Sober Didn’t Fix My Broken

Sober didn’t fix my broken—

it just turned the lights back on.

And suddenly I had to face

every crack I’d tried to drown,

every scar I’d blurred into silence,

every memory I’d washed in poison

just to make it bearable.

Sober didn’t make me whole;

it made me aware—

of the pieces that don’t fit anymore,

of the heaviness I still carry,

of the storms that still rise

even when my hands are clean.

But maybe healing isn’t the miracle

people make it out to be.

Maybe it’s the slow work

of learning to live

with the parts of yourself

you used to run from.

Maybe sober isn’t the cure—

maybe it’s the chance.

The chance to rebuild,

to feel without collapsing,

to hurt without disappearing,

to stay alive long enough

to find the pieces

that still want to shine.

Sober didn’t fix my broken.

But it gave me the hands

to start picking myself up.

And maybe—

for now—

that’s enough.