The First Time I Felt Proud Again

I didn’t expect it to happen on a Friday.

No parade. No big win. No “you did it” moment. Just me, sitting alone in my car outside a grocery store, holding a receipt and realizing… I hadn’t bought alcohol.

That was it.

Nobody else knew. Nobody was watching. But I sat there and felt something I hadn’t felt in years: pride.

Not the loud kind. Not the ego-driven kind. Just a quiet, steady sense of “I’m doing something different.”

That moment didn’t make everything better. But it cracked something open.

Because up until then, I thought I had to earn pride with big milestones — 90 days, a promotion, a public apology, a book deal. But real pride? The kind that sticks? It shows up in the little moments you choose to be someone you weren’t yesterday.

It’s brushing your teeth when you don’t feel like it. 
It’s calling your sponsor instead of your dealer. 
It’s looking in the mirror and not looking away.

For me, pride returned slowly. Not in waves — in whispers.

It came back every time I told the truth. 
Every time I didn’t lie to make myself look better. 
Every time I followed through, stayed present, kept a promise — even the small ones.

If you’re still waiting for that moment when you feel proud again, let me tell you: it’s coming. And it won’t need a spotlight.

It’ll find you in your car, or your kitchen, or standing in line at the DMV.

It won’t feel like a mountaintop. It’ll feel like coming home.