Can we have a real conversation about something nobody wants to admit? Sometimes sobriety is straight up BORING. And that boredom? It's one of the biggest reasons people go back out. We've been ripping and running for so long - chaos, drama, crisis, adrenaline, substances - that our brains literally don't know how to handle calm. We've been living at 100mph for years, and suddenly we hit the brakes and everything feels... quiet. Still. Slow. And our minds start screaming "SOMETHING'S WRONG! WHERE'S THE CHAOS? WHERE'S THE NOISE?" Here's what I'm learning in my recovery: we have to really think about what we've done to our minds and bodies throughout our addiction. We've put them through absolute hell. We've trained our nervous systems to expect constant stimulation, constant drama, constant something. We've trained our brains NOT to be calm, NOT to be still, NOT to find peace in quiet moments. So when you shut all that down and choose sobriety, there's gonna be this period where life doesn't seem to move as fast. Where Saturday nights feel long. Where you're sitting there like "now what?" and the silence feels deafening. But here's the beautiful truth nobody tells you: you have to learn how to put the brakes on. You have to learn how to close your eyes, take a deep breath, relax, and actually ENJOY the moment you're in. Enjoy that one more minute you made it clean and sober. Enjoy the fact that your phone isn't blowing up with chaos. Enjoy the fact that you're not wondering where you're gonna sleep tonight or how you're gonna fix the mess you made yesterday. Enjoy the quietness that your life is now. I know it takes time. I know it feels weird at first. You literally have to teach yourself how to be calm, almost like learning to walk all over again. You have to rewire your brain to find peace in the stillness instead of panic. Some nights I sit in my house and it's so quiet I can hear my own heartbeat, and my old self would have immediately reached for something to fill that space. But now? I'm learning to hear that heartbeat as a victory song. I'm alive. I'm sober. I'm safe.

Last night I was working at the country club hosting a party for 25 people. Another manager helped me set everything up, and when I asked what she’d be doing during the party (assuming she’d stick around to help with business stuff and teardown), she casually told me she was leaving for the night as soon as we finished setup. So there I was - alone with a whole party to manage and all the teardown to handle by myself afterwards. The party ran late, the building was empty except for me, and I started feeling that familiar pit in my stomach. I wasn’t safe. I had a choice to make: stay here alone, unsafe, and let anxiety take over (which could spiral into something much worse), or leave some work for tomorrow and get myself to safety. Two years ago, I would have stayed. I would have pushed through, gotten worked up, let the anxiety consume me, and probably made some really bad decisions to cope with those feelings. But recovery has taught me something crucial: if I don’t feel safe, my reaction is severe anxiety. And severe anxiety can be a direct path back to using. It’s MY job to recognize that pattern and protect myself from it. So I made the hard choice. I left. I came in early this morning when the sun was up and finished everything then. Might I get in trouble at work? Maybe. But you know what? I’ll be sober to handle whatever conversation comes my way. I’ll be clear-headed and able to explain my decision from a place of strength rather than chaos. Sometimes protecting our recovery means disappointing people. Sometimes it means making choices others don’t understand. Sometimes it means choosing what’s safe over what’s expected. And that’s not just okay - that’s SMART. That’s growth. That’s me staying in the driver’s seat of my own life instead of letting circumstances control my choices. I’m proud of myself for recognizing the situation, trusting my instincts, and putting my safety and sobriety first. Because without those, nothing else matters. To anyone reading this who’s struggling with similar choices: trust yourself. Your recovery is worth protecting. You’re worth protecting. And the right people will understand that.

