Mind Over Mayday

Tag: alcoholic

  • Recovery in the Trenches: Navigating Sobriety in the Medical Field

    Recovery in the Trenches: Navigating Sobriety in the Medical Field

    When I stepped into the world of emergency medicine, I carried more than just a trauma bag and a drive to help others. I also carried my history—a story of survival, sobriety, and relentless hope. As a person in recovery, working in the medical field has been both a profound challenge and an incredible opportunity for connection.

    The Challenges of Recovery in the Medical Field

    Working in emergency medicine means constantly being surrounded by chaos, trauma, and moments that would shake anyone’s resolve. For someone in recovery, the stakes can feel even higher. We see patients at their worst—overdoses, withdrawal, and the physical toll of addiction. It’s impossible not to see pieces of my past in their eyes, and that can stir up emotions I thought I’d buried long ago.

    The medical field also has its own culture, one that doesn’t always prioritize mental health or sobriety. Stress is often managed with substances like alcohol, and “blowing off steam” after a tough shift can quickly spiral into unhealthy habits. For me, navigating this environment while staying true to my sobriety has required strong boundaries and an unwavering commitment to my recovery.

    Then there’s the stigma. While I openly share my story in spaces where it can help others, I know not everyone in the medical field understands what it means to be in recovery. Sometimes, I’ve felt like I had to prove that my past doesn’t define my present. But instead of being a limitation, my history has become a source of strength.

    Turning Challenges Into Opportunities

    One of the unexpected gifts of being in recovery is the ability to connect with patients on a deeply human level. When I encounter someone battling addiction or struggling through withdrawal, I don’t just see their chart or their diagnosis. I see their humanity. I see their potential.

    For example, when treating a patient who’s overdosed or in the grips of substance use, I don’t shy away from the conversation. If the moment feels right, I might say, “I’ve been where you are. It doesn’t have to end here.” Those words can be a lifeline, not just because they’re comforting, but because they come from someone who has walked the same path. I’ve seen patients’ eyes light up—not with shame, but with hope.

    These moments of connection are some of the most fulfilling parts of my job. They remind me that recovery is not just about staying sober; it’s about being of service. Every interaction is an opportunity to plant a seed, to remind someone that they’re not alone, and that change is possible.

    Self-Care as a Lifeline

    Recovery in the medical field has taught me the non-negotiable importance of self-care. Long shifts, emotional cases, and physical exhaustion can be dangerous for anyone, but for someone in recovery, they can be a slippery slope. I’ve learned to prioritize my mental and physical health—whether that’s through my morning and evening routines, regular therapy, or connecting with my support network.

    I’ve also found it essential to stay grounded in my “why.” Why did I get sober? Why did I choose this career? Reflecting on these questions keeps me aligned with my values, even on the hardest days.

    Breaking the Stigma

    If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that people in recovery bring unique strengths to the medical field. We know how to rebuild after hitting rock bottom, how to empathize without judgment, and how to find resilience in the face of hardship. Yet, stigma around addiction and recovery still exists, even in healthcare.

    By sharing my story, I hope to break down that stigma—not just for my patients, but for my colleagues. Recovery isn’t a weakness; it’s a testament to strength, perseverance, and the human capacity for change. The more openly we talk about it, the more we can create a culture where vulnerability is met with support instead of shame.

    A Life of Purpose

    Being a person in recovery working in the medical field is not without its struggles, but it’s also a life filled with purpose. Every shift, I have the chance to be a light in someone else’s darkness, to offer hope when it feels like all is lost. And in doing so, I keep my own recovery alive.

    For anyone else in recovery considering or working in healthcare, know this: Your past doesn’t disqualify you. It prepares you. The empathy, resilience, and strength you’ve built are exactly what the world needs. You are proof that healing is possible, both for yourself and for the patients you serve.

    Recovery is a journey, not a destination. And for me, this journey continues in the trenches—one patient, one connection, and one day at a time.

