An update, August 2026

I wrote this reflection before the Spokane Area Fires changed so much for our region. I considered holding it, knowing that many families are carrying far heavier things right now.

I’m sharing it because the lesson at the center of this year still feels true: sobriety has made me more present and better able to show up when life gets hard. This reflection is personal. My attention today remains with the people affected and the organizations helping our community recover.

One year ago today

I can’t believe it but I freaking did it!! I have spent the last year of my life completely sober from alcohol.

That’s 365 days. Some good and some bad. I had plenty of days where I felt like drinking. This is where my stubborn pride actually works for me: as bad as I sometimes wanted a drink, I was holding so much pride in my sobriety that I refused to give it up.

And it wasn’t just alcohol. Within a month of quitting drinking I had let go of other vices too, and walked away from relationships that were keeping me stuck. The other things kind of fell into place after that first choice.

One year ago today, I was barely recovered from a horrible night of drinking and bad decisions just two days before. And I had agreed to meet Lawrence for a first date, coffee in Post Falls.

He had told me he was sober, which was frankly a huge relief. Because here’s the part that matters: I had already been thinking about quitting. At least for a little while.

That summer my drinking and partying were getting out of control. I told myself it was okay because I’d had a really hard year. I had just gone through a divorce. I was a single mom again. I was numbing myself so I didn’t have to sit with my feelings. How do you even do that? I would wonder, and then take another sip.

It got to the point where my body was telling me what my mind refused to admit. There were mornings after that scared me, mornings I couldn’t pretend were normal, and each one ended with me swearing I would never drink again. And then I did. And that last time was the worst.

I never really thought of myself as an alcoholic. I just knew I was ready for a change.

People just like me

So, when this man sat across from me talking about his journey and how he got sober, I wanted to know more. Not only did I find him attractive, he had something I was curious about.

He took me to my first AA meeting since I was 21 and ordered to go. I was still convinced there was no way I could be an alcoholic. But I really liked this cute guy and wanted to hang out with him, so I went anyway.

Much to my surprise, there were people just like me there. I listened to their stories and I could relate.

I had this idea in my head of what an alcoholic was. I wasn’t drinking first thing in the morning (usually). But when I did start, I could never have just one. Once I caught a buzz I kept chasing it. I drank for anxiety, for stress, to feel at ease in social situations where I felt awkward and out of place. I thought booze made me more fun and likeable. I drank when I was happy and when I was sad. I would find any excuse. It had become a daily habit.

Sitting in that room, I finally saw it. Nobody had to convince me. The people there just told the truth about their own lives, and their truth sounded like mine.

So, I thought: maybe I could give this sobriety thing a try. What did I have to lose?

What working it actually looks like

Here’s what I’ve learned this year: I didn’t stay sober because I met a sober guy. I stayed sober because I worked for it, one day at a time, and because I stopped trying to do life alone.

My sponsor and I are still close, and we work the steps together. I go to meetings. I’ve been building real friendships with other women in recovery, the kind of friends who show up for who I am, not for who I was at the bar. I’ve made real progress in therapy, actually sitting with the feelings I used to drown. I walk a lot. Miles and miles. I write and make things again. And I’ve found service work, especially with the Spokane Fatherhood Initiative, which gets me out of my own head faster than anything else.

I’ve also been spiritually seeking. I don’t have it all figured out, but a higher power is at the center of this for me, and I’m exploring what that looks like in my life.

I didn’t stay sober because I met a sober guy. I stayed sober because I worked for it, one day at a time.

None of this is glamorous. Most of it is just showing up. But that’s the whole secret, as far as I can tell.

The buds from January

At six months I wrote about my roses, thorns, and buds, and I made some promises about what I hoped would bloom. So here’s the honest report.

I ran Bloomsday. My first time ever, and it happened to be the 50th running of the race. Lawrence ran the first part with me, and I finished in 1:19. I wasn’t super fast, but I finished, and I’m proud of that. A year ago a big night out could wipe out my whole next day. This spring I ran seven and a half miles through Spokane with thousands of people, completely sober, and loved it. I’m coming back next year stronger and faster.

I’m a more present mom. That one is harder to measure than a race time, but I feel it. I’m setting stronger boundaries with my boys and actually being there when I’m there. Co-parenting has gotten better too, which took work from everyone. The boys have gained more than a sober mom. This spring we spent an afternoon at Avista Stadium with the Spokane Fatherhood Initiative watching the Spokane Indians, and my youngest is already counting down to the next one.

And here’s a bud I didn’t even know I was growing in January: a couple months before my one-year mark, I got licensed in Washington on top of my Idaho license and joined Avalon 24 Real Estate. I’m now part of a motivated, supportive team and serving clients on both sides of the state line. Turns out the confidence I was drinking to fake is the thing sobriety actually gave me.

Not perfect, but clear

Today, things are not perfect. But with my sobriety I am learning how to handle the ups and downs of life with a clear mind, body, and heart. I’m finding myself, who I really am. The girl who got caught up and lost for a bit. I’m nurturing her now.

I feel like I’m becoming a better human, mom, partner, and friend. And I hope my story reaches someone who’s where I was last summer, still saying it’s just been a hard year, still keeping it “together” until they get home. You don’t have to hit some imaginary rock bottom to deserve a change. I just knew I was ready. Maybe you are too.

