I always had this picture inside my head of how life would be in sobriety; this idyllic vision of having it all together. I was wrong.
I know I have one of two choices, acceptance of the situation or let it go.
I sat there, a little over two years sober, wondering if my daughter was doomed to end up like me—an alcoholic. My father is an alcoholic. So was his mother. My husband is also an alcoholic.
Kudos to me for no longer self-medicating and getting help, but nobody really needs to hear the details of my mental illness, right? Recovery is supposed to be a happy place.