Meet Ashley 5.0
People sometimes say certain things as though they are insults.
“You’ve changed.”
“You are not the same person you used to be.”
“I don’t even recognize you anymore.”
I do not really take being told I have changed as an insult. Of course I have changed. I am not intoxicated all the time anymore. I entered recovery. I faced parts of my past that I had spent years trying to escape. I experienced grief and trauma that changed the way I think, feel, remember, trust, and move through the world.
How could I not be different? You would think anyone who truly knew me would understand that.
I also had to learn what healthier ways of living and interacting actually looked like. For most of my life, I had been taught to tolerate chaos, excuse harmful behavior, take responsibility for other people’s problems, and treat survival mode as normal. Don’t get me wrong, I was definitely the cause of a lot of drama and toxicity when drinking and using. And I own that. They were behaviors that had to be unlearned, essentially.
I was taught to keep things inside and handle dangerous situations myself. I was terrified of the police. Some family members were on the force—family I had no respect for, in my opinion, for good reason—which did not help my view of the police. There were times when I genuinely needed their help, yet I still did not call because involving them did not feel normal or safe. It wasn’t even a thought.
I was not only helping “protect” people. I was enabling them (codependency).
I had to learn the difference between compassion and rescuing, between loyalty and abandoning myself, and between supporting someone and protecting them from the consequences of their own choices.
So yes, I have changed. And I am very proud of the version I am today.
“Your growth is not up for debate, especially not with people who profit from your old weaknesses.”
– Anonymous
“You Were A Better Person When You Drank”
More than one person has told me that I was a better person when I drank.
And honestly, this is something I had to sit with for a long time.
Was it a coincidence that every single time it came from toxic people during a heated argument? Obviously not.
But at first, hearing that from people who were supposed to care about me still hurt.
Being told I have changed is one thing.
Being told I was a better person when I was drinking is totally different.
It made me wonder whether I really had become a shittier person.
Was I more boring now that I was sober?
Had I become a bitch?
Was I genuinely harder to be around now?
Or was I simply harder to control?
And honestly, I probably was more fun sometimes. Alcohol gave me liquid courage. It made me more impulsive, less cautious, cockier, more of a smart-ass, and more willing to go along with whatever was happening.
But being more entertaining did not mean I was healthier, safer, or a better person.
The truth is, I was way too nice, naïve, and dumb. I had a habit of taking someone else’s problem and making it my own. I helped pay bills that were not mine. I gave people money for custody hearings, attorneys, bail, purchasing a new vehicle, or whatever other emergency was placed in front of me.
Depending on the year, through my twenties after college, I was making approximately $50,000 to $80,000 a year. To the people I was used to hanging around, that salary was baller, especially a decade ago lol. It probably seemed like I should have a decent amount of money. And I acted like I did. But that was far from the truth. I just had credit cards with too big of a credit limit.b
People do not see all the bills you accumulate to get that job.
They do not see the bills involved in actually taking care of yourself.
And the amount used on credit just from my addiction alone was enormous. When I’m was in such a terrible mindset, I often get the “fuck-its”. I’d buy the bar a round even though I had no cash. I was an idiot….. that was deeply damaged.
Still, to the people that asked for help, I handed over my cash and then lived on credit more than I’d like to admit. Some of the credit is mine, of course. But I had already paid off around $20,000, and I reaccumulated much of that debt by continuing to take on expenses that were never mine to begin with.
I have to take accountability for that. Ultimately, I was the one who gave the money. I was too worried about upsetting certain people or losing them. Part of me believed they would care about me more—or at least stick around—if I kept being useful, loyal, and willing to rescue them. Because we’re supposed to be together forever, family forever, or friends forever, right? These were people I stupidly trusted.
Looking back now, that sounds so pathetic, but it also shows how hurt I was. How broken I felt. How I saw myself.
I was confused by helping with rescuing. I believed saying yes made me kind and supportive, even when it meant sacrificing my own financial stability and peace.
Then my mind started to clear.
I learned what manipulation and gaslighting actually looked like. I began recognizing how often reality had been twisted until I questioned my own memory, feelings, and judgment.
Then I started saying no. For the people who benefited from the old version of me, I probably am a shittier person now.
But the people who truly know me and care about me know I am the kind of person you want in your corner. They know my heart. They know my passion. They know I am a good person with good intentions, even if I have made a lot of mistakes.
They would never use my disabilities, my mental health, or the coping tools I have learned against me. They would never mock me, make fun of those things, or call me crazy.
Ever.
And those are the people that matter.
