Omnia Vincit Amor
Rebuilding Myself Led Me Back Home
Rehabitus: Personal Growth in Life After Addiction
2000 Words // 8-9 Minute read.
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Home Is Where The Heart Is
Home is not just a place. It’s a feeling.
Home, ideally, is where you feel safe, warm, and deeply loved. It’s where you can be your truest self, with quirks and all.
I haven’t found the physical place I’d call home yet. But my heart is already home.
If someone were to ask me, “What’s the best thing that has happened since becoming sober?”
I might boldly answer, “Knowing who I am. I’m both the marble and the sculptor; the canvas and the artist; the observer of the projections of the world I create, and the—”
“—Shhhhhhh now, Adam.” you may interject. “I get it. But really, what is the best thing?”
Without a doubt, it’s getting back together with Danielle.
Danielle is my soulmate. When we met in 2015, our connection was deeper than any love I’d ever known, as if our souls had already known each other for millennia, waiting for our Earthly bodies to catch up.
But beneath my exterior and our loving connection, I carried a seething pit of unresolved trauma. Alcohol had been my escape, starting in my early teens and progressively spiralling into addiction that defined much of my life. During our first relationship (2015-2019), Danielle had the wisdom to phase alcohol out of her life as a simple lifestyle choice. I was able to stop drinking for periods too, but in an unresolved, inconclusive sort of way—a way that allowed it to inevitably creep back in and take control again. I knew every rational reason to avoid drinking, and together with Danielle’s inspiration, I managed temporary breaks. But I didn’t understand the emotional reasons behind why I did drink and to such extremes.
Alcohol use was unquestionably pathological for me. I only drank to get blackout drunk. Always. Every time. Even a quiet drink at a family meal would inevitably end in turmoil. Danielle knew that and was doing her damned best to keep me and alcohol apart, for her sake and mine. But the storm had long been brewing, and the dam was starting to crumble.
By late 2019, my internal world spiralled into chaos. Addiction took full momentum and descended into physical dependency. All hell broke loose. I reached a point where I couldn’t not drink and I was consuming a deathly amount of alcohol every day. Despite living separately, our relationship couldn’t withstand the storm. We parted ways—and rightfully so. At the time, I didn’t understand why Danielle had to break us apart, and my lack of understanding only deepened the hellhole I would dig for myself. This was the start of the era when shit got very, very serious.
More on that era in this previous article.
I attended rehabilitation in 2022, which primarily focused on William Glasser’s ‘Choice Theory’—an insightful framework, though mixed with a fair share of nonsense. The parts that truly resonated with me were essentially a rehashed version of Stoic philosophy. But during this period of clarity, I finally came to understand Danielle’s decision. It was an act of self-preservation and a choice I grew to respect deeply. I mentally placed my beautiful memories of Danielle in a drawer labelled ‘the one who got away’, and I wished her well from the bottom of my heart.
I had to let go to move forward from everything that anchored me to my past. All the painful memories, the “what ifs,” and “should have beens” had to be released. If I hadn’t, I would have drowned in my own sorrow, even in sobriety. And perhaps the sobriety wouldn’t have lasted. That chapter was closed for good, and I accepted it. I had cried my last tear for her and made my peace.
After completing rehabilitation in late 2022, I found myself sitting in the raw silence of solitude, and facing the bleakness of post-addiction life. Everything had to start from scratch. Thank goodness for recovery houses in England, without them, I’d have struggled to find a place to live at all. Employment wasn’t on the cards for someone who’d messed up their life this badly, and on top of it, I had a fresh criminal record hanging over me. But before I could think about what kind of new career path I wanted, I needed to well and truly fix myself first, because my level of addiction was something quite entrenched and extraordinary, even among some of my recovering peers.
I realised, and accepted, that I was living in the consequences of my actions. Every action has consequences. The only way forward was to embrace what came my way and get stronger because of it, not weaker. I needed to create a new set of consequences which started right there in my present-day actions. With time and consistency, new positive consequences would outgrow old negative ones. It’s simple cause and effect: plant good seeds today, pull out the weeds as they appear, and harvest the crop in summer. And nobody could do that for me but myself.
I attended person-centred counselling to continue the work I’d begun at rehab, and I went on to study it myself. I made sure I kept my toe dipped into weekly SMART-based addiction groups—maintaining a frequency that felt just right for me—not too much, not too little. Everything, including addiction recovery groups, needed to be kept in balance.
I chose to turn down medication for depression, understanding that my depressive state was a signal that I needed to change my mode of thinking rather than mask it with another substance. I’m about solutions now, not substances. Reactive depression is a perfectly natural response; there was no evidence that something was inherently wrong with the molecular processes in my brain, and I don’t subscribe to disease models of non-diseases. And so I felt the real change had to come from within.
