Someone recently asked me when it was that I became “recovered.” I paused for a moment before answering, wishing I could offer a more tangible response. I could remember the year that it all began, I could remember what things looked like in my life when I first reached out for help, I could remember sitting on a curb outside saying things out loud for the first time, I could remember my heart beating so loud I could hardly hear my own wobbly voice, and I could remember the monumental change that began with just one step. What I couldn’t remember, however, was the exact moment that I became recovered.
In my experience, it wasn’t one precise moment or one specific day that things began to shift. It was a series of small movements, a collection of baby steps, an assortment of repetitions, and a whole lot of conscious effort and struggle.
It was a steady transformation — and it was careful and slow.