The Sober Sessions

The Sober Sessions Clean and sober since March 23, 2016. Every sunrise, a new chapter in this journey of overcoming addiction. I'm here to remind you, hope is never lost.
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If you’ve got a pulse, you've got a shot at change. One step at a time, one victory after another. 💜

At my lowest point, when everything else fell away, there was one thing left.God.No backup plans.No safety nets.No peopl...
12/21/2025

At my lowest point, when everything else fell away, there was one thing left.

God.

No backup plans.
No safety nets.
No people I could lean on without feeling like a burden.

Just God.

And here’s the part that messes with your ego a little bit.

When you’re stripped down to nothing, you realize how much of what you thought you needed… you really didn’t. The validation. The approval. The opinions. The noise. The people you were afraid to disappoint.

All of it gets quiet when you hit bottom.

And in that quiet, something becomes painfully clear.

God was never the last resort.
He was the foundation the whole time.

We spend so much of life clinging to things we think are holding us up—money, status, relationships, control. But when those things disappear, you learn what’s actually solid.

At my lowest, God wasn’t optional.
He was essential.

And once you experience that—once you survive a season where God is all you have—you stop confusing needs with attachments. You stop begging the world to fill a space it was never meant to occupy.

Because when everything else is gone and you’re still standing, you understand the truth:

You didn’t lose everything.
You lost what you didn’t need.

— j. anthony |

12/21/2025

Let me put this in real-world terms, because people overcomplicate sobriety and then use that confusion as an excuse to quit.

Giving up on your sobriety because of a setback is like slashing your other three tires because one went flat.

Think about that for a second.

You’re driving. You hit something. Boom — flat tire. That sucks. It’s inconvenient. It slows you down. But the car is still drivable. The destination didn’t disappear. You don’t torch the whole vehicle because one thing went wrong.

But that’s exactly what people do in recovery.

They have a slip. A bad day. A moment of weakness. And instead of fixing the tire, they light the whole thing on fire.
“Well, I already messed up… might as well go all in.”

No. That’s not logic. That’s self-destruction wearing the mask of honesty.

Sobriety isn’t about perfection. It’s about correction.
It’s about stopping, assessing the damage, and making the adjustment — not quitting the entire journey because your ego got bruised.

Here’s the truth nobody likes to say out loud: setbacks don’t erase progress.
They reveal where growth still needs to happen.

And if you’re willing to learn instead of spiral, that flat tire might actually save your life — because it forces you to slow down, pay attention, and fix what you’ve been ignoring.

You didn’t come this far to give up because it got uncomfortable.
You didn’t survive what you survived just to fold over one bad moment.

Fix the tire.
Get back on the road.
And keep moving forward.

— j. anthony |

Let me throw something at you that sounds simple, but hits deep if you actually sit with it.Offer the same grace you als...
12/21/2025

Let me throw something at you that sounds simple, but hits deep if you actually sit with it.

Offer the same grace you also require.

Think about how much patience you ask for when you’re struggling. How quick you are to say, “You don’t know what I’m dealing with,” or “I’m doing the best I can right now.”

And you’re right. You are.

But here’s the uncomfortable mirror.

Do you give that same room to other people?
Or do you demand understanding while handing out judgment?

Most of us want mercy for our mistakes and accountability for everyone else’s. We want context for our failures and consequences for theirs. That imbalance quietly poisons relationships, families, communities—everything.

Grace isn’t approval.
Grace isn’t letting people walk all over you.

Grace is remembering that everyone is fighting something you can’t see, carrying a story you don’t know, learning lessons in real time just like you are.

The same way you hope someone gives you a little more patience on your worst day—that’s the standard.

Because when you start offering the same grace you require, something shifts. The tension drops. The ego loosens. And you stop bleeding on people who never cut you.

That’s how growth actually spreads. Not through being right—but through being human.

— j. anthony |

12/21/2025

This is one of those lessons you don’t learn from books.
You learn it by bleeding a little.

I learned the hard way that you can respect people deeply… and they still won’t respect your feelings. You can show up with honesty, loyalty, empathy — and still be met with dismissal, excuses, or silence.

That messes with your head at first.

Because we’re taught that being a good person guarantees good treatment. That if you do right, people will do right by you.

That’s a lie.

Being a good person doesn’t protect you from bad behavior. It just means you showed up clean — and what they did after that is on them.

Here’s the shift that changes everything:
You don’t control people.
You don’t control their maturity.
You don’t control their empathy, awareness, or growth.

You control you.

You control how you respond.
You control what you tolerate.
You control how long you stay in rooms where you’re misunderstood, minimized, or disrespected.

And walking away doesn’t make you cold.
It makes you honest.

