97. Living Life on Life’s Terms
There’s a phrase I used to hear in meetings that I didn’t really understand at first: “Live life on life’s terms.” It sounded like just another cliché, one of those sayings people toss around without much thought, but the longer I’ve been in recovery, and the more pain and healing I’ve walked through, the more I realize how much power—and how much truth—is packed into that simple line. Living life on life’s terms means accepting that we cannot control everything. For someone like me—an addict who used to believe that I could numb, outwit, or run from pain—that kind of surrender was terrifying. My disease told me I had to stay one step ahead of reality. It told me that if things got too hard, I could always escape. That bottle, that pill, that hit—I thought they were my armor, my illusion of control, and my false comfort.
Life doesn’t ask us if we’re ready. It doesn’t slow down for our wounds. It doesn’t bend to our fears. When I finally stopped running—when I hit bottom and had nothing left but the broken pieces of who I used to be—I realized the very thing I was always trying to avoid was the one thing I most needed to face: life, exactly as it is. In recovery, I’ve had to learn how to sit with discomfort. How to grieve losses that I used to drown in silence. How to take responsibility without destroying myself with shame. How to feel joy without fearing it’ll be taken away.
Living life on life’s terms means showing up even when I don’t feel like it. It means going to work when I’d rather be in bed, being honest when it’s easier to lie, and asking for help when my pride screams not to. Some days, it feels unbearable. There are moments when the pain of the past comes roaring back, and I wonder if I’ll ever be whole. I still carry the weight of people I’ve let down. I still have nights when the silence is too loud, when my mind replays every mistake like a cruel movie. But even then—especially then—I try to remind myself that pain is not the enemy. Avoidance is. Denial is. Disconnection is.
Living life on life’s terms has taught me that healing isn’t about returning to who I was. It’s about becoming someone new, someone who can walk through the fire and not run from it. I’ve had to face truths I never wanted to admit. The fact that I hurt people I loved, that I lied to protect my addiction, and that I broke promises I swore I’d keep. I’ve had to learn how to forgive myself—not to excuse what I did, but to find the strength to do better.
Unfortunately, there’s no script for how to rebuild your life after addiction. There’s no manual for how to earn back trust, how to fix what you shattered, or how to keep going when guilt threatens to swallow you whole. But every day I stay clean, every day I show up and do the next right thing, I write a new page in my story. I try to do this with honesty, humility, and a heart that’s finally learning how to feel again.
I used to think that sobriety meant losing something—that I’d have to give up the only thing that ever made me feel okay. I’ve come to see that recovery isn’t about losing—it’s about gaining. I’ve gained clarity. I’ve gained purpose. I’ve gained people in my life who know the real me, not the façade I used to hide behind. I’ve even gained the ability to feel pride—real pride—in the man I’m becoming.
Living life on life’s terms also means accepting that not everything will go my way. I won’t always get the job. People I care about may not always forgive me. I may feel lonely, anxious, or lost, but I no longer believe those feelings are punishments. They’re just part of being human, and being human is something I used to run from with everything I had. Now, I lean into it. I’ve learned that real strength isn’t found in pretending to be okay. It’s in standing in your truth, even when your voice shakes. It’s in saying, “I’m struggling,” and still getting up the next day to try again. It’s in facing the wreckage you caused, doing the work to make amends, and realizing that while you can’t change the past, you can change who you are today.
Today, I am an addict in recovery. I am not perfect. I am not finished. I am present, and that alone is a miracle.
Every time I live life on life’s terms, I take another step away from the darkness that used to define me. I choose faith over fear. Responsibility over regret. Progress over perfection. I choose life—the real, messy, beautiful, painful, ordinary life I once believed I didn’t deserve.
And you know what? It’s enough. It’s more than enough.
So, when I hear the slogan “life on life’s terms” now, I no longer roll my eyes. I don’t dismiss it. I live it because, in the end, recovery is not about controlling life. It’s about letting go of the illusion that I ever could—and finding peace in learning to live, fully and fearlessly, one day at a time.
And remember, if you’re struggling or know someone who is struggling, please don’t lose hope. If that had happened to me, I wouldn’t be able to help spread awareness today.