Being called crazy doesn’t sound like that bad of an insult, but when they know your background, your disabilities, and know your healing…… when they are supposed to love and care, its a different kind of insult that takes it to another level. They are using your most difficult vulnerabilities against you while also most likely causing suffering from those disabilities in the process. It is absolutely emotional manipulation and abuse. They know that will hit you where it hurts the most. And no one deserves that from someone that is supposed to love and/or care about them.p
“Often those that criticize others reveal what he himself lacks.”
— Shannon L. Alder
“When a toxic person can no longer control you, they will try to control how others see you. The misinformation will feel unfair, but stay above it, trusting that other people will eventually see the truth, just like you did.”
– Jill Blakeway
I Did Not Change All at Once
The changes happened slowly. Some came from sobriety. Some came from therapy. Others came from grief, trauma, and finally understanding why I had spent so much of my life reacting, coping, surviving, and trying to keep everyone else comfortable.
Before I quit drinking, I knew I was unhappy. I knew alcohol was making my life worse, but I did not fully understand what I was trying to escape from. Or how to quit.
Once I got sober, I could no longer numb everything the same way. I had to feel things. I had to look honestly at my choices and take responsibility for the ways I had hurt people, neglected myself, and allowed addiction to consume my life.
Understanding where my behavior came from did not excuse it. But it helped me start to change it.
Then Dustin died. Losing him changed parts of me that sobriety alone never could have.
There is the person I was before addiction took over (1.0), the person I became while I was drinking and using (2.0), the person I was when I first entered recovery (3.0), the person I became after finding Dustin (4.0), and the person I am now, forever healing (5.0). Hopefully, we don’t see a (6.0).
My entire life changed in that moment when I found Dustin. That person before and after are not the same people. Grief changed the way I understand love, time, safety, and loss. Trauma changed the way my body reacts to danger. Therapy changed how I understand my past. It gave me many different perspectives I didn’t even realize were not normal or okay to tolerate. Learning about ADHD, PTSD, anxiety, and depression gave me words for experiences I had once treated like personal failures.
I am still too nice sometimes. I still give more than I should and catch myself taking on problems that are not mine. But it is on a different level now. I am more likely to notice when helping someone is beginning to hurt me. I may still overextend myself, but I no longer believe destroying my own stability proves that I am a good person.
“You create yourself moment to moment and are not born as a fixed entity but as infinite potentiality.”
— Unknown
There Are Parts of the “Old Me” I Miss
I would be lying if I said I did not miss some of the adventures and crazy shit we used to do. There were nights that were hilarious, spontaneous, reckless, and unforgettable. Some memories were incredible and some still make me laugh out loud.
But at my age, I cannot imagine living through most of those experiences again. People eventually grow up (most of them). Priorities change. What once felt exciting can start to feel exhausting (happened right when I turned 30). Things that once seemed important begin to matter less than peace, stability, health, meaningful relationships, and waking up without regret.
That does not erase the memories or mean I have to be ashamed of every part of who I was. It just means that chapter had to end at some point. I can treasure the memories without trying to recreate the life that came with them.
I do not miss trusting so easily. I used to be too trusting, and it got me in a lot of trouble.
Some of what I called trust was really ignoring warning signs.
What I called loyalty was sometimes abandoning myself.
What I called strength was often survival mode.
What I called generosity was also often enabling.
I still want to love deeply and believe people can change. I just do not want to lose myself doing it anymore.
“My heart remembers two different lives and I long for the one I can only see now, in retrospect.”
— Jacqueline Simon Gunn
The People Who Matter
Finding the person you planned to spend your life with dead can destroy anyone’s life. There were plenty of reasons I could have fallen apart completely.
But I remembered how bad Dustin’s and my rock bottom had been. I remembered everything we had talked about building together. We wanted better lives. We wanted to stay sober. We wanted to keep growing and become people we could be proud of.
The best way I could honor him was to keep doing what we always talked about.
Keep fighting.
Keep moving forward.
And fuck what anyone else says.
I can hear him saying it now.
Recently, when I was talking to Justin about the opinions of other people who do not understand my actions or choices, he said almost the exact same thing. Basically, fuck everyone else. You know who you are. No one else knows everything that you have been through. So they don’t matter. And he is absolutely right.
That does not mean Justin just tells me whatever I want to hear. He lets me know when I am out of line. But he also lets me know when I deserve better. After I met Justin, everything became easier. He let me be myself, even when I felt completely broken. I was healing and breaking down almost daily, and he never rushed me. He never treated my grief or recovery like something that needed to follow a schedule.