Sometimes the most powerful move isn’t explaining yourself for the hundredth time — it’s accepting the truth and choosing peace over proximity.

You don’t need to become harder.
You just need to become clearer.

Respect yourself enough to stop begging for what should be basic.
Accept people for who they are — or walk away without bitterness.

That’s not weakness.
That’s growth.

— j. anthony |

12/21/2025

Let me hit this head-on, because this is one of those ideas that quietly shapes a kid’s entire future.

Teach your children that their gender doesn’t come with a preset job description.

Somewhere along the way, we started handing kids scripts before they even knew who they were.
Telling boys what they’re supposed to be.
Telling girls what they’re allowed to be.
And then we act surprised when grown adults feel boxed in, angry, lost, or afraid to try something different.

That’s crazy.

A child’s potential has nothing to do with what box society checked at birth.
Strength isn’t owned by one gender.
Compassion isn’t owned by the other.
Leadership, creativity, discipline, nurturing, courage — none of that is gender-exclusive.

When you teach a kid, “This is what you do because of who you are,” you don’t empower them — you limit them.
You shrink the map before they ever start the journey.

What kids really need is permission.

Permission to explore.
Permission to fail.
Permission to be curious.
Permission to be strong and soft.
Permission to build, to care, to lead, to heal, to protect, to create — without feeling like they’re breaking some invisible rule.

The world already does a great job of trying to tell them who they should be. Your job as a parent is to help them discover who they actually are.

Teach your children skills, not stereotypes.
Teach them values, not labels.
Teach them responsibility, empathy, resilience, and self-respect.

Because when a child grows up knowing they’re not confined by a role… they don’t just survive in this world — they adapt, they grow, and they lead it.

And that’s how you raise humans who are free.

— j. anthony |

There was a point where I stopped trying to explain it to people.Not because they didn’t care—but because there weren’t ...
12/21/2025

There was a point where I stopped trying to explain it to people.

Not because they didn’t care—but because there weren’t words that could carry the weight of it. You ever feel that? Like if you opened your mouth, everything would come out wrong, watered down, misunderstood?

So I didn’t talk to anyone.

I cried to God about it.

Not a polished prayer. Not some church-safe version. Just tears. Frustration. Silence broken by breath I could barely catch. The kind of cry that comes from a place so deep you don’t even know how to name what hurts anymore.

Because God can handle what people can’t.

People want explanations. God wants honesty.
People want you strong. God meets you when you’re wrecked.

And that’s the thing—sometimes the most powerful prayer isn’t spoken. It’s felt. It’s the moment you finally stop performing and just show up exactly as you are.

No mask. No answers. No plan.

Just, “Here it is. All of it.”

And somehow… that’s enough to be heard.

— j. anthony |

12/21/2025

Let me slow this down for a second, because this is one of those truths that sounds simple… but can cost you years of your life if you ignore it.

Never trade respect for attention.

Attention is loud. It’s addictive. It feels good in the moment because it scratches the ego. People see you. They react to you. They clap. They comment. They validate.

But attention is cheap.

Respect?
Respect is quiet.
Respect is earned when no one is watching.
Respect shows up in how people talk about you when you’re not in the room.
Respect is built through consistency, integrity, and how you carry yourself when it would be easier to sell out.

Here’s the trap: attention comes fast, but it fades just as fast.
The same people cheering you today will scroll past you tomorrow.
The same crowd hyping you up will turn on you the second you stop entertaining them.

Respect doesn’t do that.

Respect sticks.
Respect creates leverage.
Respect protects you when things get uncomfortable.
Respect opens doors that attention never could.

And the dangerous part?
A lot of people know exactly what they’re doing when they trade respect for attention. They overshare. They perform. They bend their values just enough to stay liked.

But every time you do that, you lose a little piece of your foundation.

If people only like you when you’re loud, flashy, or constantly explaining yourself, they don’t respect you — they’re consuming you.

Attention wants more.
Respect draws boundaries.

So choose wisely.

You can be popular and disposable.
Or you can be respected and unshakable.

And when life gets real — and it always does — you’ll find out real quick which one actually matters.

— j. anthony |

There was a day—just one day—where I finally hit that wall. Not the dramatic kind people post about. The quiet one. The ...
12/21/2025

There was a day—just one day—where I finally hit that wall. Not the dramatic kind people post about. The quiet one. The honest one. The one where you’re exhausted in your bones, not just your body.

I remember saying it out loud. Not fancy. Not poetic. Just raw.

“I’m done.”

Done fighting myself.
Done pretending I had control.
Done thinking I could outthink what was breaking me.

And that’s when something strange happened.

There was no thunder. No lightning. No booming voice from the sky.

Just this calm, unshakable response that landed heavier than anything else ever had:

“Good. Now I can begin.”