Thank you, Law, for being there and helping me find a better way. We’ve had a lot of adventures this past year, and it all started with getting lost at Stanley. A hike I will never forget.

That hike was the beginning of my transformation: a moment where I remembered my strength. A time to challenge myself. I never planned to get sober, I just realized one day it was what I needed.

About the Author: Erika Solberg

Erika Solberg is a REALTOR® with Avalon 24 Real Estate, licensed in both Idaho and Washington and serving North Idaho and the Spokane region since 2019. She began her recovery journey in July 2025 and spends her time outside of work exploring the Northwest’s wilderness with her boys, training for races, and volunteering with the Spokane Fatherhood Initiative. Erika believes that finding your dream home and finding your authentic self both require courage, persistence, and accepting help along the way.

<p>The post One year sober: what 365 days in recovery taught me about myself first appeared on nEveresting Recovery.</p>

That hit home. Because my program isn’t just AA, and it never has been. It’s AA meetings, my sponsor, therapy, my relationship with God, accountability from people who love me, and honestly, the miles I’ve been logging on foot. All of it together. AA is at the center, and I’m grateful for it, but healing has come from a lot of places. I think that’s actually the point of the reflection.

Nine months ago, I didn’t know how to be sober. I didn’t know how to just sit with my emotions without reaching for something to take the edge off. Life is still hard sometimes. I’m still not where I want to be. But I have a clear mind, and to me, that is priceless.

A lot has happened since I wrote my six-month reflection. Back then, running Bloomsday was a bud, a possibility I was just beginning to believe in. In ten days, I’m actually doing it. I would not be able to run the way I have if it weren’t for sobriety. Full stop.

Sobriety has also given me something I didn’t expect: the space to actually process things. Events from twenty-plus years ago. Things that happened just last year. I never took the time before. There is real healing available in sobriety, and I’m only beginning to access it.

I’ve submitted my will to God instead of relying on my own, because left to myself, my instinct is still to reach for something when things get really hard. That hasn’t changed. What has changed is that I have tools now, and people, and I use them.

I’m grateful for my kids, who are my “why” every single day. I’m grateful for Lawrence, who has stuck by me through all of it, pushed me to be a better version of myself, and loves me enough to tell me the truth. Thank you, Law.

And thank you to everyone who has reached out with encouragement along the way. Things aren’t perfect. But I am stronger.

Nine months strong. One day at a time.

<p>The post A.A. isn’t everything, and that’s the point first appeared on nEveresting Recovery.</p>

When I wrote previously about Desiderata by Max Ehrmann, recovery wisdom on election night, and even transforming fear into freedom in challenging times, I was trying to practice what recovery has taught me: acceptance is not apathy, peace is not denial, and serenity is not the same thing as surrender.

Those truths still matter to me. Maybe more than ever.

And so does another recovery truth: community heals, isolation divides.

After Desiderata, without surrender

Why silence is no longer an option

I never believed any of this was normal. I never believed cruelty, corruption, grift, and authoritarian posturing were somehow part of a healthy civic life. What has become harder to ignore, though, is not only Trump himself, but the system of people around him who continue to excuse, enable, sanitize, and enforce his behavior at the highest levels of government.

That is where my attention is now. Not primarily on ordinary voters, many of whom are carrying pain, frustration, exhaustion, and legitimate distrust of broken institutions. Human beings are more complicated than partisan caricatures, and recovery has taught me to resist flattening people into cartoons. My deeper concern is with those in Congress, in the cabinet, in party leadership, and across the wider machinery of power who know better and continue to cooperate anyway.

Because recovery has also taught me something else: rigorous honesty.

And rigorous honesty requires saying this plainly. Whatever hope some once projected onto Trump, the reality now in front of us is failure wrapped in propaganda and protected by cowardice. He promised affordability, stability, strength, and peace. Instead, the country is absorbing another energy shock, another wave of fear-based governance, another season of legal chaos, and another round of demands that we deny what we can plainly see.

Trump is not doing this alone. He is being enabled by people who know better and continue anyway — people who trade truth for access, conscience for ambition, and public duty for political survival. That betrayal may be even more dangerous than Trump himself. One reckless man is a crisis. A governing class that keeps choosing to protect him is a moral collapse.

Why Trump’s affordability promise has collapsed

Start with affordability, because that was supposed to be the easy promise. Americans were told life would get cheaper, calmer, and more secure. Instead, families are staring at rising fuel costs, renewed inflation fears, and another round of economic anxiety. Working people do not experience this as a policy debate. They experience it in gas stations, grocery aisles, utility bills, and the quiet dread that the next month will cost more than this one.

That is not relief. That is not stability. That is not competent stewardship. It is a political sales pitch colliding with reality.

For ordinary people, this is where the lie becomes impossible to dress up. When energy costs rise, everything else follows. Food moves on trucks. Goods move through supply chains. Households already stretched thin do not need another round of geopolitical gambling by men who will never miss a meal. They need steadiness. They need restraint. They need leaders who understand that the price of swagger is usually paid by someone else.

Instead, we are once again being told to trust spectacle over substance, slogans over evidence, and grievance over responsible governance.

