A Letter to Myself — 500 Days Sober
Today marks 500 days sober.
That sentence still feels strange to write.
There was a point in my life where I honestly didn’t know if I was capable of changing. Not really changing. Not temporarily getting it together. Not surviving another rough patch. I mean truly rebuilding my life from the ground up.
A year and a half ago, I was exhausted.
Physically.
Mentally.
Spiritually.
I was losing myself slowly and pretending I wasn’t.
The alcoholism kept growing.
The cocaine use kept growing.
The boundaries in my life kept slipping.
And like a lot of people struggling internally, I became very good at hiding pieces of myself while convincing myself I still had control.
Until eventually…
I didn’t.
What followed was the hardest period of my life.
Not just because of what happened around me…
but because for the first time, I had to honestly look at myself.
I had to stop blaming.
Stop running.
Stop numbing.
Stop pretending.
And I had to ask a question that changed everything:
Who do I become now?
The answer didn’t come overnight.
It came through rehab.
Through therapy.
Through faith.
Through difficult conversations.
Through consequences.
Through patience.
Through discipline.
Through learning how to sit still with myself again.
And somewhere during all of that, the foundation for Louder Than My Demons started forming.
Not as a brand.
Not as a podcast.
As survival.
The Five S’s slowly became part of my life:
Sobriety.
Spirituality.
Self-Care.
Strength.
Songwriting.
And eventually…
Service.
Because I’ve learned something over these last 500 days:
Selfish recovery doesn’t last.
Healing really begins when your pain starts helping somebody else survive theirs.
I’m not writing this because I think I have all the answers.
I definitely don’t.
I’m still rebuilding.
Still learning.
Still growing.
Still healing.
But I also know this:
I’m not the same man I was 500 days ago.
I’ve become closer to God.
Closer to my children.
Closer to the people who truly stood beside me when life fell apart.
My son showed strength and grace beyond his years and helped guide me closer to Christ during some of the darkest moments of my life.
My daughter never stopped believing in me.
My family.
My friends.
Stacie.
Curran.
My band.
They helped hold me together when I honestly wasn’t sure I could do it myself.
And somewhere along the way…
I realized love didn’t disappear from my life.
It just showed up in places I wasn’t looking for.
I also realized something else:
Numbers aren’t the point.
Not views.
Not downloads.
Not followers.
Truth is the point.
Connection is the point.
Service is the point.
If one person listens to something I say late at night and realizes they aren’t alone…
that matters.
So for my 500th sober day, I decided to write a letter to the version of myself who thought everything was over.
The version of me sitting in confusion, fear, shame, anger, addiction, and uncertainty.
The version of me who couldn’t yet see what was still possible.
This is that letter.
Watch the Full Video
Today at 6:00 PM, I’ll be premiering the live reading of this letter on YouTube.
This was filmed in one take.
No script edits.
No performance.
Just the truth.
▶️ Watch the premiere here:
https://youtu.be/7BqUYcqodKc
December 29, 2024
A Letter To Jozey
“Dear Jozey…
I know you think your life is over.
I know you’re sitting there replaying every conversation… every mistake… every warning sign… trying to figure out where everything broke.
You keep asking why.
Why this happened.
Why it ended this way.
Why somebody you loved could choose destruction over peace.
And maybe the hardest thing you’re going to learn…
is that you may never get that answer.
She chose.
She chose how this story unfolded.
She chose how far things went.
She chose actions you couldn’t control.
And eventually…
you’re going to have to stop trying to understand every choice another person made…
and start focusing on your own.
That’s the part nobody tells you about survival.
At some point…
you stop asking:
‘Why did this happen to me?’
And you start asking:
‘Who am I going to become now?’
Right now, you don’t know that.
Right now you’re exhausted.
You’re angry.
You’re embarrassed.
You’re heartbroken.
You feel like your identity collapsed overnight.
You lost the woman you loved.
You think everybody is staring at the worst moment of your life.
And they are.
But if you’re honest…
this didn’t happen overnight.
Your alcoholism kept growing.
The cocaine use kept growing.
Your boundaries kept slipping.
Little compromises.
Little lies to yourself.
Little moments where you ignored the voice telling you something wasn’t right anymore.
And eventually…
all of it catches up to you.
And that part hurts to admit.
But it’s the truth.
And the truth is the first thing that finally starts setting you free.
But here’s what you don’t understand yet…
this isn’t the end of your story.
It’s the beginning of the first honest chapter you’ve lived in a very long time.
You’re going to realize very quickly that you cannot survive this alone.
And for the first time in a long time…
you’re going to ask for help.
Real help.
Rehab.
Therapy.
A great lawyer.
And somehow…
when your entire world feels like it’s collapsing…
you’re going to find the right one of each.
