Sober vs. Recovery: A New Journey Begins. I’ve been here before—stopped drinking, stayed sober for a while, and convinced myself I was fine. But if I’m honest—and I have to be, because there’s no progress without honesty—I’ve never truly recovered. I’ve never done the hard work of facing the demons, the triggers, and the emotions that have pulled me back down every single time.
In early 2024, I was sober for a few months. I’d like to tell you that it was different that time, that I’d found the magic key to lasting change. But the truth is, I fell off—no, let’s call it what it was—I jumped off the wagon. And for the tail end of 2024, I didn’t just fall; I hit the ground running. I kicked the arse out of it.
There were nights when a box of wine felt like a casual companion. At first, it felt comforting—a way to dull the noise, to silence the thoughts that kept me awake at night. But by the end of those nights, the comfort would turn into shame, regret, and a hollow sense of failure. It was a cycle, and every morning after felt heavier than the one before. Days when 16 cans of strong German beer barely felt like scratching the surface. And those aren’t boasts. I’m not proud of that; I’m ashamed. Ashamed of the mess, ashamed of the chaos, ashamed of the way I let myself down. But do you know what that period showed me? It showed me that I hadn’t recovered. I’d been sober, yes. But I hadn’t healed.
So, I started 2025 with a promise to myself. Not just to get sober—I’ve done that before. But to recover. To dig deep and deal with the shadows that kept dragging me back.
The Pledge: Sobriety vs. Recovery
For me, sobriety isn’t the end goal anymore. It’s the baseline. It’s the starting point. Getting sober is the easy part—and let me clarify, it’s not actually easy, but it’s simple. Anyone can stop drinking for a week, a month, or even longer. People do it all the time. Dry January. Sober October. And then back to the pub as if nothing happened.
But for me, drinking was never casual. It was never weekends-only, one glass with dinner, a casual pint with mates. For me, it was all or nothing. Once I started, I didn’t stop. And when I stopped, the silence was deafening.
This year, I’m not just focusing on putting the bottle down. I’m focusing on what made me pick it up in the first place.
Sobriety is the foundation, but recovery is the house you build on it. And like any solid structure, it requires time, effort, and the right tools. Recovery isn’t about abstaining—it’s about healing, it is about sober vs. recovery.
Facing the Demons
Recovery isn’t about willpower. If it were, I’d have cracked this years ago. I’ve had days where I’ve gritted my teeth, sworn to myself I’d stay sober, and still found myself reaching for a drink by the evening. Willpower runs out, especially when it’s up against years of habits, emotional baggage, and patterns that feel hardwired into your brain. Recovery isn’t about pushing through with sheer force—it’s about building a toolkit, understanding your triggers, and learning how to respond to them differently.
Recovery is about getting honest with yourself—painfully, brutally honest. It’s about staring down the barrel of your past and asking the questions you’ve been avoiding:
Why do I drink?
What am I running from?
What emotions do I drown out with alcohol?
The answers aren’t pretty. They’re not neatly packaged, and they don’t make for fun dinner party conversation. But they’re necessary.
I’ve realised that my drinking was never really about the drink itself. It was about what the drink let me escape from. Loneliness. Guilt. A sense of failure. Fear of facing life without that crutch.
Recovery means facing those demons head-on. It means feeling emotions I’ve avoided for years and learning how to sit with them without reaching for a bottle.
The Hard Work of Recovery
Sobriety is like building scaffolding. It supports you, holds you steady, and gives you a safe space to start working on the real problem. But recovery? Recovery is the construction work. It’s messy, it’s loud, and sometimes it feels like you’re tearing down walls instead of building them.
For me, recovery means:
Daily journaling to track my thoughts and triggers.
Therapy, even when I don’t feel like talking.
Regular exercise to keep my body strong while I heal my mind.
Cold-water swimming, because sometimes you need something physical to remind you that you’re alive.
Mindfulness, even when my mind is screaming.