How war abroad is hurting families at home

And why is that happening? Because the man who sold himself as a brake on reckless war helped launch one. The same figure who marketed himself as the alternative to endless foreign-policy stupidity has once again helped move the world closer to wider conflict, greater disruption, and more pain for ordinary people.

This is not some abstract geopolitical chess match. It lands in freight costs, food prices, retirement accounts, and household stress. It lands in the nervous systems of families who were already exhausted. It lands in the daily life of people who do not have the luxury of pretending foreign policy is separate from rent, groceries, or survival.

That is what happens when slogans collapse and consequences arrive.

There is something especially grotesque about watching politicians posture as strong while ordinary people absorb the fallout. It is one thing to speak recklessly. It is another to gamble with global stability while insisting you alone are the adult in the room. That is not peace through strength. It is insecurity armed with power.

Why force without justice is not order

This is where I need to be clear: I am not interested in pretending every promise failed in exactly the same way. Border crossings did fall under Trump’s crackdown. That part is real. But the moral and legal cost has been staggering. The same machinery supporters point to as proof of “order” has also produced due-process abuses, detention battles, wrongful-arrest claims, and a growing collision with the courts.

That is not law and order. That is brute force followed by legal cleanup.

When a government normalizes cruelty, secrecy, and procedural abuse in the name of security, it does not restore order. It corrodes it. It trains the public to confuse domination with safety. It teaches people to tolerate injustice as long as it happens to somebody else. And once that habit sets in, no one should feel secure.

Minnesota has become one of the clearest examples of that cost. What happened there should stop any decent person cold. A government that promised safety and control has instead produced death, secrecy, and a fight over accountability. Even if you strip away every overheated phrase and stick only to what can be responsibly said, the picture is ugly enough. When the state operates through fear, opacity, and coercion, trust erodes fast. And once trust goes, the damage spreads far beyond the immediate victims.

Why image management is not leadership

The administration’s contempt for scrutiny has shown up elsewhere too. This is a governing style obsessed with controlling the story, disciplining access, and punishing dissent. That is not the behavior of confident leadership. It is the behavior of people who know their strongest weapon is image management.

They want performance in place of truth. Spectacle in place of competence. Loyalty in place of accountability.

This is one of the most dangerous features of the present moment. Too many people have learned to interpret confidence as credibility. They hear a firm voice, a hostile soundbite, a smirk on television, and mistake it for seriousness. But governance is not cable news. Leadership is not branding. A nation is not a stage for a wounded man’s self-mythology.

When power becomes addicted to optics, truth becomes expendable. And once truth becomes expendable, every abuse gets easier.

Why character still matters

And no, I do not think character is some side issue we can keep brushing aside because politics is supposedly only about outcomes. Character matters. It always mattered. It mattered when people tried to minimize Trump’s lying. It mattered when people treated cruelty as mere style. It mattered when decency itself became something to mock.

I want to be careful here. A felony record is not, by itself, proof that a person is beyond redemption. Plenty of people with records do the hard work of accountability, repair, humility, and real change. Many returning citizens show more honesty and courage in rebuilding their lives than Trump has shown in a lifetime. That is exactly why I refuse to use “felon” as a stand-in for human worth. In fact, it makes me think of the work my colleague Fred Dent is doing through Second Chances, helping returning citizens break free from the second prison of stigma and limited opportunity through support, practical help, and community. That is what accountability paired with hope can look like.

Trump is not that. He was convicted on 34 felony counts and found liable for sexual abuse and defamation, yet he remains proudly unrepentant — incapable of truth, incapable of accountability, and seemingly allergic to remorse. He is not an example of redemption. He is an example of incorrigibility. So when people continue to speak about him as if he is some unfairly maligned champion of virtue, I do not hear seriousness. I hear denial.

At some point, the hypocrisy becomes too obscene to ignore.

The same people who once wrapped themselves in the language of morality, family values, law and order, and personal responsibility have spent years excusing lies, corruption, sexual abuse findings, criminality, and public cruelty because it serves their politics. That disgusts me. It should disgust anyone with a functioning conscience.

Why truth should not be negotiable

On the Epstein files, I want to be disciplined. I am not going to claim I can prove motives I cannot prove. I cannot say with certainty that Trump is risking the world in order to distract from what may still come to light. But I also refuse the opposite lie, which is that there is nothing there to ask about.

There are reasons for serious people to demand transparency, lawful disclosure, and a full accounting wherever the facts lead. Recovery does not ask us to replace one form of dishonesty with another. It asks us to bring secrets into the light. It asks us to stop bargaining with the truth.

That is the line I keep coming back to now. I can still distinguish between good people who once supported Trump and people who continue to apologize for what is plainly in front of them. Those are not the same thing. There is a difference between being misled and becoming an apologist. There is a difference between disappointment and delusion. Once the war, the costs, the legal abuses, the deaths, the secrecy, and the grift are this visible, ongoing excuse-making stops looking like political loyalty and starts looking like moral surrender.

What we do next matters

So what do we do with that?

We do not give ourselves over to hatred. We do not let outrage become a substitute for action. We do not become spiritually hollow while calling it awareness. We tell the truth, we refuse the lies, and then we put our hands to work where we actually live.

