The hardest part of getting clean
isn’t the cravings.
It’s the apologies.
The ones you owe
to people who loved you
while you were slowly vanishing.
The ones you owe
to past versions of yourself
you barely recognize anymore.
It’s learning how to say
“I’m sorry”
and not expect relief in return.
Learning how to say
“I’m trying”
when trust still feels fragile
and unfinished.
Some apologies are met with grace.
Some are met with silence.
Some come back years later
in quiet moments
when you finally understand
the weight of what was broken.
Getting clean means standing there—
in the middle of what you ruined—
with nothing to hide behind.
Knowing regret can’t undo damage,
it can only mean you see it now.
And maybe the bravest apology
isn’t words at all,
but staying.
Doing better.
Letting time believe you
before anyone else does.
Through the Fog 