You are safe, and I am here.

When I relapsed, I felt unlovable. 

When I relapsed, I felt like a failure. 

When I relapsed, I felt like I would never, ever get this “recovery” thing right. Not really. 

I’d heard old timers, people with years in recovery, say that relapse wasn’t the end of recovery— it was part of recovery. 

I understood what they were saying— but i didn’t believe it. Not really. 

I kind of figured you’re either in recovery or you’re not in recovery— and if you’re relapsing, you’re demonstrably not in recovery. 

I really thought I would be the first survivor, the first addict, to figure out how to do recovery without ever relapsing. That I would be The Exception. 

But I wasn’t. 

Whether it’s with a substance or a behavior that we’ve realized we just can’t have in our life, relapsing when you’ve effortfully tried to give it up can be an enormously demoralizing experience. 

It can make you question whether any of the work you’d done to get to that place, meant anything. 

After all— so the dialogue in my head went— if the “recovery” work I’d been doing was so great, I would’t have ended up in a place of relapse, would I? 

Thing is: it doesn’t work like that. 

Relapses typically happen when the perfect storm of enabling thoughts collide with the perfect real-world opportunity to relapse. 

Relapse thoughts include “I can handle just a little of (whatever).” “No one would have to know.” “Maybe I should just experiment with (whatever), maybe I can handle it now.” 

For me, those thoughts entwine with feelings of resentment that I “can’t” do whatever I want to do. After all, I’m a grown up; who’s to say what I can and can’t put in or do with my body? 

And then they collide with the opportunity to relapse— having the time, having whatever you need to do your thing right at your fingertips. 

(It’s even more difficult when the stuff you need to do your thing happens to be legal and readily available. Ask me how I know.) 

Relapse is a bummer. Give our choice, no, of course we wouldn’t relapse. 

But the old-timers are right: relapse isn’t the end of recovery. It is very often part of recovery. 

It has no bearing on how lovable you are. And it is a “failure” only if you very narrowly define “success.” 

Sometimes relapse has warning signs, and sometimes it doesn’t— but if you’re at risk of relapse, chances are good you’re so far down the rabbit hole those warning signs might be super easy to miss. 

Relapse is less important than how we think of and respond to relapse. 

This is recovery, and recovery is a long haul. We’re gonna backslide sometimes. 

We’re gonna have sh*tty days and sh*tty nights. And yes, we’re vulnerable to relapse. All of us. No matter how “smart” or how “strong.” 

What do we do? We start over. 

How many times do we start over? As many times as it takes. 

We commit to not abandoning ourselves, even if we’re disappointed we relapsed. 

Commitment to recovery is commitment to being on our own side, having our own back, no matter what. 

It was, and is, really hard to not abandon and shame myself when I relapsed.

I had to remind myself of my commitment to myself. 

“You are safe, and I am here.” 

No matter what.