This matters especially in recovery communities, because we know what it looks like when anger masquerades as wisdom. We know what it looks like when resentment dresses itself up as moral clarity. We know what happens when people become so consumed by what is wrong that they stop being useful.

That is not sobriety. That is not freedom. That is not spiritual health.

If we are going to resist what is happening, we need to do it in a way that keeps us human.

Why we need to bring the world back down to the neighborhood

One of the most healing things I have learned in recent years is that when the world becomes too large, too violent, too manipulative, and too absurd to carry all at once, it helps to shrink your field of responsibility back down to the neighborhood.

I do not mean that we stop caring about what is happening overseas or in Washington. I mean we stop pretending that our only meaningful choices are national. There is a massive relief that comes when you admit you cannot personally control what is happening in Iran or inside the White House, but you can still help feed somebody, mentor somebody, visit somebody, support somebody, or help hold a family together.

There is serenity in that.

Not passive serenity. Active serenity. The kind that comes from service.

There is also honesty in it. Much of our despair comes from trying to inhabit a scale of power that was never ours. We are flooded with headlines, images, threats, lies, and manipulations from every direction. The machine wants us overwhelmed. It wants us numb. It wants us angry but inert. Shrinking the world back down to the neighborhood is one way of refusing that.

How service becomes one way out of helplessness

That is part of why I have thrown myself into nonprofit work. Not because nonprofit work makes a corrupt administration disappear. It does not. Not because local service solves war, propaganda, grift, or authoritarian drift. It does not. But because service gets me out of helplessness. It gets me out of doom. It gets me back into relationship with actual human beings. It reminds me that in a time of spectacle and manipulation, there are still ordinary, grounded, decent things we can do for one another.

For people in recovery, that matters. Service interrupts self-obsession. It interrupts despair. It puts flesh on principles like honesty, humility, community, and respect for the higher power of others.

There is a reason service has always had such power in recovery spaces. It changes the scale of the self. It reminds us that we are not the center of the story. It restores proportion. It cuts through paralysis. It gives the heart somewhere to go besides fear.

When I say service is healing, I do not mean it sentimentally. I mean it concretely. The body settles. The mind clears. The spirit remembers what it is for.

Why neighborism is a form of resistance

I think of the way neighbors responded in Minnesota under pressure. Not with passivity. Not with polished branding. Not with empty rage online. But with rides, food, legal support, mutual aid, and local solidarity. That is the spirit I mean. Neighborism.

The stubborn insistence that when larger systems become cruel or untrustworthy, ordinary people can still choose to become more human, not less.

That line matters. There is not one way to fight it. Some people will march. Some will write. Some will organize. Some will donate. Some will show up quietly and consistently for the people most likely to be crushed by the system as it is currently operating.

All of that matters.

Neighborism is not soft. It is not naive. It is not retreat. It is one of the oldest forms of resistance there is: refusing to let fear and domination have the final word in how we treat one another.

How to serve your Spokane neighbors right now

Here in Spokane, that can mean real things.

It can mean Spokane Fatherhood Initiative, whose work is rooted in restoring the value of fatherhood so that children have present, loving, and nurturing fathers. It can mean Second Harvest, where volunteers sort food, pack boxes, and help in the kitchen so food reaches people who need it. It can mean Reclaim Project Recovery, which helps men move away from addiction, incarceration, and homelessness through purpose, community, shelter, and recovery-oriented support.

It can also mean SNAP, which serves neighbors across Spokane County through programs that strengthen stability and dignity. It can mean Vanessa Behan, whose work helps keep children safe and strengthen families in crisis. It can mean Meals on Wheels Spokane, where volunteers deliver meals and check in on seniors. It can mean Spokane Helpers Network, which brings food and essentials directly to financially struggling neighbors across Spokane County.

Those are not abstractions to me. Those are real avenues for healing work.

And there are many more. The point is not that everyone must choose the same organization. The point is to choose something. Choose a place where your hands, time, money, attention, or skills can reduce suffering and strengthen human dignity close to home.

How local action changes the scale of despair

I am not saying everybody has to join the same cause. I am saying this: if you feel powerless over what is happening in D.C. or overseas, do not underestimate the relief that comes from taking responsibility for your block, your town, your community, your food bank, your recovery house, your school, your shelter, your elders, your kids, your neighbors.

When you help somebody nearby, the nervous system settles. The lies lose some of their power. You remember that the country is not only made of presidents and pundits. It is also made of people carrying groceries, mentoring dads, stacking boxes, answering hotlines, driving meals, sponsoring newcomers, and showing up when no camera is watching.

That shift matters. It does not erase the larger crisis, but it does keep the larger crisis from colonizing your entire interior life. It gives you a way to remain morally awake without becoming emotionally destroyed. It reminds you that the world is still made, in part, by how we treat the people nearest to us.

Why protest matters, but is not enough

That does not replace protest. It strengthens it. It does not replace civic resistance. It grounds it.

Yes, mass demonstrations matter. Yes, public truth-telling matters. Yes, legal resistance matters. But sustained change requires more than one march or one post or one furious week. It requires durable local relationships, real mutual aid, organized service, and a refusal to let our public conscience be outsourced to politicians or pundits.

If protest is all we do, we burn out. If outrage is all we cultivate, we become brittle. If our politics never enters our neighborhoods, our institutions, our service, and our relationships, then even our most righteous anger becomes thin and performative.