Connection with others who understand the journey.
These aren’t quick fixes. They’re daily practices, and some days, they feel pointless. I remember one morning, sitting with my journal, staring at the blank page. My head was a mess, my chest felt tight, and all I wanted was to shut it all out with a drink. But instead, I forced myself to write—even if it was nonsense, even if it felt forced. By the end of the page, something had shifted. It wasn’t a huge breakthrough, but it was enough to remind me why these small habits matter. Some days, the progress feels microscopic, but it’s still progress.
No More Excuses: Sober vs. Recovery
I’ve made every excuse in the book. I’ve blamed stress, heartbreak, bad luck, and bad days. But at the end of the day, the only person who can change my story is me.
Recovery doesn’t happen by accident. It’s a choice. Every day. Every hour, if need be.
Why This Time is Different
This time feels different because I’m no longer avoiding the truth—I’m facing it head-on. I’m not setting vague goals or making empty promises; I’m committing to the real, uncomfortable work of recovery, no matter how long it takes or how difficult it gets.
Join Me on This Journey
If you’re reading this and you see yourself in these words, know this: you’re not alone. Whether you’re at the start of your journey, stuck halfway, or just thinking about taking the first step, you’re not alone.
If you want to follow along, I’ll be sharing this journey on www.iancallaghan.co.uk/blog. The ups, the downs, the breakthroughs, and the setbacks.
Here’s to a year of truth, courage, and recovery. No more running. No more hiding. I’ve created a group where I will share guided meditations, journal prompts, daily exercises and lots more you can find it on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/groups/mindfulsobrietycollective
Just me, doing the work. They might live in constant emotional turmoil despite their sobriety. Without addressing these deeper layers on my sober vs. recovery journey.
Mindful Sobriety: A Journey Beyond Dry January. For years, I played the same game as so many others: Dry January, Sober October, or any other month-long sobriety challenge. I’d grit my teeth, tick off each alcohol-free day, and at the end, celebrate my success… with a drink. After all, if I could go a whole month without alcohol, then clearly, I wasn’t an addict, right?
But here’s the thing: one drink would turn into two, then four, and before I knew it, I’d be staring at an empty box of wine or a graveyard of cans. The cycle would restart, only this time, it felt heavier. Darker. Like I’d slipped deeper into a pattern I couldn’t control.
Mindful sobriety isn’t just about counting days on a calendar or proving you can go without. It’s about stepping back and truly understanding why alcohol plays such a role in your life. It’s about building resilience, rewriting your relationship with drinking, and creating a life where alcohol simply doesn’t belong anymore.
If you’re here because you feel that pull for something more, let’s explore this journey together.
What Is Mindful Sobriety?
At its core, mindful sobriety is about awareness. It’s not just about quitting alcohol; it’s about understanding your relationship with it. It’s about paying attention to the thoughts, feelings, and triggers that lead you to drink and addressing them with compassion and curiosity.
Mindfulness and Sobriety: The Perfect Partnership
Mindfulness is the practice of being fully present in the moment without judgment. When applied to sobriety, it becomes a powerful tool. Instead of reaching for a drink to numb discomfort, you learn to sit with those feelings, observe them, and understand them.
For me, mindful sobriety became the key to breaking the cycle. Instead of battling cravings with willpower alone, I started to question them:
Why do I feel the need to drink right now?
What am I trying to escape from or avoid?
How will I feel tomorrow if I have this drink?
These questions created space—space to make a different choice. I remember one evening, standing in my kitchen, staring at a bottle of wine. I asked myself, ‘What am I trying to escape from right now?’ The answer hit me hard: I was avoiding loneliness. Instead of pouring a glass, I picked up my phone, called a friend, and shared how I was feeling. That choice—small as it was—felt monumental.
Over time, these moments of awareness started to stack up. I began to notice patterns: how certain social situations, emotions, or even times of the day made me crave alcohol. But instead of succumbing to those cravings, I started to meet them with curiosity and compassion. This awareness became a lifeline.
