How I Came to Forgive the Unforgivable
Learning to love myself in recovery
I had one goal.
I was going to make it all the way back to my former house without crying.
My daughter and I met for dinner — I was allowed to meet her on Sundays and we’d go to our favorite local burger place. She’d tell me about school and life and what her mom was up to.
I’d tell her about my new (and possibly permanent) life — making deliveries for Uber Eats, writing during the day for a remote client, living out of a hotel.
I didn’t know how this would end, but it sure didn’t seem like I’d ever be able to see my daughter (then 14) every day ever again.
And so, I cried. It was only a five-minute drive from the burger place to dropping her off at home. I made it past the first minute. And then, at the stoplight, the flood started.
And continued all the way home.
And she told me it was okay. That I’d be okay, that it was all going to be okay.
I didn’t think so.
Dropping my daughter off at the home where there’d once been “our family” was not okay.
I’d said and done things while drinking that were not acceptable. That stole time and resources from the family.