We need depth. We need endurance. We need one another.

How to refuse the lie without losing our humanity

So this is where I land now.

I do not hate every person who voted for Trump. I do not think contempt is medicine. I do not think despair is wisdom. But I do think there comes a time when moral clarity requires us to stop making excuses. There comes a time to say: this is cruel, this is corrupt, this is dangerous, and I will not comply with the lie that it is normal.

And then, because outrage alone is barren, there comes a second step: go serve.

• Feed somebody.
• Mentor somebody.
• Give money.
• Give time.
• Join a board.
• Pack a box.
• Drive a route.
• Show up for a father, a child, a senior, a family, a person in recovery, a neighbor who is one bad month away from collapse.

That is one way I know to stay sane.

That is one way I know to remain useful.

That is one way I know to honor both recovery and democracy without worshiping either ideology or power.

We can reject the grift without becoming consumed by it. We can tell the truth without surrendering to bitterness. We can respect the higher power of others without bowing to a strongman. We can refuse compliance and still remain humane.

Without surrender

That is still the line for me.

Without surrender to fear. Without surrender to lies. Without surrender to cruelty. Without surrender to helplessness. And without surrender to the temptation to believe that nothing decent can still be built where we live.

It can.

We should build it anyway.

<p>The post After Desiderata, Without Surrender: Recovery, Truth, and Serving Our Neighbors first appeared on nEveresting Recovery.</p>

<p>The post It’s been 13 years first appeared on nEveresting Recovery.</p>

As I just celebrated six months of sobriety, I wanted to pause and reflect on this journey using a framework that’s helped me process both the wins and the struggles: Rose, Thorn, and Bud. For those unfamiliar, it’s simple:

• Rose: The highlights and victories
• Thorn: The challenges and pain points
• Bud: The opportunities and possibilities ahead

I’ve never felt more alone than when I was in active addiction. But recovery doesn’t happen alone, and for that I am deeply thankful. Even though I still have work to do, I’ve climbed mountains since getting sober—both literally and figuratively. I’ve done things I couldn’t have done alone, and especially not while my life was consumed by alcohol.

The roses: what’s blooming

Clarity returned

After that trip to Stanley Hot Springs, something clicked. I remembered who I really was. I had clarity, and I wanted more of it. That wilderness adventure became a turning point—a moment when I realized I belong in wild places and that my sense of adventure wasn’t lost, just buried under years of substance use.

A sober partnership

Shortly after Stanley, Lawrence and I started dating exclusively. Having a sober partner who gets it has been incredible. Together we celebrated my first sober holiday season since I was a teenager. I used to use alcohol to cope with and get through the stress and celebrations of the holidays, but I didn’t need that anymore. No more hangovers, no more drunk regrets. Just presence.

Being the mom I want to be

One of my biggest motivations for staying sober is being a better mom. How could I do that while drinking? What kind of example was I setting for my kids? Some days I struggled and wanted to drink, but I stayed sober. It’s so nice to remember every moment together with my kids and family now.

Summiting Scotchman’s Peak

In September 2025, Lawrence and I decided to tackle Scotchman’s Peak—a notoriously difficult 8.3-mile hike with 3,700 feet of elevation gain. My friend Meagan was joining us, and we were all excited. It was a bucket list item, and definitely not for the faint of heart.

The morning started as complete chaos. I woke at 5 AM eager to start, but my childcare plans fell apart last minute. Thanks to a friend who came to the rescue, I figured out a backup plan, but it set us back almost two hours. Lawrence and I were both stressed and grumpy as we headed out.

We stopped in Sandpoint at Winter Ridge for breakfast and trail snacks, bringing our dog Freddy along. While we were inside, Freddy managed to escape from the back of Lawrence’s Subaru to the backseat, nearly crushing his camera bag. I thought, “Could this morning get any more stressful?!” Everything seemed to be going wrong.

Still, we pushed on to Clark Fork, losing cell service as expected. We finally made it to the trailhead nearly two hours late. Our friends had already started up without us—which I was glad about. Before we started, Lawrence and I made a pact to leave the stressful morning behind and just enjoy the hike.

I’d hiked this trail once before while I wasn’t sober, so I was eager for a new perspective. We hustled up, hoping to catch my friends at the top. About three-quarters of the way up, I suddenly felt sick—lightheaded, blurry vision, like I might pass out. I told Lawrence I didn’t think I could make it further.

We stopped, I had water and dark chocolate, and almost immediately felt better. We continued, and shortly after, we ran into our friends coming down from the summit! We chatted briefly, then pushed to the top.

The summit. This is why we came. Incredible, breathtaking views and an overwhelming sense of accomplishment. It was all worth it—the chaotic morning, the stress, everything became insignificant in that moment.

The lesson: Don’t stop short of your destination. Sometimes distractions get in the way, but the more we push through, the stronger we become—both mentally and physically.

A fresh start

Two months into sobriety, my roommates and I got notice that we had to move out of our rental. With help from loved ones and by the grace of God, I found a place of our own. A place for the boys and me to have our own space again. This felt like the fresh start we needed.

Spiritual growth

Through this journey, I’ve relied heavily on my higher power. Jesus has carried me through, and my relationship with Him has begun to grow. I no longer carry the guilt and burden of my mistakes and past. It’s such a relief to have that weight lifted off my shoulders.