  • From Darkness to Purpose: How I Found My Calling Through Sobriety

    From Darkness to Purpose: How I Found My Calling Through Sobriety

    I still remember the sound of the bottle opening—the sharp hiss of pressure released. It was my signal to exhale, to let go of the stress, to numb the fears I couldn’t face. It began innocently enough, a glass of wine here, a drink there, just to take the edge off after a long day. I was juggling so much at the time: graduate school, single motherhood, and a leadership role at the University of Maine, managing nearly 60 senators representing every graduate program. The weight of it all was enormous, but I was proud of how well I seemed to handle it—at least on the surface.

    Then came 2020.

    The Covid pandemic didn’t just disrupt the world around me; it unraveled the fragile thread holding me together. As a leader during such an uncertain time, I felt a responsibility to remain calm and composed. But inside, I was breaking apart. To cope, I began drinking more—just enough to calm my nerves. It felt harmless at first, even justified. After all, wasn’t everyone finding their own ways to deal with the stress?

    What I didn’t realize was how quickly alcohol had taken hold of my life. What started as an occasional escape became my crutch. Then, seemingly overnight, it became my master. I couldn’t sleep without it. I couldn’t wake up without it. The shakes, the headaches, the constant anxiety—it all demanded I drink just to function. And yet, I was still showing up, still leading, still pretending everything was fine.

    But it wasn’t fine.

    My dependence on alcohol grew in the shadows, invisible to those around me. I was isolated in leadership, feeling like I had no one I could turn to for support. So I turned to the bottle instead. Alcohol became my confidant, my escape, and my prison.

    In just a few months, my life crumbled.

    The responsibilities I had once carried with pride became unbearable. My credibility eroded as the people around me began to see the cracks in the façade. I lost opportunities I had worked so hard to earn. I lost the respect of others, but worse, I lost respect for myself.

    At my lowest point, I found myself sleeping in my car. I had gone from a self-supporting single mom in graduate school and leadership to a homeless woman with nothing but a pile of shattered dreams. My rock bottom wasn’t just a moment; it was a freefall into despair.

    But here’s the thing about rock bottom—it’s also a foundation.

    My recovery started with small, painful steps. Admitting I needed help. Reaching out to people I thought I had alienated forever. Facing the shame and guilt I had drowned for so long. I had to rebuild my life piece by piece, brick by brick, with nothing but the will to survive and a faint hope that maybe—just maybe—I could do better.

    In sobriety, I began to discover not just who I was, but who I was meant to be. My life had been saved—many times, in many ways—by the hands of first responders and healthcare workers. Their compassion and courage became a beacon for me, lighting the way forward. I decided I wanted to give back to the very field that had saved me.

    I became an EMT, then a firefighter, and later found my place in healthcare, working in an emergency department. For the first time, I felt like I was part of something greater than myself. I had found my calling—a purpose that made my pain feel meaningful.

    This work doesn’t just encourage my sobriety; it demands it. I could not perform this job effectively if I weren’t committed to maintaining my recovery. The same tools I once ignored or dismissed—self-awareness, stress management, healthy coping strategies—are now essential to my success. Every shift is a reminder of how far I’ve come and why I must keep moving forward.

    I’ve replaced the bottle with better tools: mindfulness, connection, and a deep commitment to serving others. Instead of running from my emotions, I’ve learned to process them, to face the hard days head-on, and to find strength in vulnerability.

    The irony isn’t lost on me that the career I once feared would judge me for my past has become my greatest ally in staying sober. In helping others, I’ve also helped myself.

    Today, I am not just sober—I am alive, awake, and thriving. I am proud of the person I’ve become, but I never forget the woman I was. She’s the reason I fight so hard to stay on this path.

    If you’re reading this and struggling, I want you to know it’s never too late to rewrite your story. Recovery is possible. A life of purpose and joy is waiting for you on the other side.

    Because sometimes, the worst chapters of our lives are the ones that teach us how to write our best.