Thanksgiving Then & Now: A Story of Gratitude & Grace Holidays have a way of bringing everything into sharp focus—the memories we cherish and the ones that ache. I remember Thanksgivings that felt like magic: working overnight at the hospital, coming home to wake everybody up, bundling us all up for the Turkey Trot to run 3.5 miles together, then racing home to get the turkey in the oven while starting everything else from scratch. Tending to four kids while creating a feast made with love—it was my dream. It was my life. It was perfect. Then addiction stole it all. And it didn’t just take it from me—it affected everyone I love. For so many Thanksgivings after that, I sat alone. The silence was deafening. The loss was unbearable. But today? Today I wake up with something I didn’t have then: hope. I’m so deeply thankful for my sobriety. For learning to love myself again. For waking up every day without having to chase anything except my purpose. I’m grateful for the incredible people who’ve walked this journey with me, for forgiveness, for redemption, and for the slow, beautiful work of rebuilding. Most of all, I’m thankful to simply be alive. This year, I was invited to Thanksgiving at my father’s house—the first invitation in years. It felt like coming home to a part of myself I thought I’d lost forever. Life had other plans (his wife got sick, bless her), so I’m cooking Thanksgiving at my own table this year, opening my doors to a few friends who would’ve been alone otherwise. It’s going to be a good day. Different than those perfect Thanksgivings I once knew, but good in a way I couldn’t have imagined back then. To everyone reading this: wherever you are today, whatever your table looks like, I hope you find something to be grateful for. Even in the mess, even in the hard stuff—there’s always something. Happy Thanksgiving, friends. Keep going. 💛

“ in a world where I’ve lost everything don’t think for one second I’m not afraid to lose it all again!” This quote hit me like a freight train because it captures exactly where I am right now. I HAVE lost everything. My children. My marriage. My freedom when I was in jail. My reputation. My sense of self. I literally went from rock bottom to homelessness to rebuilding my entire life from scratch. And you know what? That experience taught me something most people never learn: I can survive losing everything. I’ve already done it. I’ve already walked through that fire and came out the other side. So when people try to threaten me, manipulate me, or make me compromise my values because I might “lose something” - they don’t understand who they’re dealing with. I’m not afraid to lose it all again because I know exactly what I’m made of now. I’ve rebuilt myself once - from a broken, addicted woman who hurt everyone she loved to someone who’s been sober since May 8, 2023, who builds businesses, who fights for her recovery every single day, who created the Keep Going Movement to help others find hope. I’ve learned to meet my basic needs. I’ve learned to handle my emotions without destroying everything around me. I’ve learned to take responsibility for my part in the destruction and use that knowledge to build something better. The difference between losing everything the first time and potentially losing it again is this: the first time, I lost everything because of my own destructive choices. This time, if I lose anything, it will be because I refused to compromise my integrity, my recovery, or my values. And honestly? That’s not really losing at all. That’s winning. So yeah, I’m not afraid. I’ve already been to the bottom. I know the way back up. And I know that no matter what anyone takes from me, they can never take away who I’ve become. Keep going, warriors. Sometimes the scariest thing about us is that we’re not scared anymore. 🔥💪 #KeepGoing #RecoveryWarrior #NotAfraid #AlreadySurvived #IntegrityOverEverything​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Hey Keep Going family, I need to share something with you all today because you've been walking this journey with me. You've been here through the court dates, the phone calls that didn't get answered, the waiting, the hope, and the heartbreak. I just published something on my Substack that I've been carrying for a long time. It's a letter to my kids. They won't read it now. Maybe not for years. But one day—when they're old enough, when they start asking questions, when they search for me—this will be waiting for them. The court sees me one way. Their dad tells them a story. But they don't have MY story. They don't know about Jackie, the false positive, why I left New York, or why I came back. They don't know I was 36 the first time I ever did a drug. So I wrote it all down. Not as an excuse. But as the truth. Because one day, they'll be ready. And I'll be here—clean, sober, and waiting. I'm sharing this with you all because you're the ones who've held me up when I wanted to give up. You're the ones who remind me to keep going when the judge says no. You're the ones who understand what it's like to fight for something invisible and believe anyway. If you're fighting for your kids too—if you're loving them from a distance, waiting for them to be ready, showing up even when they don't answer—I see you. And you're not alone. Read it here if you want: https://substack.com/@keepgoingmovement?r=6kfenr&utm_medium=ios Thank you for being my people. Thank you for witnessing this with me. I love you all. 💙 —Lynn P.S. I made 30 new bracelets this week. If you need one, DM me. We're all going through something we need to keep going to get through.