I began to explore and understand what joy truly was: facing my empty spaces and filling them with my own contentment. Contentment comes from life’s fundamentals like learning, giving, belonging, solitude, meaningful work, and physical health—perhaps that’s a topic for another article. It took time, but through more research, reflection, and practice, I slowly realised that joy was rooted in inner peace. I’m still working on that.
Perhaps losing everything was exactly what I needed to truly appreciate the simple things around me. Living in a recovery house with nothing much of my own showed me what really mattered: a roof over my head, food, water, and basic safety. Everything I’d taken for granted in modern life became a blessing.
I also came to understand my mission: to make only good choices and commit to good habits regardless of mood, whim, ebb, flow, circumstance, or setback. Good choices beget good choices. Good habits beget good habits.
I reignited my habit of going to the gym, dragging myself there even on days when I didn’t want to— because I knew it was good for me. It’s now a staple in my life. I surrounded myself as best I could with like-minded people who didn’t use substances, even though others in my household still did. I lived below my means, committed to paying debts and saving—even though it was just a fraction of the minimal financial support I had. These small but significant differences add up: teaching me that discipline shapes outcomes, even at the micro level. Without good discipline, there are no good results.
I figured that to maintain my sobriety at its most fundamental level, I needed to support it with a multitude of other positive disciplines that root me into a sobriety so tight that drinking would no longer make any sense, logically or emotionally, or in any other way.
I could not be someone different unless I did different things, and I couldn’t do different things unless I changed who I was. It’s a self-reinforcing cycle of growth. I committed to becoming the person I aspired to be through my actions. I committed to my actions because that’s what the person I wanted to be would do. James Clear explains this concept clearly and effectively in his book Atomic Habits. Books about habits were my essential “post-quit-lit” and played a huge role in helping lock it all in.
And boy, did I learn patience. My mettle was truly tested. It still is, and it always will be. I’m good with that. I know for a fact now that good choices pay off in the long run, even if they don’t have immediate benefits.
It almost feels like I had to destroy myself to rebuild myself back up. Only then could I reform my character, work on my flaws, and return as a better version of myself, unshackled from conscious and unconscious destructive behaviours. While nurturing my inner wellness will be a lifelong evolution, this horrendous period of addiction and recovery made me brutally aware of its importance, which marked a huge turning point in my life.
Groundhog Days went by. Weeks and months blurred together. But I did what I had to do: Good choices. Good habits. Just stick to it, Adam.
In fact, the film Groundhog Day is a fitting analogy for this story, considering the tedious transition he had to go through to escape it—and win the lady's heart.
The beautiful thing is, that the journey I underwent to rebuild myself from the ground up would authentically and ultimately lead me back to Danielle. When I think about it, how could it not? Alcohol separated us, and now it’s no longer in the picture, nor is the desire to use it.
But I was not the person I’d left behind, and neither was she. During our time apart, we each faced our own set of hardships and grew into different versions of ourselves.
Ironically, the pain we endured seemed to shape us for the better, albeit in a macabre sort of way.
Then, one day in 2023, I picked up a suitcase of what I was told were my old belongings. As I sifted through, it seemed like almost pure junk. But tucked inside there was an old phone that I turned on out of curiosity. Sure enough, Danielle's number was still there—something I’d lost or deleted long ago.
I chose to send a message.
I didn’t really expect anyone to be at the other end—surely she wouldn’t still have the same number. But I still had mine, so maybe it made sense. I sent a simple, short hello anyway. After all, even if she had the same number, why would she reply? She could be married with more children by now, living in her dream cottage with…
…But she replied:
“Is this an A.I. bot or is it you?”
I responded with something only we could know.
When we reconnected, I was proud to say I had 12 months of sobriety including 4 months of rehab under my belt. I doubt she would have been as keen to talk if I hadn’t already achieved those sobriety milestones. She later confessed that she was impressed by the size of my arms in my profile picture! But that, also, was a result of the work I’d put in on myself. The outcomes of my efforts spoke for themselves—every action has consequences.
And so our story began, again.
This time, our love is different. It’s enriched and enchanted with hard-earned growth and wisdom that could have only arisen from our triumphs over the darkness.
We’re stronger, wiser and more in tune than ever before. Now, we complement each other in ways that only time and experience could have revealed. We’re resilient, understanding, and united. And now we just keep growing—individually and together.
I didn’t become sober for Danielle. I became sober for myself.
But in finding my peace and rebuilding myself, we naturally found our way back to each other.
Our hearts are home again.
And we’ve chosen the perfect words in Latin, her favourite language, to capture our commitment:
Omnia vincit amor.
(Love conquers all.)
Here’s a chance to catch up on a few of my previous articles:
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This is such a personal story , you choose to be vulnerable. It shows how someone can change their life for the better, even after big problems. I am glad to hear that you are sober, and reconnected with Danielle , that is amazing. Thanks for inspiring us with the essay Adam.
Thank you your writing is inspiring and it's brilliant reading and buzzing to be in contact your a genuine person