One Day At A Time

When I was 20 years old, the thought of never drinking again was almost impossible to comprehend.

I had spent years developing an increasingly destructive relationship with alcohol. By the time I finally got sober, drinking had become such a significant part of my life that I struggled to imagine a future without it.

At Alcoholics Anonymous meetings, I kept hearing the same phrase repeated over and over again.

One day at a time.

Initially, I didn't find it particularly profound. It sounded like one of those things people say because they've heard other people say it.

But eventually, I began to understand why it was repeated so frequently.

I was trying to figure out how to stay sober for the next 50 years when I hadn't even figured out how to stay sober for the next week.

The idea of never drinking again was overwhelming. The idea of not drinking today was considerably more manageable.

So that's what I focused on.

For much of my first year of recovery, my life revolved around a relatively simple question: What do I need to do today to avoid drinking?

Sometimes the answer was attending an AA meeting. Other times it was going to therapy, calling someone, finding a distraction, or eating an absurd amount of sugar.

It wasn't particularly glamorous, but it worked.

At the time, I thought of one day at a time almost exclusively as a strategy for staying sober.

Several years later, I see it a little differently.

When Getting Sober Wasn't Enough

One of the things I struggled with most during early recovery was the expectation that my life should improve immediately.

Once I stopped drinking, I wanted everything else to fall into place.

I wanted to repair the damage I had caused, become more responsible, figure out what I wanted to do with my life, and somehow make up for the years I felt I had wasted.

Preferably within a few weeks.

Unfortunately, life doesn't tend to work that way.

I had spent years making decisions that negatively affected my physical health, mental health, relationships, and future. Yet I was frustrated when those problems didn't disappear after a few weeks of sobriety.

I would set unrealistic expectations for myself, fail to meet them, and then become discouraged.

Looking back, I think I was so focused on becoming the person I wanted to be that I had difficulty accepting the person I actually was at that moment.

Over time, I began to apply the same philosophy that helped me stop drinking to other aspects of my life.

Instead of asking myself how I was going to rebuild everything, I started asking what I could realistically accomplish that day.

It was a small change in perspective, but an important one.

Four Years Later

I'm now in nursing school.

That's a sentence I wouldn't have expected to write during the worst years of my addiction.

My life is considerably more stable than it was when I first got sober, and I have goals that extend well beyond making it through the next 24 hours without alcohol.

I want to become a knowledgeable, competent nurse. I want to be someone patients can trust, particularly when they're frightened, vulnerable, or going through something difficult.

I also want to continue learning, growing, and finding ways to contribute positively to the people around me.

But I've noticed something interesting.

Although my circumstances have changed dramatically, some of the thought patterns I struggled with during early recovery haven't disappeared entirely.

I can still be impatient.

I can still set unrealistic expectations for myself.

And I can still become frustrated when I feel like I'm not making progress quickly enough.

The difference is that I'm generally better at recognizing these tendencies before they become overwhelming.

Nursing school has been a particularly good reminder of this.

There's an enormous amount of information to learn, and I sometimes find myself thinking about everything I need to know before I graduate.

Then I remember that I'm not supposed to know all of it yet.

I'm supposed to be learning.

I don't need to become an excellent nurse tomorrow. I need to keep developing the knowledge, judgment, and skills that will eventually allow me to become one.

It's essentially the same lesson I was trying to learn at 20, just applied to a different set of circumstances.

The Difference Between Surviving and Building a Life

When I first heard one day at a time, I interpreted it as a way to survive.

I wasn't particularly concerned with personal growth, professional development, or long-term goals. I was trying to stop drinking and get through the day without making my situation worse.

That was enough at the time.

Today, the phrase has a broader meaning.

It's no longer just about avoiding something destructive. It's also about gradually building something worthwhile.

Some days that means studying for an exam, completing an assignment, or making progress toward becoming a nurse.

Other days it means taking care of myself, being patient with someone, or recognizing that I need a break.

And occasionally, it means accepting that I didn't accomplish as much as I wanted to.

I think that's one of the more difficult lessons to learn, particularly for people who have a tendency to be hard on themselves.

Not every day needs to be exceptionally productive.

Not every mistake needs to become a major personal failure.

And not every difficult moment needs to be interpreted as evidence that things aren't going well.

Sometimes a bad day is just a bad day.

That doesn't mean the progress you've made has disappeared.

What I Would Tell My 20-Year-Old Self

If I could go back and talk to myself during those first few weeks of sobriety, I don't think I'd try to explain everything that would happen over the next several years.

For one thing, I'm not sure I would have believed it.

I also don't think it would have been particularly helpful.

At that point, I didn't need someone to explain exactly how my life would turn out.

I needed to believe that it was possible for things to get better, even if I couldn't yet imagine what better would look like.

I would probably tell myself to be a little more patient.

To stop expecting years of damage to be repaired in a matter of weeks.

To recognize that feeling frustrated, overwhelmed, or uncertain didn't mean I was failing.

And perhaps most importantly, I'd tell myself that getting sober wasn't supposed to be the end of the story.

It was what would allow the rest of the story to happen.

Still Taking It One Day at a Time

I don't attend AA meetings nearly as frequently as I once did, but I still carry many of the lessons I learned there.

Some have become so integrated into the way I think that I don't always consciously associate them with recovery anymore.

One day at a time is probably the best example.

At 20, it meant that I didn't have to figure out how to live the rest of my life without alcohol.

Today, it reminds me that I don't have to figure out the rest of my life at all.

I can have long-term goals without expecting to accomplish them immediately.

I can recognize my shortcomings without allowing them to define me.

And I can appreciate how far I've come while acknowledging that there's still plenty of room for improvement.

I used to think the purpose of taking things one day at a time was to make an overwhelming future feel manageable.

I still believe that.

But now I also think it's a reminder not to become so preoccupied with the future that I forget to appreciate the life I'm actually living.

When I was 20, I was trying to get through each day without drinking.

Now, I'm trying to make something meaningful out of the days I have.

And in both cases, the approach is surprisingly similar.

One day at a time.