Ripples
The word choice freaks me out sometimes. It feels so small, but it decides so much. One decision can echo for years, and most of the time, you don’t realize that until you’re already living inside the consequences. When I look back, I see all these little moments where I said, “whatever, it’s fine,” and didn’t understand I was setting things in motion that would shape entire versions of me.
One of the biggest ones was picking up substances way too young. I knew addiction lived in my family. I knew how that story goes. But I still reached for it, like I was daring the universe to prove something to me. And it did. I learned what it feels like to drag around a demon that talks sweet but steals pieces of you when no one’s looking.
But here’s the weird part: that choice didn’t just destroy things. It opened doors I didn’t even know existed. It connected me to people who were drowning in the same kind of pain, people I would’ve never understood if I stayed sober and “above it.” I would’ve judged them, resented them, held onto grudges like trophies. But when you’ve crawled through that same tunnel, you see things differently. You see the panic behind the bad decisions, the shame behind the apologies, the tiny victories that barely look like victories to anyone else.
And clawing your way out? That’s a whole different kind of strength. It’s not just “quitting.” It’s waking up every day and choosing not to let your brain drag you back into the familiar darkness. It’s rebuilding trust with yourself, which is honestly harder than rebuilding it with anyone else. That changed me. It made me softer in some ways and sharper in others. I don’t take pain at face value anymore; I look for where it came from.
Choice terrifies me. It’s heavy. Piercing. Like tossing a stone into water and watching the ripples keep moving long after you thought it was over. Every decision I’ve made, even the tiny ones, has shaped me, broken me, connected me, and changed me in ways I didn’t understand until much later.
I used to cling to brokenness because it meant someone else was holding me. I liked it. I craved it. Being cared for while I couldn’t care for myself felt safe, felt like love I wasn’t capable of giving myself. Letting go of that felt impossible. Facing the empty parts of me alone was terrifying, like standing in a dark room hoping for a light switch that might never exist.
Choosing sobriety in March wasn’t just a decision. It was stepping off the cliff with no net and saying, I can do this. I had to leave behind the comfort of broken spaces, old habits, people who knew me at my weakest and weren’t ready for me rising. I had to choose myself in ways I hadn’t before. And it was messy, painful, exhausting. But it was mine.
Living alone has been the best choice of all. Brutal and beautiful. Facing myself without distractions, without crutches, it has shown me what it means to really hold myself. To sit with my own scars, my own shadows, my own dark thoughts without flinching, without pretending. I’ve discovered a strength I didn’t know I had, raw, jagged, mine. Terrifying. Exhilarating. All at once.
The ripple effect of choices isn’t just destruction. It’s clarity, understanding, compassion. It’s being able to see someone else’s pain and not look away because you’ve been there, because you’ve made it through. I stumble. I fall. I feel the weight of old mistakes pressing on me every day. But now, every choice, even the smallest one, is a reclaiming of myself. I throw each stone into the water and watch the ripples, knowing I am the one making them, finally, fully, unapologetically.
What ripples are you watching unfold?