Rediscovering running (and breathing)

I’ve fallen in love with running again, thanks to Lawrence, who’s an avid runner. When I first began running, I really didn’t enjoy it. But like sobriety, I’ve learned to embrace it all—even running stairs, which led me to quit smoking. Now I can breathe better, which makes me a better runner. Sure, I have days where I don’t “feel” like running, but I do it anyway. I’m always better for it, and I’ve never regretted doing so.

Finding my support system

I’ve found AA meetings to be extremely helpful. Recently, I even found a sponsor to help me work the steps. This journey is not meant to be walked alone, and having that community support has been invaluable. I’ve also started therapy again, and the power of that cannot be overstated.

Volunteering and giving back

I’ve had opportunities to volunteer with the Spokane Fatherhood Initiative, and serving others has been incredibly rewarding. It’s shown me that my struggles can become strengths that help others.

Rediscovering writing

I’ve remembered how much I truly enjoy writing. It’s like reuniting with a long-lost friend. Even after all these years, the love of writing never left—it was just buried deep inside my heart. It has taken the clarity of sobriety to rediscover it.

The thorns: what still hurts

Let me be clear: things have not been perfect since getting sober. But I’m able to handle issues in a much healthier and more productive way now.

The cravings still come

There are still times when I want to drink or smoke. The urges don’t just disappear because you’ve made a decision to get sober. This is where my support system—AA meetings, my sponsor, my inner circle—becomes critical.

Financial strain

Having to move was extremely difficult and really stretched my finances. Even though it was a fresh start, the financial pressure has been real. Add to that being a realtor in a tough market, and the stress can be overwhelming at times.

Single mom challenges

Juggling single mom life, my real estate career, and co-parenting my boys is an ongoing challenge. Their dad and I don’t always see things the same way. One of my boys has special needs, and sharing custody has been extremely trying. However, I’ve been able to deal with these things with the support of my inner circle instead of using.

Learning to sit with feelings

I’m learning to be comfortable in my own skin and sometimes just sit with my feelings instead of trying to hide from them by using substances. This is harder than it sounds. For years, I used alcohol to numb discomfort. Now I have to actually feel everything, and that’s not always pleasant.

The buds: what’s growing

Running Bloomsday

I’m planning to run Bloomsday with Lawrence this year. It’s something I never thought I would do. But I have a new sense of confidence and self-worth now. I’m realizing what I really want and deserve in life.

Continued growth and service

I’m looking forward to continued growth and more opportunities to serve others. I’m excited about expanding my volunteer work with the Spokane Fatherhood Initiative and finding other ways to give back to the recovery community.

New opportunities

The clarity of sobriety has opened doors I didn’t even know existed. I’m excited to see where this journey takes me—in business, in personal relationships, and in discovering new parts of myself. I know there are new opportunities waiting. I will do this one day at a time.

Writing more

Now that I’ve rediscovered my love of writing, I want to do more of it. Sharing my story might help someone else find their way, and that makes every word worth it.

Present parenting

With more clarity in my life, I’ve been able to identify my blessings and areas of improvement. Being more present with my kids is at the top of that list. I want to be the best version of myself for them, and sobriety is giving me that chance.

Living one day at a time

Every day, I wake up and find something to be grateful for. This really helps set the tone for my day. I try not to stress about tomorrow because we may only have today. This has put things in perspective for me. My recovery journey motto is simple: one day at a time.

Having Lawrence in my life has been refreshing. When we met, I was already considering a sober lifestyle. I was tired of being sick and tired. Law gave me the push and encouragement I needed to get and stay sober. I am forever grateful for his presence and influence in my life. I love you, Lawrence!

Law and I have been on several adventures over the last six months—Stanley Hot Springs, Scotchman’s Peak, the San Juan Islands—each bringing us closer together and helping me remember how strong I really am.

My hope with this reflection is to encourage and inspire others. Recovery isn’t linear, it isn’t perfect, and it’s definitely not easy. But it’s worth it. Six months in, I’m grateful for every rose I’ve experienced, every thorn I’ve overcome, and every bud of possibility that’s beginning to bloom.

If you’re considering sobriety or you’re early in your journey, know this: you don’t have to do it alone. Find your people, embrace your roses, learn from your thorns, and keep your eyes on those buds. They’re there, even when you can’t see them yet.

One day at a time.

About the Author: Erika Solberg

Erika Solberg is a licensed real estate agent with The Agency Coeur d’Alene, serving North Idaho and Eastern Washington since 2019. She began her recovery journey in July 2025 and spends her time outside of work exploring the Northwest’s wilderness with her boys, training for races, and volunteering with the Spokane Fatherhood Initiative. Erika believes that finding your dream home and finding your authentic self both require courage, persistence, and accepting help along the way.

<p>The post Six months sober: my rose, thorn, and bud reflection first appeared on nEveresting Recovery.</p>

I have another milestone gift in the works. For a young man of your age it’s all I dreamed of: a vehicle of my very own. I have one for you that should get you through college. When I bought it 5 years ago, my intention was always to take care of it so that someday you could do the same. When you’re ready, it will be ready for you.

