Rethinking Recovery: What I Learned After Being Told There Was Only One Way

11 Lessons that Emerged from Years of Showing Up Across Different Recovery Spaces

Bliss Dance Sculpture by Marco Cochran | photo by Barry Toranto

There is a version of recovery that gets told over and over again. It has rules, milestones and often begins with a single moment of decision and moves forward without interruption—marked by time, carefully counted and never broken.

That version never quite fit my life. 

Back in 2010, I moved through my days carrying what I thought I needed to get by. Uppers, downers and whatever I could tuck into my pockets, close enough to reach without thinking. 

I drank from brown glass bottles during my work break, quick enough to return to my desk before anybody noticed and careful enough to keep everything looking intact from the outside. 

When I finally decided to get help, I was told there’s only one way to recover. I heard it in rooms where people spoke with certainty and the path was laid out in clear steps. I sat in those rooms and listened, trying to understand what it would mean to place my life inside that structure.

But what followed over the next thirteen years didn’t resemble a straight path. It was messy, repetitive and full of returns and recalibrations. It required unlearning almost everything I had been told recovery was supposed to be.

I spent years in dimly lit church basements studying a book that wasn’t the Bible, though for some it held the same kind of authority.

I visited Buddhist sanghas in warehouses as well as in quiet, well-kept neighborhoods, where we sat on cushions and listened to spiritual leaders speak about suffering and release.

I logged into Zoom meetings and found myself in digital rooms with people across the world, faces arranged in small squares, each one carrying their own version of the same story.

I learned how to introduce myself to strangers and how to tell them the worst things I had ever done. And I kept returning. To the rooms, to the conversations and to the versions of myself that took shape in those spaces.

Years later, sober and in a different city, I stood in front of a sculpture I had first seen back when I was at my most sick. 

Bliss Dance, arms lifted and suspended mid-motion. The first time, I had walked past it without staying long. This time, I stopped. There was no clear line connecting those two moments. Only the accumulation of everything in between.

What came out of these last 13 years are a handful of beliefs I’ve returned to again and again. Feel free to take what resonates and leave the rest.

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1. My definition of “recovery” comes from NAMI.

   I’ve been in recovery since 2013. And that date doesn’t mean I’ve been alcohol and substance free all that time.

   
   According to NAMI, “Recovery is a process of change through which individuals improve their health and wellness, live a self-directed life, and strive to reach their full potential.”
   
   You might not think it to be all that radical to subscribe to the National Alliance of Mental Illness’ definition for something that deeply pertains to my mental health, but many people believe that recovery can only happen in the confines of complete and extended abstinence from substances. 
   
   I chose to believe my recovery started the year I decided and continued to take action towards improving my life.
   

2. I count and celebrate my mental health wins. I do not count my sober time or collect coins attached to a date.

   For me, having a return to use or a recurrence does not erase previous recovery time.
   
   I remember speaking to someone who talked about someone who was “newly in recovery” who had two years of continuous sobriety, but had previously had 10 years.
   
   At one point, I did subscribe to this view, but the further I am on my individual journey, the less this makes sense to me. 
   
   The only recovery journey I compare my own to is mine.
   
   Instead of collecting yearly coins, I celebrate huge wins and new phases in my journey. 
   
   

3. I view all forms of escapism that cause harm under the same umbrella of the things that drove me to use substances (habit energy).

   Negative habit energy for me comes in many forms. I may have not drank a sip of alcohol in a long time, but I’ve doomscrolled, and avoided actively engaging in life through eating too much or too little. 
   
   The same escapism that fueled substance use and addiction still shows up, and I don’t beat myself up about it.
   
   I notice, try to do better next time, and most importantly, I notice the improvement over the years. Instead of comparing myself to yesterday, I like to look back a bit further to see how much better I’m doing.
   

4. Return to use or recurrences are part of my story.

   Eventually, after having so many recurrences, specifically with alcohol, as I strived to be perfectly sober, it stopped making sense to me to set the clock back at zero and start over.
   
   Each time I had a recurrence I learned something new—about myself or about what I needed in terms of community support. The last few times I had a recurrence with alcohol, it was intentional.
   
   I was also intentional about returning to another elongated sober period without it, because my recurrence reminded me that alcohol is not helpful for managing difficult emotions.
   
   I forgot this a few times, and needed the reminder. It was part of my journey and I’m at peace with that.
   
   

5. I give myself a lot of grace.

   Especially retroactively to the young 20-something me who was taught through rehabs and programs to view sobriety and recovery one certain way.
   
   Fear-based methods worked adversely to my young self, so I’m really easy on the fact that my recovery journey had a rocky start. I also talk about this openly.
   
   The world is hard. I joke with my friends about how now would be a good time to tune out reality. If I do decide to tune it out through negative habit energy with a hefty dose of doomscrolling or an entire box of cookies because feeling the feelings felt too hard, I forgive myself.
   
   It’s punishment enough to have not accomplished something important, have suppressed emotions and feel like crap afterwards.
   
   

6. I believe in harm reduction.

   For a long time, using substances and alcohol kept me alive.
   
   I believe people are better off with safe use and alive, than dead—no matter what substance they’re using.

7. I support Medication Assisted Treatment (MAT).

   I have used and currently use different MAT methods. They have helped my recovery tremendously.
   
   The medications I use are typically less stigmatized than things like suboxone. I don’t view what I do as any different than someone who needs suboxone to help their recovery.
   
   I support anyone who uses any type of MAT.

8. I support recreational and medical uses of marijuana, ketamine, MDMA and psychedelics.

   I’ve seen the massive benefits, especially medical use of these substances have had for so many people.
   
   I’ve also seen people who claim to be in recovery try to dictate what others should and shouldn’t be able to use.
   
   There is clear research of the stated medical benefits of these, and quite frankly, I wish more doctors were informed and people with pain, depression, and severe trauma had affordable and informed access to these options.
   
   I also don’t take issue with people taking these things recreationally. The problem I have with recreational use comes down to ensuring unadulterated and safe supply.
   
   
   

9. I don’t judge other people’s drug use or recovery, unless it’s harming others.

   There are many that choose to see drug use in private as not problematic, and take issue with people who use while experiencing homelessness.
   
   The “so long as I don’t have to see it” or if it looks clean and polished, cocaine and heroin chic models, finance bros on coke.
   
   To me this is only a socioeconomic distinction without much else of a difference besides what looks cleaner or more put together.
   
   I know if someone has substance use disorder, money does not make a difference on how the mind craves and needs a substance.
   
   If an individual decides to pursue a path of recovery, it’s up to them to decide what’s right for their recovery. For example, using plant-based medicines or strictly attending daily recovery meetings are not for me and my recovery.
   
   I only know what’s best for me, and I trust that other people can figure out what’s best for them.

10. I align myself with research-backed methodology and am open to having my mind changed or trying something new.

    When I started my recovery journey, I was presented with a methodology and information that didn’t have the research to back it up.
    
    It took me a long time to read the research, try things out, and find what works for me.
    
    I’m always learning from other people in recovery, trauma, or therapeutic spaces and other communities. It’s okay to learn new things and change your mind.

11. I remain open and honest about my recovery journey.

    I’m very publicly open about my recovery, and honest about what didn’t work for me, and what works for me today.
    
    If people have questions, I answer them. I don’t allow the judgement of “there’s only one way” to get to me, although I used to.
    
    It now encourages me to be louder about what, for me has been, an easier, softer way.

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If this resonated with you, or if you have questions, feel free to send me a message: maggie@thehyvemind.com