Its Easier to Stay Sober than Get Sober

People say the first 90 days are the hardest. I say that’s an understatement.

Getting sober is brutal. It’s physically, emotionally, and spiritually exhausting. In those early days, white-knuckling it through cravings and chaos can feel like climbing out of a pit with no ladder. What no one tells you at first—or what you can’t fully believe—is that staying sober, once you've built the scaffolding, is a hell of a lot easier than getting sober.

In the beginning, I couldn’t stay sober. I’d show up to a community gathering, filled with good intentions, maybe even get through the day. But then I’d find myself at the pot shop, buying weed I didn’t even want. Or I’d throw my Adderall down the garbage chute, only to be digging through the basement dumpster two hours later, heart pounding, ashamed, desperate. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to be sober—I just couldn’t hold onto it. I couldn’t string the days together.

It wasn’t until I put myself into a facility—literally put walls between me and the substances—that I began to get some real time under my belt. And even then, it wasn’t magic. It took coaches, mentors, community, structure. I had to let people help me. I had to stop pretending I could do it alone. There is such a thing as Post-Acute Withdrawal Syndrome (PAWS)—and for me, the fog, the mood swings, the bone-deep exhaustion lasted well beyond 90 days. Sometimes over a year.

I remember standing in front of the mirror around day 20 of sobriety. I had gained weight—much needed weight, because I weighed 90 pounds when I got sober. And I had this fleeting thought: Well, Adderall would fix this. And then immediately: If I keep taking that, I’m going to die. So I told myself: I’d rather gain weight—and figure that out later—than die. So, goodbye Adderall.

Today, I’m almost eight years sober. Eight years. And most days, I rarely crave alcohol or drugs. Cigarettes? Yeah, sometimes. Definitely cigarettes. But even that passes. And when a craving does come up—when I think, I could go for a [fill in the blank]—I do two things: I pray to have the obsession removed, and I turn my attention immediately to something else. I don’t luxuriate in the fantasy. I don’t let the thought set up camp in my brain.

That’s the gift of long-term recovery. The obsession lifts. The cravings get quieter. And staying sober becomes less about raw willpower and more about structure, support, and a life you don’t want to escape from.

Getting sober? That was the fight of my life.

Staying sober? That’s where the freedom is.

If you're in the fight right now, if you're somewhere in the middle of the mess and it feels impossible, please hear me: you don't have to do it alone. Get help. Get honest. Build your scaffolding. Let people in.

Because one day at a time? That sh*t adds up.

And it gets so much better.