He still understands there is no deadline for healing. Some things may always require patience, and he has never made me feel guilty for that. Justin says he will not let me go back to corporate unless I truly think it will make me happy. That kind of support was rare in my fifteen-year career.
For most of my career, decisions were based on income, titles, stability, appearances, and what I was supposed to do. Now, someone who loves me asks whether the life I am building actually makes me happy.
Even allowing him to help me with bills and living expenses has been something I am not used to. I have spent most of my life being the person who handled everything and helped everyone else. Letting someone help take care of me is something I have never really done. That means everything to me, especially because I trust that he is not going to leave or fuck it up. And that is a huge step for me.
Focus on “escaping from the old [ideas]” rather than just finding new ones
— John Maynard Keynes
Some Relationships Cannot Go Back
It makes me sad that I am not still friends with a single person I was close to in high school or throughout my twenties. There are people I once thought would be in my life forever. Losing those friendships is not something I celebrate.
But every person I cut out was removed for a specific reason. Some received more chances than they deserved. Others crossed the line so far that one situation showed me who they were and how they were willing to treat me.
These were not decisions I made without examining myself. I worked through those resentments and relationships during recovery and my step work. I looked at what belonged to me, where I may have been wrong, and whether I owed anyone an apology or amends. I have forgiven a lot of people and I have apologized a lot. But forgiveness does not erase what happened or automatically restore a relationship. Once someone goes too far, we are not going back to where we were.
My circle is incredibly small now, but it is safe. The people I consider my family and true friends are the ones who know who I am.
“Life isn’t about finding yourself. Life is about creating yourself.” — George Bernard Shaw
I Am Still Me
For all the ways I have changed, I am still me. I still laugh at my own jokes. I still curse like a sailor. I still love inappropriate comedy. I am still a cocky smart-ass sometimes. I still overthink things and turn one small thought into an entire internal investigation.
I am also an introvert now, which was definitely not the case when I was drinking. Alcohol made me louder, more social, more impulsive, and more willing to be around people constantly. Sobriety helped me realize that I actually value quiet, space, and time alone.
I am also incredibly protective of the people I love. Based on how I was raised, I can go straight into fight mode when I believe someone I care about is being threatened or mistreated. Sometimes that instinct helps me stand up for someone who needs me. Other times, I react before fully processing what is happening.
I am not perfect.
Understanding where that response comes from does not automatically justify it. It helps me recognize it and work on responding differently. For a long time, I thought strength meant continuing to perform no matter what was happening inside me.
Keep working.
Keep smiling.
Keep succeeding.
And on paper, I was a rock star for most of my career. But success on paper does not always mean someone is healthy, fulfilled, or okay. I could perform exceptionally well at work while privately falling apart.
Now I understand that strength can also mean going to counsseling, admitting I am not okay, stepping back, asking for reassurance, or choosing happiness over a title and paycheck.
“To exist is to change, to change is to mature, to mature is to go on creating oneself endlessly.”
— Henri Bergson
I Am Not Going Back
The last thing I want is to become the person I was before, like it or not.
That does not mean I hate her. She survived a lot. She worked hard. She accomplished things. She had a bit of too much fun.
But she also lived in chaos and insanity. She justified other people’s behavior because she wanted to believe they could be better. She focused on their potential instead of what they were actually showing her. She carried responsibilities that were never hers and measured her worth by how useful, successful, needed, or impressive she could be.
And she could not have cared less about taking care of herself. Her own needs were usually the first thing sacrificed. Rest, peace, mental health, financial stability, and basic self-care all came after work, emergencies, expectations, and everyone else’s problems.
I do not want that life back. I want peace to feel normal. I want healthy relationships to feel safe. I want a career and a life that does not require me to destroy myself just to “look” successful.
I did not choose to lose Dustin. I did not choose the trauma that followed or the way grief affected my brain, memory, emotions, and ability to function. But I did choose what I did next.
I chose to remain sober. I chose to keep going. I chose to stop allowing every person who knew an older version of me to define who I was based on their assumptions, most of which was wrong in the first place.
I know I am happier. I know I am healthier. And I know that becoming different did not mean losing myself. It meant finally finding parts of myself that had been buried beneath addiction, chaos, grief, expectations, and survival. I got smarter and started caring about myself more.
I will always be a work in progress. To me, becoming better means staying honest, taking accountability, making things right when I can, and continuing to grow.
So yes, I have changed. I am absolutely a different person than I was before. And I am proud of who I have become.
Nice to meet you.
I’m Ashley; still a hot mess.
Talk next week!
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