Of course there’s the issue of transferring it to you, but leave that to your mom–she’ll figure it out if she wants to.

I hope you’re doing well in all areas. Take care of your brother and your mama.

-Love Dad

<p>The post A Card From Afar first appeared on nEveresting Recovery.</p>

We arrived at the trailhead around 5pm with our backpacks filled to the brim for two nights of backpacking and camping at Stanley Hot Springs. My pack weighed 35-40 pounds. The hike into Stanley was going to be roughly 6 miles and mostly uphill.

I had no idea what I was getting myself into, yet I was eager for the adventure and a chance to spend quality time with Lawrence. Looking up at those towering trees and breathing in the clean mountain air, I felt this rush of excitement. I work out regularly and consider myself in good shape, so I was confident my body could handle whatever this trail threw at me.

The Climb Begins

We began our trek up the trail at approximately 5:30pm. Almost immediately, I started to regret my uncomfortable pack and how heavy it was. I questioned whether I really needed all that stuff. Still, I carried on with some encouragement from Lawrence and the promise of hot springs waiting for us.

The views opening up behind us were incredible though. Every time we stopped to catch our breath, I’d turn around and stare at the valleys spreading out below us. “This is amazing,” I kept telling Lawrence. Despite the heavy pack and the burning in my legs, I couldn’t get over how beautiful this place was.

I was sweaty and hot, and we had to take several breaks along the way. I had no idea it was going to be so challenging, but honestly, I was kind of loving it too. This trail really took it out of me, but there was something about pushing my body like this that felt incredible.

Finally, at about 5 miles in, I began to feel like I couldn’t continue hiking. My pack was hurting my neck and back—it was just too heavy. My feet and knees felt like they were going to give out. Yet we carried on because Lawrence was convinced we were almost there.

The Wrong Turn

With chocolate and water in hand, we continued. At about the 5-mile mark, we passed a fork in the road. At this point, we should only have about one mile left to the hot springs. I felt a sense of relief and thought, “Okay, I can do this. We’re almost there.”

Even though we had no map or GPS to guide us, Lawrence had been here before, so surely he knew the way. We were completely off the grid with no phone service.

We took a left at the fork. The trail continued uphill through forest and rock slides. We trudged through the mud with excitement, ready to finally get to the springs and camp for the next couple of days. It was starting to get dark, and we should have come to a river crossing that signals you’re almost at the springs.

Finally, we arrived at a place up high but still near water. Lawrence looked at me and said, “We have hiked seven and a half miles. I think I fucked up and we took a wrong turn.”

My heart sank, but honestly? Part of me started laughing. “Are you serious right now?” I said. “Seven and a half miles? Lawrence, we just hiked seven and a half miles!”

The sun was setting. It was getting darker and colder. “What are we going to do?” I asked. I was mentally and physically exhausted, but I was also kind of amazed at what my body had just accomplished. I wanted to cry, but I was also proud of how far we’d come.

The Man on the Mule

Lawrence suggested we take a break, make some food, and come up with a plan. As he cooked noodles, he said I could leave my pack there and we could backtrack to find the hot springs. He was considering running back for it after I was safely in camp. At this point, it was hard to walk, let alone with a 40-pound pack on my back.

This wasn’t what we had planned at all. It was approximately 8:30 p.m., and we should have been relaxing in the hot springs by now. As we discussed our options while eating noodles, a man riding a mule—with another in tow—came down the trail.

I couldn’t help but laugh again. “Of course, there’s a guy on a mule!” I said to Lawrence. “Because this day needed to get even more interesting!”

Lawrence asked him if he knew where the springs were from there. “Yes, you missed your turn at that first fork in the road,” he said, then continued his way with his mules.

That turn we missed was the fork in the road. We took a left when we should have taken a right. The wrong turn was miles back down the trail. At this point, I was struggling to keep my composure. I suggested to Lawrence we should set up camp nearby for the night and try again in the morning. I didn’t see how I was going to make it back that far.

The Push Forward

Lawrence looked at me and said, “Your brain is trying to convince you that your body is shutting down. You are strong and capable. Don’t let your mind convince you otherwise. We are not staying here. We need to get to the hot springs tonight.”

I still felt like I might pass out from exhaustion. Lawrence said, “You’re amazing. You already hiked seven and a half miles uphill with that ridiculous pack on. You can do this.”

He was right. I had just done something I’d never done before. My body was tired, but it wasn’t broken. Knowing I’d already hiked that far made me feel pretty badass.

“I fucked up, so I’m going to carry your pack the rest of the way,” he said. I looked at him in disbelief. “You’re crazy. How are you going to do that?”

Lawrence picked up my pack along with his own and started moving down the trail. I carried one canvas bag with some food in it and suddenly felt like I could fly. Without that weight on my back, I had so much more energy than I’d thought possible.

Before I knew it, Lawrence seemed to be practically running down the trail. Before long, I began to feel sweaty and nauseous. I called for him to stop for a moment. I threw down my grocery bag, knelt, and began to vomit and cry at the same time.

But you know what? Even in that moment, I felt strong. This wasn’t failure—this was what it looked like to push past every limit I thought I had.

The Final Push

After what must have been 10 p.m., we made it back to the fork in the road—the wrong turn that had taken us three miles off course. At this point, we knew we were almost there, so we hustled down the hill to the river crossing as quickly as possible.

