All The Ways I Carry Him

Two years ago, I put down the bottle. At first, it didn’t feel like a bold decision, it felt like survival. I was grieving the loss of my brother Austin, and I turned to alcohol to try and numb the pain. But instead of helping, it left me exhausted, disconnected, and further away from the life I wanted.

I started to realize how much I was missing, time with my family, energy for myself, and the purpose I knew was meant for me. I felt stuck, like I wasn’t moving forward, like I was standing still while my spirit begged me to live differently.

Sobriety wasn’t glamorous. It was quiet, awkward, and sometimes lonely. But it was also the first step toward becoming the woman I was meant to be.

As an Indigenous woman, I know what alcohol has taken from our communities. It was brought to us as poison, as a weapon of colonization. I saw it in my own family and community. It steals joy, love, and futures. But I also know that we carry medicine inside us. My ancestors held songs, prayers, and strength that the world could never take. Sobriety, for me, became a way of reconnecting to that medicine.

It wasn’t just about quitting drinking, it was about choosing life.

Sobriety gave me a way to carry Austin differently. Not through numbness, but through love, stories, and the way I keep his spirit alive in my writing.

And then there’s my son, Asher. Becoming his mom gave me a new reason to live fully present. He deserves to know me with clear eyes, steady hands, and a heart that chooses him every day. Sobriety gave me that.

But I also did it for the little girl in me. The one who always wanted to feel safe, loved, and enough. The one who deserved joy instead of loneliness. Sobriety has been a way of finally showing up for her too.

It gave me mornings where I’m not recovering, but showing up. It gave me the strength to breastfeed my son, even on days when it was hard, and the energy to chase him as he grows. It gave me the clarity to keep pushing through my doctoral program in nurse-midwifery, even when working full-time feels overwhelming.

Sobriety is not about what I lost, it’s about everything I’ve gained. Friendships that are real. Confidence in myself. Purpose that grows deeper every day. I used to think alcohol made me fun, made me belong, made me “enough.” But sobriety showed me that I already am enough, without a drink in my hand.

Two years sober feels like freedom.

I’m still on the journey. Some days are easier than others. But when I look at my son, when I think of Austin, when I picture the Native women I want to care for one day as a midwife, I know this is the medicine I needed.

🪶 We heal together. If you’re an Indigenous woman on this path or thinking about starting it, know that you are not alone. Sobriety can be your medicine too, and our circle is waiting to lift you up. Share this story with someone who might need to hear it today.

Two years ago, I was surviving. Today, I am living. And that is worth celebrating.