didn’t mean it was true.
What I Learned (Besides the Fact That Avoiding Help Is Dumb)
If you’re struggling—whether it’s addiction, PTSD, depression, or just the regular dumpster fire of life—know this: Just like you hear in 12 Step Meetings…”Figure it out on your own” is usually a not so great idea. Sobriety isn’t about gutting it out solo; it’s about building a life where you don’t want to escape.
It was difficult to seek help. I, like the rest of us, still harbor old ideas that want to keep me sick. It’s even more uncomfortable sharing this with internet friends I’ve yet to meet. It’s a timely reminder that working the steps when you don’t feel like it, showing up when you’d rather isolate, and being honest even when it’s uncomfortable is still a design for living that works.
As most of us know, there’s no cure. All we have is the daily reprieve. If you’re lucky, you will also have an entire pit crew of friends and professionals willing to help you.
God Speed,
Glumlotz #1
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