What if rock bottom is not the hell you imagine it to be?

What if it is a holy place?

This letter is to all of you who failed miserably at Dry January, to those of you who didn’t even bother to try because you knew a few days of white knuckling would eventually lead to a full-on binge. This is to those of you who have been leveled by something and don’t see a way out. But mostly, this letter is to a 26-year-old version of myself I hold incredibly close to my heart.

What if rock bottom is not the hell you imagine it to be?

What if it is a holy place?

Let’s say it is. Let’s say this filthy bathroom is sacred land. Let's say that laying on your side, curled into a fetal position, is an act of worship. Let’s say, years from now, you realize that these broken people who kneel inside of rehabs and jail cells and hospital rooms offering up whatever they have left are not the weak ones after all. That maybe surrender is not a white flag you raise in the air, but a prayer you recite in the new language you will learn to speak.

You can’t know that now, though. You can’t know the life waiting for you beyond these four paint-chipped walls. You can’t know the path you will take once you lift your wet, swollen cheek off of the peeling linoleum floor and the freedom it will bring.

But because I love you, I will spoil the ending: You get better.

For a while, you are still going to browse other people’s medicine cabinets and check your old hiding spots for half-empty plastic pints of vodka. You’re going to want to crawl out of your skin at your sister’s wedding in Rhode Island and when the person you thought was The One leaves and when your mom gets sick.

You are also going to learn how to be still, how to show up, how to surf in Bali, eat real pasta in Italy, how to fall in love.

The wrecked cars, the shaking hands, and the turmoil won’t last forever. Once you begin to heal, your pain will become your purpose. Don’t let the heavy shame of it all weigh you down so much you stop moving your feet. Start saying thank you now.

Bless the ground beneath you. Then, take your shaky grip on hope and get up. There is only one way out of here and that is through acceptance of what is.