That’s the part nobody talks about.

We think God steps in when we’re strong. When we’ve cleaned it up. When we’ve got a plan, a résumé, a comeback story lined up.

But that’s not how it works.

He waits until you stop white-knuckling life.
Until you stop negotiating with your ego.
Until you finally admit, “I can’t do this anymore.”

Because “I’m done” isn’t quitting.

It’s surrender.

And surrender isn’t weakness—it’s alignment.

It’s the moment you get out of the way. The moment you stop blocking what’s been trying to rebuild you from the ground up the entire time.

Every real transformation starts right there.

Not when you feel ready.
Not when you feel confident.
But when you’re finally empty enough to be filled.

— j. anthony |

Let me say this in a way that actually lands.If they’re still talking about you,you still intimidate them.People don’t s...
12/21/2025

Let me say this in a way that actually lands.

If they’re still talking about you,
you still intimidate them.

People don’t spend energy on things that don’t matter.
They don’t dissect, gossip, critique, or obsess over someone who’s irrelevant.
Silence is what indifference looks like.
Noise is insecurity.

When you’re doing your own thing—growing, healing, moving forward—it messes with people who stayed stuck.
Your progress becomes a mirror they didn’t ask to look into.
And instead of doing the work, they talk.

They tell stories.
They rewrite history.
They keep your name in their mouth like it owes them rent.

Not because you’re wrong,
but because you moved on without asking for permission.

Here’s the truth most people don’t want to admit:
Your presence doesn’t bother them nearly as much as your absence.
You kept going.
You didn’t crash.
You didn’t beg.
You didn’t fold.

That’s intimidating.

So if you ever wonder why your name still circles rooms you don’t even walk into anymore, remember this—
You’re not haunting them.
You’re reminding them of what they didn’t have the courage to become.

Let them talk.
You don’t owe explanations to people who never walked your path.

Keep building.
Keep healing.
Keep elevating.

Because when they’re still talking about you,
it means you’re still ahead of them—without saying a word.

— j. anthony |

I’m not doing one of those end-of-year highlight reels.No montage. No flexing. No perfectly edited recap trying to convi...
12/21/2025

I’m not doing one of those end-of-year highlight reels.

No montage. No flexing. No perfectly edited recap trying to convince the world I had it all figured out.

All I’ll say is this—God was good.

Good in the moments nobody saw.
Good in the days that didn’t make sense.
Good when the prayers weren’t answered the way I wanted, but the way I needed.

There were wins, sure. But there were also losses. Quiet battles. Long nights. Decisions that cost me comfort, relationships, and versions of myself I had to let die. And through all of it—every high, every low, every “I don’t know how I’m gonna make it through this”—God was steady.

Not loud. Not flashy. Just consistent.

I don’t need to explain what He saved me from.
I don’t need to list everything that almost broke me.
I don’t need to prove growth with numbers, screenshots, or applause.

I’m still here. I’m clearer. I’m grounded. I’m moving forward with peace instead of pressure. And if you’ve been through enough in life, you know—that alone is a miracle.

So yeah, no end-of-year recap.

Just gratitude.

Just humility.

Just knowing that even when I didn’t have the strength, the answers, or the words… God never stopped being good.

— j. anthony |

12/21/2025

Let me say something that sounds simple, but hits way deeper the longer you sit with it.

When you spend your life trying to stay high…
you’re almost guaranteed to stay low.

And I don’t just mean substances.
I mean chasing anything that keeps you numbed out, distracted, or artificially elevated.

The constant dopamine hits.
The noise.
The chaos.
The need to escape the moment you feel uncomfortable.

Here’s the truth most people don’t want to face:

If you never let yourself feel the low, you never actually rise.

You just hover.
You float above your own life without ever touching it.

Real growth doesn’t happen when you’re chasing a high.
It happens when you sit in the discomfort long enough to learn something from it.

Pain teaches.
Stillness teaches.
Boredom teaches.
Sobriety teaches.
Silence teaches.

But we run from all of it.

So we chase stimulation.
We chase relief.
We chase anything that keeps us from looking at ourselves too closely.

And the irony is brutal.

The more you try to avoid feeling low,
the more stuck you become in a shallow version of life.

Because real highs — the kind that actually last — come from discipline, not escape. From presence, not avoidance. From facing yourself, not numbing yourself.

Peace isn’t loud.
Clarity isn’t flashy.
Fulfillment doesn’t come in a rush.

It comes after you’ve done the work. After you’ve sat with your demons instead of running from them. After you’ve chosen growth over comfort.

So yeah… if you’re always trying to stay high, you’re probably avoiding the very thing that would actually lift you up.

Sometimes the way up starts by going straight through the low.

— j. anthony |

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