The Illusion of Control: Why Dry January Isn’t Always Enough
Every year, thousands of people participate in Dry January, and many succeed. They cross the finish line and toast to their accomplishment—often with a glass of wine or a pint of beer. And for some, that’s perfectly fine.
But for others, Dry January becomes part of a cycle:
Abstain for a month.
Prove control.
Reward yourself with alcohol.
Slip back into old patterns.
This was me, time and time again. And each time, I’d convince myself I was fine because I could stop. But stopping isn’t the same as healing.
Understanding Your ‘Why’
Mindful sobriety asks us to go deeper. Why do we drink? Is it stress, boredom, loneliness, or celebration? Alcohol isn’t just a drink—it’s often a coping mechanism, a crutch, or a distraction.
By recognising the why, we begin to dismantle the power alcohol holds over us. For me, one of those moments came after a long day when I realised I wasn’t reaching for a drink because I wanted to celebrate or relax—I was reaching for it because I felt overwhelmed. That awareness gave me the chance to pause, breathe, and choose a healthier way to handle my emotions, like going for a walk or journaling instead.
Digging into your ‘why’ isn’t always comfortable. It requires vulnerability and honesty. But the clarity it brings is worth every uncomfortable moment.
Mindful Sobriety Tools for Long-Term Success
Sobriety isn’t a one-size-fits-all journey, but some tools and practices can make it more sustainable.
1. Daily Reflection and Journaling
Journaling is a cornerstone of mindful sobriety. Writing down your thoughts, triggers, and feelings provides clarity and helps you notice patterns.
Prompt idea:“What emotions did I experience today, and how did I handle them without alcohol?”
Whether it’s a guided meditation, breathwork, or simply sitting quietly with your thoughts, mindfulness practices help you stay present and aware.
3. Community Support
Isolation can make sobriety feel impossible. Finding a community of like-minded individuals—people who understand what you’re going through—can be transformative.
👉 Join my group, ****Mindful Sobriety Collective, where I share tools, journal prompts, and guided meditations.
4. Self-Compassion
Sobriety isn’t about being perfect. It’s about showing up for yourself, even on the hard days. Speak to yourself with kindness and patience.
5. Healthy Habits and Routines
Replacing old habits with new, fulfilling ones—like exercise, creative projects, or spending time outdoors—can help you stay focused and grounded.
Your Mindful Sobriety Journey Starts Now
Mindful sobriety isn’t about a finish line. There’s no day when you ‘complete’ it. Instead, it’s an ongoing journey—a daily commitment to yourself.
👉 Join the ****Mindful Sobriety Collective—a space for tools, journal prompts, guided meditations, and heartfelt connection.
Sobriety isn’t a punishment. It’s a gift—one that keeps giving every single day. It’s the clarity of waking up with a clear head, the joy of facing life’s challenges with resilience, and the freedom of no longer being chained to something that dims your light.
Addiction: The Substance is Not the Root, It’s the Mask
Addiction isn’t about the drink—it’s about the ache it numbs. It’s not the bottle or the reckless choices; it’s the silence that follows, the emptiness you’ve been desperately trying to escape.
For me, it’s been the drink. A liquid balm to dull the sharp edges of memories and regrets. But addiction isn’t really about the substance. It’s about the ghosts you can’t lay to rest—the shame, the self-loathing, the gut-wrenching grief of knowing you’ve let down the people who mattered most. It’s about trying to quiet the storm in your head when it becomes deafening, even in the stillness of night.
Addiction isn’t loud. It’s not screaming in your face. It’s a whisper—a persistent murmur that convinces you the next drink, the next hit, the next escape will fix it all. But it doesn’t. It just pushes the pain deeper, further out of reach.
The Emotional Root of Addiction
At its core, addiction isn’t about a love for the drink; it’s about a desperation to escape yourself.
