Hello and welcome back to Sober Awkward, where we're doing something a little bit different.

We started this podcast to share our own messy, awkward and hopefully humorous journeys through

sobriety and have always felt incredibly humbled by how many of you have connected with our

stories. But not everyone's journey is the

same as Vicanise. So we put our heads together to figure out a way to give back and let our

listeners inspire each other. Basically, we're taking us to idiots completely out the equation.

We decided to run a storytelling competition, during which we asked you

to share your own inspirational stories of recovery with us. Well, to be honest, the stories you sent us

completely blew us away. They were powerful, moving and truly inspiring. We knew right away that we had to share them. So, with

the permissions of the storytellers, we're going to be sharing one of their stories with you

each week. This is our way of celebrating you. These are your stories, raw, real and full of hope. Welcome to Sober Stories.

Today's Sober Story is one that was submitted anonymously, but Vic and I both voted it

independently as the winner of our writing competition. So here it is. Well, here we go again.

Splitting headache, bloodshot eyes, nausea that twisted my stomach into knots, and a mouth

so dry it felt like I'd been chewing sandpaper all night. I used to stare at my reflection

with this deep, cold sense of shame. Disgust.

Who even was that woman looking back at me? How could I show up to work like this? Was I still

over the limit to drive? Why was I doing this to myself again? I'd call myself every name under the sun.

Idiot. Failure. Pathetic.

And in that moment, that's exactly what I believed.

December the 13th, 2018.

I remembered the date because it was one of the worst mornings of my life.

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