Exactly the people you needed.
Not to save you.
But to help you rebuild yourself.
You’re going to spend a long time trying to understand why all of this happened.
And eventually…
you’re going to realize that some answers never come.
Some people choose chaos.
Some people choose destruction.
Some people choose to hurt others.
And you can drown trying to understand it.
Or…
you can rebuild.
And that’s what’s coming.
Not all at once.
Not overnight.
Not easily.
But slowly…
you’re going to start becoming somebody stronger.
And just when you think everything is over…
it won’t be.
And that’s another lesson you’re going to learn.
Patience.
You’re going to come to the edge of losing everything more than once.
And every single time…
you’re going to panic.
You’re going to try to control it.
You’re going to obsess over outcomes you cannot control.
Until eventually…
you finally understand something.
Stress changes nothing.
Fear changes nothing.
Control changes nothing.
And little by little…
you’re going to learn how to let go…
and let God.
Not perfectly.
Not all at once.
But enough to breathe again.
Enough to sleep again.
Enough to realize that life keeps moving forward…
even after devastation.
You’re going to get closer to God.
Not because life suddenly gets easy…
but because you finally stop trying to carry everything by yourself.
You’re going to learn discipline.
You’re going to learn stillness.
And you’re going to learn to love it.
You’re going to wake up one morning and realize you finally have peace in the silence again.
And then one day…
without even realizing it…
the Five S’s are going to start forming around your life.
Sobriety.
Spirituality.
Self-Care.
Strength.
Songwriting.
Not as some slogan.
As survival.
As a code.
As the things that finally helped you rebuild when everything fell apart.
And eventually…
you’re going to realize something else.
Selfish recovery doesn’t last.
You cannot spend your entire life only trying to save yourself.
At some point…
service becomes part of the code too.
Because healing really starts changing you when you begin helping other people survive their darkness too.
You’re going to start taking care of yourself again.
You’re going to laugh again.
You’re going to create again.
You’re going to write songs that tell the truth.
You’re going to stand in front of a microphone and finally stop pretending to be indestructible.
And somehow…
new people begin showing up.
New support.
New friendships.
New purpose.
A new life you never would have imagined while sitting in the wreckage of the old one where you are right now.
And somewhere along the way…
you’re going to realize something else.
You were never as alone as you thought you were.
Your son…
your son is going to become one of the strongest men you know.
When you feel broken…
he’s going to stand beside you.
Protect you.
Believe in you.
And somehow…
through all of this…
he’s even going to help guide you closer to Christ.
Your daughter…
is going to keep loving you even when the world feels like it’s falling apart.
She’s going to believe in the man you still are underneath all the wreckage.
Your family.
Your friends.
Stacie.
Curran.
Your band.
They’re going to help hold pieces of you together when you can’t do it yourself.
And one day…
you’re going to realize that love didn’t disappear from your life.
It just showed up in places you weren’t looking for.
And here’s the part you never see coming…
your pain is going to help other people.
Not because you become famous.
Not because you had all the answers.
But because you finally started telling the truth.
And somewhere out there…
somebody listening to your voice late at night is going to realize they aren’t alone.
And that matters more than numbers ever will.
And one day…
after all the anger…
after all the confusion…
after all the nights you spent thinking you were too broken to trust again…
you’re going to realize something.
You’re still capable of love.
And someday…
you’ll finally feel secure enough to believe you can be loved again too.
And honestly…
that day may come sooner than you think.
You don’t need to have the whole future figured out right now.
You just need to survive long enough to meet the man you’re becoming.
And somehow…
we made it.
You and I…
we’re louder than our demons.
See you in 500 days.”
ONE FINAL THOUGHT
“One thing we need to keep in mind is this: Recovery isn’t perfection.
It isn’t waking up one day healed.
It’s learning how to keep moving forward even when life doesn’t go the way you hoped it would.
500 days ago, I thought everything in my life was collapsing.
In a lot of ways…
it was.
But somewhere in the middle of all of that destruction…
God gave me an opportunity to rebuild.
Not into the man I used to be.
Into somebody stronger.
More honest.
More disciplined.
More grateful.
I still have work to do.
I still have bad days.
I still have things I’m healing from.
But today…
I’m sober.
I’m alive.
I’m creating again.
I’m hopeful again.
And for the first time in a long time…
I’m genuinely excited to see who I become next.
If you’re struggling right now…
keep going.
Write the letter.
Tell the truth.
Ask for help.
You might be closer to rebuilding your life than you realize.
Thank you to everyone who stood beside me through these last 500 days.
You know who you are.
And from the bottom of my heart…
thank you.
You and I…
we’re louder than our demons.
See you in 500 days.”
Your Friend,
Jozey