Self-Hate: When you can’t stand your reflection, you look for anything to blur the edges.
Anger: Anger at yourself, the world, the hand you’ve been dealt—and nowhere to put it but into another round.
Fear: Fear of being seen for who you really are. Fear that maybe you’ll never measure up.
Loneliness: And then there’s loneliness. The kind that sits heavy on your chest and whispers in the quiet hours of the night that no one really cares.
I see it most in the silence between me and my daughter, Ffion. She’s my world, my reason to keep going, but every drink I’ve taken is a brick in the wall between us. I miss her so much—her laugh, her curiosity, the way she used to look at me with trust in her eyes. Yet every sip seems to pull me further away from being the father she deserves.
There was a time when she would grab my hand without hesitation, look up at me, and smile. Now, I wonder if she hesitates before reaching out. I wonder if she’s afraid I’ll let her down again.
Loneliness isn’t just about being physically alone; it’s about the empty space between who you are and who you wish you could be. That gap? It’s unbearable without something to dull the sharp edges.
Addressing the Root, Not the Mask
You can take the drink away from an addict, but if you don’t deal with the wound underneath, it’ll just find another way to bleed.
1. Awareness and Acceptance
I’ve had to face it head-on. The drink isn’t the enemy—it’s the crutch. And crutches only work until they snap under the weight of your problems. I had to sit with myself and admit: It’s not about the alcohol; it’s about me.
There’s no healing without honesty. No shortcuts. You have to stand in front of the mirror, look yourself in the eye, and own every scar, every mistake, and every moment you turn away from the people who needed you most.
2. Reframing Belief Systems
Why do I drink? What am I trying to numb? Would Ffion recognize the man I am now? Would she even want to?
The truth is, the drink doesn’t love me back. It doesn’t heal me. It doesn’t fill the spaces where her voice used to be.
These are the questions I have to ask myself every day:
What emotional pain am I masking?
What belief keeps me reaching for that bottle?
Who could I become if I stopped?
How do I earn my way back to her trust?
3. Emotional Release
I’ve tried meditation and some days it works. On other days, I’m just a bloke sitting cross-legged on the floor, trying not to cry.
Reiki, mindfulness—all these things are tools in a toolbox I’m still learning how to use. They don’t solve everything, but they remind me that healing isn’t a straight line. It’s a messy, painful spiral. I remember one evening, sitting on the floor after a long day, eyes closed, trying to focus on my breathing. For a few fleeting minutes, the weight of everything lifted, and I felt… still. It wasn’t a grand revelation, but it was a moment of peace—a reminder that even in the chaos, stillness is possible if I make space for it.
Sometimes, stillness feels like holding your breath underwater. But even that brief pause matters.
4. Building New Patterns
I go swimming in the river sometimes. Cold water, shock to the system. It clears the fog for a while, and I feel—what’s the word? Present. Alive.
Exercise helps. So does writing. But it’s not magic, and it’s not easy.
Replacing destructive habits with healthier ones isn’t glamorous. No one cheers you on when you decide to go for a run instead of pouring a drink. But every small choice adds up.
I try to picture it sometimes. Me and Ffion. Sitting together, talking like none of this ever happened. Like I never let her down.
It’s a fragile image, but it keeps me going. Sometimes, it feels close enough to touch.
The Role of Support Systems
Addiction thrives in isolation. It convinces you that no one understands. But connection—real, vulnerable connection—is the antidote.
For me, it’s been moments with people who aren’t afraid to sit with me in the discomfort, who don’t try to fix me but just listen. Healing doesn’t happen in solitude—it happens in shared moments of honesty and trust.
A Thought to Hold Onto
The drink isn’t the solution; it’s the delay button. Every day you choose to face it instead of numbing it, you take one step closer to healing.
If you stumble, get back up. You’re worth it. I’m worth it. And we all deserve a chance to come home to ourselves.
One day at a time isn’t just a saying—it’s the only way forward.