We both managed to soak our boots in the creek, and I almost lost our bag of food. When I caught it at the last second, I held it up like a trophy. “Still got it!” I shouted, and Lawrence’s laughter echoed through the canyon.

We persevered. Once we crossed the creek in our now sopping wet boots, completely out of breath, we charged up the hill—the last hill before the springs. It was still about half a mile up, though it seemed longer.

But then, suddenly, we were there. It was dark and almost 11 p.m. Even with headlamps on, it was hard to see. I must say I had never felt more exhausted in my life, but I’d also never felt more accomplished. We quickly set up our tent and hopped in the hot springs.

What I Discovered

The sense of relief that came over me is hard to put into words. I was both relieved and amazed that Lawrence had somehow managed to carry both of our packs for more than three miles. There was a sense of awe and admiration for this man. I was so thankful that we made it to our destination. I was also grateful that Lawrence didn’t let me give up or stay lost in the forest.

But more than that, I realized something important about myself. I’m a lot stronger than I thought I was. Not just physically—though hiking over 12 miles with a heavy pack proved I could handle way more than I gave myself credit for. But mentally too. When everything went wrong, I didn’t fall apart. I found humor in the chaos. I kept going even when I wanted to quit.

Sometimes, we have to push past the discomfort and pain to get to our destination. It’s okay to have help getting there. You’ll be amazed at what you can do once you push beyond your comfort zone. Had it not been for Lawrence’s strength and words of encouragement, I probably wouldn’t have made it to the springs that night.

And I also wouldn’t have discovered that I belong in wild places, that my body is capable of incredible things, and that I can find joy even in the most challenging moments. When we got lost, I laughed. When faced with more miles than expected, I marveled at the beautiful wilderness around us. When my body reached its limits, I found out it had more to give.

You just never know the positive impact your words and example can have on someone. I realized that I’m stronger than I thought. When I felt like giving up, I kept going, one step at a time. Three weeks into my recovery journey, that night at Stanley taught me I was ready for whatever came next.

About the Author

Erika Solberg is a licensed real estate agent serving North Idaho since 2019. Originally from Southern California, Erika moved to Idaho in 2011 and fell in love with the Northwest’s natural beauty. With over 8 years of experience in the real estate industry, she specializes as both a buyer’s and seller’s agent throughout communities including Coeur d’Alene, Post Falls, Hayden, Sandpoint, Rathdrum, and Spirit Lake.

When she’s not helping families find their perfect Idaho home, you can find Erika exploring the state’s incredible wilderness areas with her kids and family. She began her recovery journey in July 2025 and is passionate about sharing stories of growth, resilience, and authentic connection. Erika believes that both finding your dream home and finding your authentic self require courage, perseverance, and the willingness to see beauty even in unexpected detours.

Erika brings the same determination to real estate that she brings to her personal adventures—never giving up, always finding the joy in the journey, and supporting others through their most important transitions.

Connect with Erika for your North Idaho real estate needs through The Agency Coeur d’Alene.

<p>The post Finding Strength Beyond My Limits: A Journey Beyond and to Stanley Hot Springs first appeared on nEveresting Recovery.</p>

I tend not to get political on here or elsewhere for that matter. We are more than our politics. Yet, what is happening to our government at the hands of reckless and hostile leadership, I feel, requires all of us to speak up. To voice our opposition, our resistance to an attempted destruction of much of what makes us American, and more, citizens of this planet.

These moments remind us that democracy thrives when people engage. Regardless of political beliefs, we should all want a country where dignity, compassion, and justice prevail. What I witnessed today was not division, but community standing together for these shared values.

I believe in our capacity to listen, even when we disagree. To remember that behind every political position is a person with hopes, fears, and dreams not so different from our own. These photos capture not just protest, but people caring deeply about our collective future.

The greatest threat isn’t disagreement—it’s silence. When we see injustice, speaking up isn’t partisan—it’s American; it’s human. I’m grateful to live in a country where peaceful assembly remains our right and our responsibility.

<p>The post Speaking Up: Witnessing the Hands Off Protests in Spokane first appeared on nEveresting Recovery.</p>

I digress… these years have been especially difficult without you and your brother close by. This note is for you, though, not me, so I’ll just tell you that not a single day passes when I don’t think of you both. I miss you more than you’ll ever know.

Your pain is felt by me, too. I remember when I was your age and longed for my dad’s presence—at games, other events, and just wished he was generally more involved. And he was around… he wasn’t alienated from my life, he just had more important things to do.

Know that when you’re ready, you can reach out. I will always be here for you, son.

Your birthday gift(s) will only appreciate with the passing of days. I used to send you actual presents, but someone evidently didn’t like that, so… Someday, you’ll have a nice stack of bonds just for you. 😉

Take care of your big brother and be good for your mama. Keep being yourself as long as that self is kind. Don’t let anyone tell you you’re not enough. You’re beautiful and capable of anything you’re willing to work hard to accomplish.

I told your brother on his birthday and I’ll tell you too: read Desiderata and try to live by it.

I love you.

<p>The post Happy b-day, MT first appeared on nEveresting Recovery.</p>

<p>The post Happy birthday, son first appeared on nEveresting Recovery.</p>