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Sobriety is often painted with broad strokes of triumph and transformation—before and after photos, newfound fitness regimes, and the pervasive “pink cloud” of early recovery.

But for those of us who are neurodiverse or living with chronic illness, this rosy picture can feel alienating and, at times, downright impossible to relate to.

My own journey with sobriety has been anything but straightforward for the last eight years. After finally reaching two years of being sober, I found myself in crisis and once again pressing the “f*ck it” button.

Now, with over 300 days of sobriety behind me, I find myself grappling with the same challenges that pushed me toward the familiar comfort of a glass of wine in the first place.

It’s important to acknowledge that sobriety isn’t a one-size-fits-all experience. While many find joy and renewal in their new sober lives, for others like me, sobriety is a daily struggle—a battle fought against an unyielding backdrop of chronic pain and neurodiverse challenges. The promise of feeling good all the time, of waking up each day with newfound energy and optimism, remains elusive.

In the world of sober influencers, we often see success stories—people who have transformed their bodies, taken up new hobbies, and radiate happiness. But what isn’t spoken about enough is the reality that for some, sobriety doesn’t come with a magical transformation. The hard things in my life haven’t vanished, the daily struggles remain, and the sense of not feeling at home in my own body persists.

Recurrent relapse is a topic shrouded in silence and shame. During my early days of sobriety, I too was caught up in the sunshine and roses narrative, afraid to admit my struggles and setbacks. Relapse became a dark, dirty secret, something to be hidden away because no one else seemed to be relapsing out loud. The silence around this issue only deepens the isolation.

But relapse doesn’t erase the progress made. It doesn’t negate the strength and courage it takes to start over, to get back on the path of sobriety. Each day sober is an achievement, a testament to resilience. In a world that often celebrates only the highlights, it’s crucial to speak honestly about the lows, the moments of doubt, and the reality of living with chronic illness and neurodiverse challenges.

Adding to the struggle is society’s push of alcohol as a coping mechanism. Even in my darkest, most difficult times, I was encouraged to drink because I “deserved it” or had “earned it.” The idea that a drink is a reward, a way to unwind, is deeply ingrained in our culture. It’s a message that can be especially harmful for those of us trying to stay sober. The pressure to conform, to indulge because it’s socially acceptable, can make the journey even harder.

The allure of alcohol, especially during hard times, is profound. When the weight of chronic pain or the relentless pressure of neurodiverse challenges becomes too much, the desire to “switch off” is powerful. There’s an undeniable pull to feel that warm, gentle tingle of being numbed, to create just a momentary distance between myself and the overwhelming tide of thoughts and problems. It’s about seeking a brief respite, a moment of calm in a storm of chaos.

Yet, the aftermath is rarely discussed—the anxiety that follows the day after, the way problems seem to loom even larger once the numbing effect wears off. The temporary relief is often replaced by a heightened sense of dread, compounding the very issues we sought to escape. This cycle can feel never-ending and insurmountable.

Sobriety isn’t a cure-all. It doesn’t magically solve all life’s problems or make the hard days disappear. What it does offer, though, is clarity and the chance to face these challenges head-on, without the numbing haze of alcohol. It’s about finding new ways to cope, even when the old habits call out like a siren’s song.

To anyone else struggling on this path, know that you are not alone. It’s okay to not feel amazing all the time. It’s okay to stumble and fall. What matters is that we keep getting up, keep moving forward, and keep speaking our truths.

Sobriety is a journey, not a destination, and every step—no matter how small—is a victory. Let’s embrace the full spectrum of this experience, the highs and the lows, and support each other with compassion and understanding.

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