Part 5 — 2,500 Days: The Decision That Changed Everything, Starting With Me

(The Road to 2500 Days)

Two thousand five hundred days ago, I didn’t wake up feeling strong.
I didn’t feel proud.
I didn’t feel certain.

I felt tired.
Confused.
Ashamed.
And quietly afraid of myself.

I didn’t know what sobriety would look like.
I didn’t know who I would become.
And I definitely didn’t know I’d be writing this one day.

All I knew was this:

Something had to change.
And it had to start with me.

The Decision

People often ask about the moment, the dramatic turning point.

The truth is, I reflected a few years back when I received a birthday card from one of my children. There was the stick drawing of Dad and in his hand was a glass with ice. I’m grateful for the honesty in young eyes as I realised the impression I was leaving on those I loved the most.

A moment of honesty where I could no longer pretend that alcohol was helping me cope. I realised it wasn’t easing my pain. It was quietly adding to it.

For a long time, alcohol felt like relief.
Like protection.
Like something that helped me get through.

Until one day, it didn’t.

There’s a quote that captures that moment better than anything else I’ve ever heard:

“No one gets sober until being drunk is more painful than what you are running from.”
— Dr Kay

That was the shift.

Not rock bottom.
Not failure.
Awareness.

Staying the same finally hurt more than changing.
The escape became heavier than the truth.
Alcohol stopped being the solution and revealed itself as the problem.

That decision wasn’t heroic.
It wasn’t confident.
It wasn’t loud.

It was simply this:

“I can’t keep living like this.”

And for the first time, I chose myself, not perfectly, not fearlessly, but honestly.

That decision didn’t fix everything overnight.
But it changed the direction of my life completely.

What I Didn’t Know Then

On Day One, I didn’t know:

• How uncomfortable sobriety would feel at first
• How many habits and identities I’d need to unlearn
• How long it would take to trust myself again
• How confronting clarity can be
• How much healing lives in consistency

I also didn’t know how much I would gain.

Because sobriety doesn’t just remove alcohol —
it reveals everything underneath it.

The Reality of the Journey

The last 2,500 days haven’t been a straight line.

There were moments of doubt.
Moments of discomfort.
Moments of boredom.
Moments of grief for the life I thought I was losing.

There were also moments of deep pride.

Quiet wins no one else saw.
Early mornings that felt peaceful instead of panicked.
Decisions made from clarity rather than impulse.
Music played with presence instead of escape.
Relationships built on honesty rather than damage control.

Sobriety didn’t make life easy.
It made it real.

And real is something I can work with.

Graduation Day

I’ve come to see 2,500 days not as an endpoint but as a graduation.

Not from sobriety,
but from the version of myself that needed alcohol to survive.

Graduation doesn’t mean the work is done.
It means the foundation is strong.

It means I’ve learned how to sit with discomfort instead of escaping it.
How to listen to myself instead of silencing myself.
How to build a life that doesn’t require numbing.

The lessons weren’t taught all at once.
They were learned slowly through repetition, honesty, and daily choice.

And they’ve shaped the future I’m now building with intention.

This isn’t about leaving sobriety behind.
It’s about standing on what it has given me.

What 2,500 Days Has Taught Me

If I had to distil this journey into a few truths, they would be these:

• Clarity is always worth the discomfort
• Consistency beats intensity every time
• You don’t need to be perfect  just present
• Self-respect is built through small daily choices
• Sobriety isn’t restrictive  it’s expansive
• You don’t owe anyone access to the version of you that almost destroyed you
• The strongest person you’ll ever meet is the one you become when you stop running from yourself

These lessons weren’t learned in big moments.
They were earned quietly  one day at a time.

The Unexpected Gifts

What surprised me most about sobriety weren’t the things I gave up —
it was the things I gained.

Better health.
Better sleep.
Better relationships.
Better music.
Better focus.
Better mornings.
Better peace.

And perhaps the greatest gift of all:

Trusting myself again.

That’s something alcohol slowly takes from you 
and sobriety gives back, piece by piece.

Gratitude

I’m grateful to the version of myself who didn’t give up, even when it would have been easier to numb out again.

I’m grateful for the people who supported me, challenged me, and stood beside me while I rebuilt.

And I’m grateful for the life I have now.
The honest one.
The grounded one.

If You’re On Day One

If you’re reading this and you’re at the beginning or thinking about beginning, let me tell you something I wish I had heard:

You don’t have to have it all figured out.
You don’t have to commit to forever.
You don’t have to feel confident or strong.

You just have to choose today.

Sobriety doesn’t ask for perfection.
It asks for honesty.

And that one honest decision can change everything.

The Road Ahead

Today, I celebrate 2,500 days sober.
I honour the work.
I respect the journey.
I feel proud, quietly, deeply proud.

But tomorrow, I’ll do what I’ve done for the last 2,500 days.

I’ll choose again.

Because this life, the clear one, the present one, the honest one
is worth choosing every single day.

If this story brings something up for you whether personally or through someone you care about, there are many organisations ready to support you.

You’re also welcome to reach out to me personally if you feel it could help.

And remember:

When you choose yourself, everything else follows.

If you missed the other four parts associated with this Blog topic, please see the links below: -

Part 1 - The Decision That Changed Everything, Starting With Me

Part 2 - 14 Days That Saved My Life: What Rehab Taught Me

Part 3 - Life After Rehab: Learning to Live Again

Part 4 - Sobriety in a Loud World: A Musician’s Guide to Staying True