Grace In Recovery
My not so linear, raw experience with evolving codependent patterns <3
I’m sitting on my porch right now, chasing a little sunlight - trying to coax some life back into my body, while biting my lips until they bleed. That’s been my anxiety tick for as long as I can remember: gnawing on my lips, digging at the skin on my thumbs. A physical sign that my mind is spinning at full speed - ruminating worst-case scenarios I’m already plotting escape routes for. In truth, it’s the familiar rhythm of self-sabotage I know too well.
It’s been months since I’ve sat in a hypnotherapy session, and the absence is catching up to me. The recent relapse in my judgment and integrity has spiraled into a physical illness that’s brought me to my knees. I can’t remember the last time I was sick. I pride myself on being healthy—on helping others learn how to be. Now, my body is screaming at me. And I can’t help but feel like a fraud… the founder of a wellness company, breaking down completely. But it’s these words - the ones I’m barely letting surface now - that have always been my kryptonite. The emotional brick wall I keep running into. I know, deep down, until I fully release these shadowy companions - perfectionism, control, shame, grief - I will keep holding myself back from the highest expression of who I am meant to be.
Right now, I’m informally working through a 12-step program. And I know it might sound strange - but sometimes I almost wish my addiction were something more tangible, like a substance. At least then, there’d be a clear road map. But what I’m facing is more ambiguous: emotional addiction. Codependency. A need to tether myself to people, to energy, to the idea that being wanted equals being worthy. Today my chest is heavy. My strong body feels weak. I’m nursing the aftermath of my most recent emotional relapse - another fall from integrity.
My earliest memories of attachment trace back to my mom. The way I clung to her, terrified of separation, terrified of growing up and ever having to leave her. Sleepovers were out of the question. I’d cry myself to sleep, filled with dread at the thought of the independence. As her only daughter - born after a miscarriage - the bond we shared ran deeper than love. It was fusion. Codependency disguised as devotion. And because she loved me just as fiercely, she did what she could to keep me close: chaperoning summer camps, opening our home to my friends so I’d never feel alone.
As I got older, the pattern didn’t dissolve - it just shifted. From mother to best friends. From best friends to boyfriends. I’ve always had someone - a sidekick, a source. My best friend growing up came with me everywhere. When she couldn’t spend holidays with me, I’d cry. At sixteen, that energy attached itself to my first boyfriend. When he left for college, I crumbled. And rather than sit with the pain, I redirected that need toward someone new - mistaking attention for self-worth, validation for love.
From that moment on, I ping-ponged from one deep relationship to the next, rarely giving myself space to breathe in between. College nights were spent on the phone fighting with my long-distance boyfriend while my peers lived freely. The only brief window I had of singleness, I found weed. It dulled the noise. It numbed the ache. It made the anxiety bearable. Then came adulthood - and with it, grief. Losing both of my parents while helping care for them was a fast-forward button into a life I wasn’t ready for. And once again, I clung. This time, to someone misaligned. I enabled. I paid. I justified. He was struggling, I told myself. But so was I. Textbook codependency disguised as ‘unconditional’ love.
When I finally ended that relationship and moved to California, I already had my next lifeline waiting: the man who would become my husband. He was a beautiful soul, but it was the apex of my dependence. He became my “real family,” but it still didn’t soothe the ache buried deep inside me. Even as I planned my divorce years later, I found myself entangled in the next, most emotionally manipulative, power-imbalanced relationship yet, I remained blind to what truly owned me: addiction to attachment.
The thing about patterns - about codependency - is that they don’t go quietly. It takes awareness, action, and often, devastation to unearth them. My rock bottom didn’t look like a DUI or hospital bed. But it mirrored addiction just the same. He was 17 years older. He told me he was getting divorced. He love-bombed, manipulated, invaded my privacy, and warped my sense of reality. He preyed on my weakness and played the role of savior. And I let him. Even when I discovered he was watching me through cameras he installed in my home, I made excuses. My friend’s voice still echoes in my mind: “Ali… this is stalking.” But I couldn’t see it. I clung to the illusion, because admitting the truth meant facing myself - and the version of me I didn’t want to see: broken, desperate for love, and entirely out of alignment.
If it weren’t for the sacred purpose blooming inside me - to build an authentic brand rooted in healing - I may never have gotten out. And I’m still getting clean. Still rebuilding. Still choosing recovery every single day. On the outside, I may have looked fine. Strong. Empowered. Educated. Articulate. But inside? I was splintering. And that’s why I’m writing this. To show you what healing really looks like. Because healing is not always graceful. It’s gritty. It’s raw. It’s often ugly and slow. And most of all - it’s not linear.
At my lowest, two women carried me. We met at a Dr. Joe Dispenza retreat, and they cracked me open with their presence. Both were sober. One had walked the 12 steps. They saw my pain wasn’t just grief. It was addiction. And it needed attention. A month later, at 5:30 AM, they guided me through a healing meditation that changed everything. I knew, without question, that I had to burn it all down to become whole again. Him. The job. The industry. The illusions.That day, I resigned after 13 years. And in a divine twist, he was fired from his high-level position for preying on yet another young woman. It wasn’t my doing - but it was my awakening. A gut-punch from the universe. A mirror held up to my own neglect of self.
I’ve now been sober - at least from substances - for eight months. But the real detox has been from patterns, distractions, and fear. I didn’t begin the 12 steps until recently. Not because I didn’t need them - but because I was still clinging to external validation. Trading relationships for achievements. Swapping people for performance. Even as I stepped away from toxic jobs, I clung to overworking, to proving myself as an entrepreneur. Recently, someone mentioned they found my content “unrelatable.” That it felt unattainable. And honestly? I’m grateful. Because it reminded me: healing is not about perfection. It’s about truth.
The truth is, I fell again. I downloaded Hinge for a hit of attention. Within days, I was swept into another short-lived, love-bomb-fueled “relationship.” Saying yes when I meant no. Losing myself in micro-moments of praise. But this time, I caught it. I ended it. I took accountability. That’s the beauty of healing - it doesn’t mean you never fall. It means you fall faster and rise wiser. Right now, I’m emotionally and physically depleted. But I’m also proud. Proud that I listened. That I stopped pretending. That I’m choosing to build my worth from within.
So if you’re still reading this - thank you. I hope it reminds you that healing isn’t always pretty. It’s not just clean eating, meditation, and motivational quotes. It’s heartbreak, humility, and starting over again and again.
Healing is the radical act of coming home to yourself, choosing to be whole. Even when everyone around you is engaged or pregnant. Even when you’re unemployed and uncertain. Even when the world is telling you to hustle harder.
I’m learning to trust that I’m exactly where I need to be. And I’ll say it - until I believe it.
We are not behind. We are evolving. And we are protected, divinely.
May my story offer you the grace to begin, or begin again. 💛
XO, Ali
Resources if you need:
I feel like I was reading parts of my own self. Thank you for the vulnerability it’s so beautiful to see you in the becoming - of what you already are. Love love love.